Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 152 This is all going to be hard to say. These things need to be understood, they need to be released so that they can stop. I�ve been someone�s secret for three years. Not the same person, but it�s always someone. Someone has always called me friend when I should be called something else, someone has always had to sneak to use the phone to call me. Maybe it has been better because of that, but I can�t live with it anymore. In writing things down, I thought I could have relationships with people that were open, completely. Where there was an equal amount of sharing. I assume, always, that everyone operates with the same motivations as I do. I think everyone feels this way, everyone throws everything on the line. But it seems I never get anything but indifference. And so very recently. Seven hours ago, I decided that it was time to say good bye to someone who showed me that I should expect something other than a cool response. The first person to really tell me this was going some where, so much, he couldn�t figure out why I paint, instead of write. So I knew, when I sat down here at this chair, I was writing to him about someone else. I was telling him everything, he was my confession wall before I even knew that�s what was happening. I don�t think many people know what it�s like to find someone who can read between the lines. And, this isn�t new to me, but I can�t figure out why it hurts so bad. Because I knew we were never going to sit on the living room floor, and I would never be able to tell him everything that I would never have to because he already knew. I�m positive he�s not going to come back to see this. I�m sure he meant what he said when he said good bye. I know that was the right thing to do, under the circumstances. I like to think he would have given me anything he could, truthfully, I don�t know because I can�t ask. Long ago, I said my life was Veedon Fleece. Long ago, I was wrong. Veedon Fleece is his life. You should hear it in my house, now that the furniture is gone. It sounds like a concert hall, and this morning I would swear Van is in the living room. Your heart has this amazing capacity, when you push its limits. Because all of this happened, and the whole time, I felt the same about everything else. I�m not done with this, not by a long shot. 10:06 ap.m. - 2003-01-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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