this is the end: find me.

this hurts far too much for me to be okay.

anytime i have to think about him i want to die. but first i think about all the ways i want to kill him, and it scares me. how horrible i could be.

but when you talk about him, and the fact he's moving back i worry you will leave me for him. or you're going to cheat on me, and i promised myself so long ago that if you ever did that [ again... ] i'd leave, without saying a word, because there's nothing to say to it. but thinking about it, i don't know if i could handle the pain of leaving you, and i'd stay with you, and i'd how hurt i would be. but i get scared, because sometimes it seems so plausible you'd leave me for someone else. even if you tell me i'm dumb when i talk about it.

i guess it's because all your memories are lies? because your personality doesn't exist... i guess it's just that you realized you can lie to us to make us feel bad. it's hard winning those battles when we're telling the truth and you're making up stories.

honey i remember when i meant something. anymore, i know your scraped knees, your tired eyes are telling me i don't. baby i remember when i was sad all the time. your hand holding mine, your eyes watching mine, tell me i won't be sad for a long time. darling i remember when i was a lie, when your bowl was so hot, when your bloodshot eyes glanced so nervously around, i remember when i lied, and every time i cried. sweetheart i remember when i met you, how you let me kiss you, how i touched you there. i remember your mom coming home, and us being just a little scared, i remember when we laughed, i remember why i left. i know it was a mistake, i'm glad you know it was too. i shouldn't have. mother i remember when i hugged you every day because i wanted to. now i only hug you because you sound so sad that i don't anymore.

a better explanation would be: when i write you an email, and you don't respond, at all, not even mentioning it, i feel like i just bother you and i shouldn't try talking to you. even if you tell me i don't, and you want me to.

[[ 1 october ]] i'm learning it, and i will sing it to you, like i said i would. i love you. you're still surprising me, and i'm still surprising myself by how much more i like you every time we talk.

i said "i love you" and it didn't feel like i was begging you to stay. it felt like i was just saying it because it's how i feel, and it made me smile. but i still can't help but wonder are you upset about his constant pressuring because you feel like you've made the wrong choice?

you're right. it has. i wonder if jennifer reads this. i wonder if she gets it, and what she thinks when she reads it, if she ever thinks about talking to me about it, wondering what an entry means. i'm sure she knows about it, but i never bring it up. sitdiary is still that little safe place for me, where i can go and read the writing of people, the ones who are still writing for themselves, not to impress. sitdiary is always going to be something for me.

i miss voxtrot, fluffy dogs, and you.

but you're so much more than that. since i've met you, it's always been "is she at all like you?" since i met you it's always been "is she as good as you were?" since i met you, it's always going to be "she's nothing like you." my one that got away. but you're still around. my second love. my most memorable, the one that hasn't left yet, that hasn't changed so much since she quit talking to me. the one that still lies in the grass with me. i want our painting perfect life.

i'm blind, and you're drunk. i'm high, and we're in a magazine together. our picture memorializing the night he got beat up, a few weeks before he hits you hard enough to break your lip, the blood on your shirt looked cool, and the boy thinking your cute. i remember how young i was when i kissed you, how old you seemed. how close we had been. you weren't my sunshine, but you helped me discover a lot about growing up. and you know it, i see it when you look at me as we drink together in your car. i hope you're proud of me, my winter mother. my third mother was my first real girlfriend. without the grade school question, "will you be mine?" we started dating, kissing, it was sexual, but i refused sex, and you said you were falling for me, you liked my reason: "i'm scared you won't like me anymore." our graveyard visits, our art museum adventures, the times we smoked together, and when the car opened. how much you cared for me, and then how you left. you know more than i do how you've affected me. in your words, "how i've become a rounded person" but you're not 15, and you think it's too big of a deal. my last mother won't know how she's affected me, she thinks she's the child in our relationship. worried to call, that i won't want to talk. you don't know how much you've taught me, through your mistakes, when i cleaned up your vomit after you drank too much, when i was drunk enough to buy that coke, to do too much and be too excited. drinking soda to keep my stomach from turning. i swore i loved you again. but you won't know. you don't remember, and you never see when you affect me. my life has always been parent-child relationships, i'm learning or teaching, and i won't be afraid to admit it.

that's all this has become. [ a memory] i'm doing my best to realize that, but it's hard. i'd go to your site to comment but i figured i should update anyway.

i'm not suicidal... but if i was, this would be the kind of thing that would make me.

i miss sitdiary. i miss the times that were had when sitdiary was the IT website. i miss you, i miss what my life had been like. the little things i thought were so big. i miss sitdiary. i wish it would come back

where've you been?

she told me she'd be there. but i can't find her anywhere. baby, tell me where'd you go for days and days?

he always played dress up when no one was around, putting on his dad's best suit. he thought "one day i'll fill this suit" but he never did. he was always too small, like the clothes kept growing, and the boy kept shrinking so when he hung himself, he was glad the rope got small enough to fit around his neck.

so i broke up with her. i couldn't understand her pressure & her inability to be trusting. anyway for anyone who likes my writing (i'm writing short stories without dialogues) www.tastyword.com/telephones