My pen ran out of ink :(

I fucking love the characters in my writing class.  All of ’em. So many individuals strong in their individuality. Love it. So much more than you see outside of there in the rest of the everyday events of life. I have a feeling I’m going to go really up and down and every which way manic in and as a result of this class. And that’s ok. I’m hoping for that. I’m hoping to be jostled about.

It’s like a party every Wednesday morning. Really, it is. I go and hang out with writers and have writer-y conversations and here things read that I would never ever here anywhere else.

“‘Go away, said the silence…the unsilent silence'”

Poetry from people you know–even people you only know a tidbit of–seems so much deeper and more felt…and I love it so much more.

Maybe I could write songs.

I love my life today. And thank you for that reminder. Thank you bf, Jack, Dad, and you.

Only men I want to thank. Even the assholes. But my true love the most. I want to thank him the most. He changed my life. So very much in my adulthood. 90% of the time. I miss him. A lot. I feel like he is dead. It’s like that new song “Somebody that I Used to Know.” Or worse, like he never existed.

Maybe that is why I’ve been able to allow myself to feel and be felt by a new man in my life. It is all because of the lessons from him–the love of my life, whom I still love…who doesn’t exist.

Ha, that’s funny. I always tell my boyfriend that he isn’t real. Do I believe the best people for me don’t really exist? Are they all just conjured up in my brain? Is it because I don’t feel I deserve anything great or amazing?

I thank my true love the most. From moment to moment. I thank him for my new love. He makes it easier. But when I think of him, I make it harder and mistake the difficulty to be because of him when really it is just my own mind. And that image of him that never existed. That I am in love with. For how long?

Does he weaken or strengthen me?

Neither.

I do both. And use him as an excuse.

It isn’t about him at all. It never is. It is about the me I can be. The me I am around him. That me somehow has not gathered enough courage to reveal herself outside of his presence and coaching and loving gaze and all-encompassing embrace.

…because I still hold onto his words and his touch and the look in his eye. And these words of his…

“beautiful pictures but even more beautifully tempting would have been a picture of you : )

although
truth is I don’t need tempting. I would be right there if I could…

… but you feel that
in your heart’s moments.

now

seeing as you asked so sweetly
oh look, here along comes e.e.cummings again…

in answer to (your
)  qu e
s
ti  on.
yes.
tonight, i am completely and utterly yours
alone.
like (feathered) hands my lips will taste you.
my ocean envelope
(but not envelope) your beach
too nig ht
we
are
love”

How could he write that? How could he and then not act on it? Never again after that.

And why am I so attached to him while I have a god-like hero of a man waiting for me to full open up and be completely and totally his?

He is powerful. So am I. Why do I only feel it when the powers combine?

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About heathencomehome

question marks & ellipses
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