A revamp, sort of.

It's simple, a start, something that will get added on to later.

I've wanted to write so badly recently. I can only think of one thing to write about, and I'm sick of bringing her up. I'm sick of thinking about her, of missing her, of listening to her favorite band, of wishing she were with me.

Sometimes I wish the last two years of my life had never happened, and that a few of the people that were brought into my life were brought in by someone else, not her. She made time stop and as her mind disappeared and her love disappeared, time froze. And then she disapeared forever and time moved slowly backwards. I found myself back where I had started when she didn't exist. The only difference was that now I had memories and a heart full of love and lonliness and nowhere to put any of it. The body that once filled the rest of an empty bed was gone, my hands were lonely, my lips longed for cheeks to kiss. A half a year later and time has not cured any emptiness. My body still lives alone, while hers is warmed by a replacement, someone she claims fate has sent her. Someone that cannot possibly feel the way that I had felt about her. My bones ache for her still and she never knew it. She told me once that she was pretending. Once, twice she told me she didn't really love me and that she may have not really loved me at all. That year and a half was just a dream, something I didn't really seem to be living.

Most of the time I was treated like total shit so I don't really even understand why I can't just let go of this........

I'm back to my old self again.

http://lifestyle.msn.com/relationships/article.aspx?cp-documentid=23606164&GT1=32023


Well, I'm trying to be. Lately I'm not sure who that self is, or was. After devoting a year and a half to someone else, you tend to lose track of you.

A small room in that house started on fire yesterday. The furniture that had been keeping the walls company was now half gone. The walls were no longer a pink, vintage floral wallpaper, they couldn't laugh, they couldn't sing, they felt ugly. The furniture half-eaten by the grizzly blaze, barely able to keep herself together tried providing for the wall, but the wall had nothing left to take in...or give back. The furniture gave up as well, that simply, and collapsed its uneaten half to the floor, the wooden legs shattering, light walnut oak splinters the only thing in the room now to contrast the smoke, the black.



....finish later

I hate logic. It ruins a lot for me.

Most of my words are someone elses, but my feelings are my own, and they're all I have. I'm a thin sheet, a ghost, a simple person, but my heart is a different story. It meanders along a million different paths, taking different routes, trying to come to conclusions, trying to find an end, a nice warm house to stop and rest its legs. When it finds that house it falls in love with its beautiful gardens, the occupants, their pets. It moves in to one of the guest rooms, wrapping itself in the soft blankets laying on the bed, smelling the bottled scents left on the counter, taking in all the house is. I never want to leave, but when I must, my heart misses the house.

I finally get it, I finally listened. And now it all makes sense. My brother is playing along to one of her favorite bands on Guitar Hero World Tour, and she probably doesn't even miss me.

I know the pieces fit cause I watched them fall away
mildewed and smoldering, fundamental differing,
pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
the light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
we cannot see to reach an end crippling our communication.


I know the pieces fit cause I watched them tumble down
no fault, none to blame it doesn't mean I don't desire to
point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over.
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover communication.

The poetry that comes from the squaring off between,
And the circling is worth it.
Finding beauty in the dissonance.


There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away.
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication

cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any sense of compassion

between supposed lovers
between supposed lovers

And I know the pieces fit.

I had prepared myself for lonliness. I had spent so much time thinking about a world alone that even a thought about someone else entering broke my plans into tiny pieces, shooting them into the tiniest cracks and corners of the world with no hope of ever being found. I had my own plans. I didn't need touch. This left me unprepared.