novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- hardly strictly heartbreak Just looked on Craigslist again for him, hadn't since Thursday. What I saw were a lot of blind people howling. There's nothing there. At least I'm coming to terms with everything. Even if he turns out to have been one of those sad guys who fuck on the side, I feel better. (I'd feel even worse for his girlfriend, though.) I'm getting my shit together. I'm going to be amazing and I won't need to find a guy to fix me. I'll just need him to love me. Is it so bad that I want to remember him in a good light? Is that deluded? Is that even possible? When I look at him, I remember everything all at once, every bad name he ever called me, every beautiful thing he ever said, all the theatrics and the hot air, the amazing music and his beautiful mouth, those eyes and the way he'd demonstrate sun salutations and just... be. I never understood his anger, but perhaps he never understood my melancholy. Are we born with these, or are they learned mechanisms? A little of both? I can harness mine and ride it. No more picking, relentless picking at myself. It inhibits art. At least I've lost the heartbreak weight. Many of my clothes are baggy again. Perhaps I'll sell them all and go to Costa Rica for a few weeks in January. Write and fuck on the beach. 10:00 am - 10.03.10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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