8:54 p.m. - 2004-09-07
i never said i was perfect
the thing about irony is that it's just so fucking ironic...
he's everything i thought i was looking for, things i didn't even know i wanted; he comes on so strong that it's almost intimidating, (apparently i do that too, though probably not to the same degree.) but to me, he's simply right - a balance of too many things to list, hitting all the right keys in my subconscious. from mental to physical, pheromonal and intangible, it's all there, including, for me, that indescribable zing. and that's the thing - it's all there for him too - all except the zing. for him it's better defined as an emotional connection, but the upshot is the same; no matter how otherwise right we are, i am not what he is looking for.
this is standing on the platform, watching the last train leave. this is relentless icy rain at dusk with no shelter in sight, the peeling back of my heart in layers, and that familiar and vicious uncertainty creeping back on velvet paws to tear at the soft places in my mind. i know that there's nothing wrong with me, nor him, nothing i could have said or done differently, and i wouldn't want to be different, even if it did mean i was right for him, because then i wouldn't be right for me.
maybe.
and it's that uncertainty which undoes me. the persistent, nagging doubts about myself, and whether there really is something wrong with me, something that makes me unlovable, or unworthy of love, no matter how much i may know better.
Caught between the twisted stars
the plotted lines the faulty map
that brought Columbus to New York
The perfume burned his eyes
holding tightly to her thighs
And something flickered for a minute
and then it vanished and was gone
