If I Were To Remain Honest

I wrote a really long, really good post about remembrance, but it got a little too specific. It was much easier to write when no one read this… Still it’ll be taped into my journal, and that’s the real point of this anyway. Here’s my now infamous ambiguous version. The original was much better. Oh, and the very last sentence was borrowed from Shakespeare.

It’s been a bad day on top of a bad day. I can’t tell you quite why. I guess I could; I want to. Something holds me back though. I’m a hypocrite if I do and a hypocrite if I don’t.

I could really use a hug.

One day I am going to write all these moments down, because I want to hold on so bad. But memories must be held like sand, because if you squeeze too hard it’ll all fall into oblivion. Better the slow draining. The peace of the sand falling back to where it belongs.

I keep going back though. It’s inevitable, the past can be so beautiful. The eyes, the faces, the touches, that hug, the kiss on the cheek you gave me when I was sad. All of that. They swirl around in my memory and won’t let me go. They are who I am, truly and completely. And damn, I am proud of that. Those are such beautiful memories. I want to hold on forever, but the sand keeps blowing away.

Staring at the sky,
I caught a raindrop in my hand,
It traveled coldly through my fingertips,
and dropped to the ground

Blessed be the memories that fall from the sky. The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.

Memories of A Crazy Man’s Love, Longing, and Loneliness

I wrote this early summer of ‘07. It was a letter to myself then, talking about soulmates and change. A couple months later I started what would become a very long unsent letter to my anonymous “her,” trying to sum up how I’ve changed and why through what I’ve written. I never thought I would publish this, but here I am, and I did what I said I would. The rest I’ll keep ambiguous…except for I regret not sending the letter. Whoever reads this, when you have something you want to say, say it. Looking back I rarely regret things I did, but often get lost in what I didn’t.

I need to be around my own people. I’m going to go crazy here, and I know they think I’m crazy. And maybe I am crazy but I still need someone like you.

I faced this choice many years before. I made the correct choice then. I’m going to make the opposite choice now. It’s going to be wrong, and I’m going to be miserable. Yet ironically enough I feel as this choice is necessary. Out of respect to my soul perhaps? Or out of my fucking determination to be me. You know, it was easy then. After all, I didn’t know the consequences. Here I am knowing that I must face it again, and I know that the reverberations are staggering.

I don’t think I can become like them. My soul is not what it was. That person is dead and gone. Plus I feel her calling. I will not leave her, not for the world. I refuse to lose her. And yet, I will lose almost everything else because of her. She makes me want to become like her, and yet she doesn’t even like herself. Oh the irony. But that is the nature of the situation.

I had been able to pull off the double mask before. Maybe I can do it again.