9:36 p.m. - 2003-06-14
what i want
hmmm.
there's something strange happening here, with my retiscience to write about you, about us. it doesn't mean i don't think about it, just that i don't know how to go about getting it down, knowing that you'll read it.
the answer, of course, is to forget that this is anything more than a way of getting words out of my head.
i could write in my paper-and-cloth diary, but i don't.
(i want more pie. there's too much cinnamon in it, but i like it anyway)
i haven't been telling you everything.
i don't even know everything there is to tell.
you aren't the only one i'm dating right now, the only one i'm thinking about. (i never said you were, whispers my guilty conscience) i don't know how much it matters, though i know why i haven't said anything. i didn't know how to address it - or even what there was to address. it started around the same time i met you, and i still don't know what it is that i've started.
he leaves the city in a few weeks, away to the east, out of my world, my head, my life.
i feel like a child again, being offered two choices and unable to understand that i can't pick both. i don't feel as if my actions are wrong, but my failure to disclose all information to everyone involved is.
i don't know what i'm looking for, with him or with you, nor do i have the words to describe what's happening in either case. dating? friendship? something else? things seem to be moving and changing without me noticing, or understanding. i sound like i'm rationalizing. perhaps i am. and i know that i won't post this until after i talk to you, tell you in person, though i'll still post it like this, as if i haven't told you yet. as if i haven't told me.
salt and sweat and gently falling leaves. when the angels fell did they think about the landing, or the passage of wind, or were they locked in each other's arms, too full of each other to notice?
the wind carries the scent of dirt, of wet grass and dark hidden places where the rain water is still trickling away. nights like tonight are so full of pain and promise - i feel that my soul leaves me to pace the alleys into the dawn, and brings back images seductive and terrifying in the early light of morning. these are mornings i lie awake, trying to understand why i need to get up, trying to remember who i am (or who i was) and shake the grit of a thousand windswept worlds out of my eyes.
i feel easier with you than with him. you speak to the world with your eyes, and your gestures, and the way you play with your glasses. your touch is hesitant, and gentle, and full of promise. i don't know whether to encourage you or not.
what i want is to know what i want.
