Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You are the King of the Rain. If I was to turn into a comic character, I would be Bucky from Get Fuzzy. It's painfully obvious, so don't argue. . . . There are many, many things to write about. So many I can't choose one, and I can't cover them all. But the patterns, my patterns are coming out, not as slowly as I would like. If this was high school, if this was 5 years ago, if this was last year, it would all be different, and I continue to feel like the victim of bad timing. I don't know how much responsiblity to take for the consequences of this relationship. How much is my lack of empathy, the tone of my voice, the words that I chose? How much is your low self esteem, your past, your exhaustion? And I don't know if it's worth my time to sit and think about it when my only answer is ever I don't know. The question seems so simple to me, either you want to try, or you do not. The past questions haunt me too, because I've had this discussion before, in another time and place, with different circumstances, and desperation in my voice. With the same answer, and it feels a lot like I'll get the same result. Every day in the car, after work, the same question. Every day, the same answer. It was guilt that kept him until the end, and it was a filthy parting. I've even heard I miss you less. I'm torn. I can walk away, back to destructive behavior without a level of commitment to myself, or I can wait it out, seemingly wasting time, for weeks of I don't knows, every day feeling a little less myself, and a little more like me in a past tense. The very slow and steady I love may drive me to following impulses, only to wish I could take them back as fast as they've flown out of my mouth. Jesusholyfuck, I miss you. 5:17 p.m. - 2003-04-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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