This Is Love, Make It Hurt

As if like clock work, the same memory will appear in both our heads at the same time:

We would text message through the evening about the tight black skirt I was wearing at work, and how easily the buttons undid themselves if I just exhaled far enough. And then it was voice to voice till I drove all that way in the dark to his house in Gainesville. Mindless cahtter until we found our way into the bedroom and I'd collapse from exhaustion. Often times he would rub my feet if I asked him to, and in that (among other things) I knew that his feelings for me exceeded that of mine for him. Next it would be serious questioning about my intentions for the two of us. I knew what I was lacking in my heart so I'd let out a teasing plea for the shower and the next thing we knew, we were naked once agian for almost 72 hours of that entire weekend.

In his mind, he watches with disgust. Disgust over how easily he gave in to me, and what I did once I had his heart. He listens to my voice echo in his mind and he bows his head down in remorse. Lets out a griefing moan before taking sleeping pills to find his way to sleep without dwelling on the past. Before falling asleep he swears he never remembers this face with a smile or any of our memories. And wishes the night we met never was.

In my mind, I smile slightly and wish I hadn't waited around for love thinking it was some contagious flu I would eventually receive through bodily contact. I can't cry the way he does or feel the passionate anger. I've always been too unattatched to his existence and our relationship, that I don't look back on our days and scowl. I used to wish that we never met, but then I wouldn't have grown so much and learned from that experience...

"You don't need to be half way off the cliff to realize that you shouldn't have gone that far over the ledge", he says, "I could have known without you, not to give my life to such a person as you"

You Knew The Words I Never Said...

of course however, you would ask me to call. And naturally I agreed with a departing hug. But we both know the rules of this game. You won't hear from me agian until I'm desperate with desire.

I pulled up at a red light. I didn't bother to walk you out last night, so how was I to know the appearance of you car? I'd have taken a right on red without peering into the window to discover the identity of the driver in the next car, if I knew it was you. What are the odds that I'd see you not even five hours after we used each other for 25 minutes of nothing?

Fate.

Fate because we are both playing the same game. we're supposed to exhange those forced smiles while rolling down the window with apprehension to discuss the plans about today, even though neither of us are truly interested.

But he doesn't know that I can take it or leave it. Cause girls are supposed to be sensitive about their sexual encounters. So he plays the role of the disapointed one in saying that he's sad I didn't call him. And he acts genuine when inquires about my dinner plans, as if he would actually take me out. Girls like that in a guy. They like to know that the one they gave their bodies to actually cares somewhat about them. But I don't. So I save him the trouble in saying I'm working, when I'm really off for the night.

Cause he doesn't know that I can take it, or leave it.

Baby Let Me Explain Somethin It's All Down To Drugs, Atleast I Remember Taking Them, But Not A Lot Else.............

you remember these are the instances your mother told you about. these are the moments that we, as moral human beings, would regret the next morning. but they failed to mention that repetition leads to apathy.


Ordinarily, I can't remember enough to gather any information about the night. So how can I come to any conclusion? But sometimes I can recall. Sometimes I'm so sober it scares me that I can keep doing this without hiding behind the justification of alcohol. But it's too far past the regularity these foul tempations have become, that I just don't bother to think twice about it.

Point your fingers with an accusing look of shame. But I'll still be here. Still starting out the night with a sober mind but making premature decisions from an inebriated stand point. Still calling the shots before I hear them,
second for second;

smirking slightly, because I always get what I want....

"How long before this lifestyle grows empty?" , he said to me one day. I didn't even have to tell him that my patience is wearing thin. I looked away, around, then finally back to him.

"Maybe I'll be the one who saves you?", he puts in agian before I can even answer.

"Doubt it..." I say. the brutal honesty.

last night was fun.....had a good time....round up was really good....i heart line dancing....the boot scootin boogie is my fav...i just need to know it better...or stop dancing drunk....by the time i got home i was sober....too sober....but i lied and said i wasnt....makes me feel better...

And To Think I Thought I Lost It....

I second guess my passion for you. Not enough, I guess, in my heart to have that intuition. love is one of those connections; the kind that moves us up out of our reality, if need be, and into something that isn't quite so perfect.

And you? You weren't so perfect this morning. But I slept through your hysterical sufferings as if the world was finally at peace and children around the world slipped into dreams with a smile on their face on a daily basis. That's how good I slept. And when they told you the risk you could have encountered, I was probably selfishly dreaming about the potential plans I had in store for us. But you? You were staring back into authority's eyes with pleading emotions and trembling limbs, while I woke up wondering about the time I'd be hearing from you. With an oblivious smile.

We think the world's tragedies that visit everyone we see on the news, won't come near our existence. We take for granted the privelage of being a part of someone's life, and use the phrase "graced with his presence" in too sarcastic of a manner. We honestly are graced with individuals and too often don't acknowledge it.





And there's also you. I've got the clairvoyance in regards to your life and it's truly a curse. I'm on the outside of myself looking on at the brainwashed victim you've made out of me. I'm deleriously giggling over the sight of myself twisting my hair into tight, strained twirls around my purple fingers losing blood. Apparently, I believe that I go to sleep every night to a grave I dug myself. And your sloppy, hand painted pictures of a life I'll never have with you are set strategically above me; before I close my eyes I'll see what I'm supposed to want. But even though I've always hated the person you are, I'm still crying every night thinking I'll never get back what you gave to me, because you now give it to her.

And I believe this is how I am supposed to feel when I see what goes on miles between us. When I watch you stroke her forehead and turn your voice to that dull whisper and wish her goodnight. Even though I brushed your hand away from my body and tuned you out after I got what I wanted. You told me nobody would do me like you did. And I believe you.

WHY CANT I FIND ANYTHING TO WRITE ABOUT?!

Is This Really A Dream? [read slowly. pause after sentences...better that way]

"She was not ready.

She was absent minded; couldn't remember to take care of herself, let alone another living individual. When was the last time she thought about the well being of someone else, before her own? Too concerned with superficial gains to be wondering what she could give to benefit another. How can a child survive off of that?

But the silence fell. You don't need to be a mother to know that silence is golden. Silence is golden... and rare. One look towards the door, as if she might see through it to the other room, a guilty frown came across her features and silence was replaced with gasps.

How can you forget? Is it possible to just neglect the fact that a peice of yourself is waiting helplessly for you to make it flourish? That's quite a burden. To know that you are a life-line. And at any moment, you can just stop. And walk away. She wasn't ready for that.

Losing something is a product of carelessness. And all was certainly lost at that point peeking over the crib. She lost her mind. She lost the child. Who loses a child?

Without her sense she sorted through those small blankets a thousand times. As if this next time lifting the thin sheets, the shrill cries would come creeping out from inbetween them. And it would only be a matter of time before she could comfort and fix her mistake.

They followed her. She was ashamed, but assume she was supported. People came out from their homes and peeked out the windows two stories above and watched her while she questioned and searched. They shook their head and dropped their eyes as if to say, "She just wasn't ready".

The asphalt was cold agianst her knees as she hit the ground. Wet and damp as she slid slowly into a ball. They closed the windows. Turned their backs to her. It was obvious why they left her. Nobody wants to hear uncontrollable agony. Who can stand to listen to moans filled with pain we can't even dream up in our minds?"------------who knows who thought this small excerpt of a story up. but its powerful. and i like it.

What Goes Up Must Come Down

it wasn't unusual for me to be sneaking out from underneath the blankets after their minds were in dreams. queitly tip toeing towards the door i'd make my way slowly out to my car. falling asleep in my own bed seemed more practical, and i knew they only invited me for the night because it seemed like a packaged deal. you "put out" in exchange for a place to stay, and the next morning they might make you breakfast... but that usually only happens in the movies.

and i was the one who avaded the truth with a smile so convincing i even made myself believe these absurd claims:
that it was my mother who had called me so late in the night, and i locked myself shut in the bathroom whispering, because i didn't want to wake you, not because i didnt want you to hear the things i say behind your back to another prospective, future relationship.

i guess i got too comfortable. taking your life and breaking it. i suppose i was too busy being on top of the world; being the one in control of every intimate situation i placed myself in.

you were so oblivious as to what was happening everyday around you. beside you. sitting in the car next to you, texting away naughty suggestions to God knows who. it was so easy. to have you and everything else i wanted along with it. i got too comfortable, blindly thinking that it would always be me, ruining you. foolishly believing that this wicked head game i was playing on you, would never get back to me.

and then it did. and im sure the whole time the distance between us was growing, you were laughing at the thought of me crying as i realized that i was waiting for something that would not be coming back.

Your A Traiter To Your Own Heart, Be Ashamed

Before today,

I woke up yesterday with a hand resting on my hip. I knew exactly whose hand it was and why it was there. It is always there on those certain weekends. And every time he lays his sencere hands on my waist in an innocent embrace, I'm slightly easing it off with delicacy. Very carefully so not to disturb the half conscious body sleeping so close to me. I throw out one of those fake coughs and inch closer to the edge of the bed, and his hand will fall down beside my back. My efforts are useless. Something in his heart or mind tells him that something very important is missing. And that hand goes back up on my waist, sometimes pulling my body closer to his.

Our relationship can be best described by others as nothing short of perfect. He is perfect. Perfect for someone else, but not me.

In truth, I loathe those hands. Almost as much as the breath that heats up the back of my neck as he whispers, "mmmm, goodmorning beautiful". I hate the feet that casually and affectionatly brush agianst mine...

It reminds me of one of those commercials or sappy greeting cards. The ones in black and white with an image of nothing but two feet intertwined between blankets. They caress eachother in love and the viewer can't help but see the implicit message of pure joy that isn't directly displayed before them. But make no mistake in this one, my feet long for the front door treading towards my truck....

[why i stayed i'll never know. and why this previous writing of my lamentable relationship seems important me, i dont know. maybe im trying to smack myself in the face with reality. he's not for me. but i cant help but wish i was with him now. even though we all know if this was feasible, id long to leave agian. i dont understand why when i acknowledge that foolish people are always wanting what they cant have, am i doing what i find ignorant? im just like the rest of them i suppose. even though i can find that place in my mind that says i care so little for him, im so caught up with the way he loved me that i want to find that love too. so convinced am i, that you can eventually fall in love. i think you can settle for someone. even if it isnt the right one for you. and i dont see why i couldnt do it then. or even now. maybe my theory of settling for less is wrong. but i have always been going about things the wrong way...]

Will I Ever Make It Home, Will I Ever Leave The Ground [leave this place so far behind, where there is no turning back]

Did i think that this would never end? And if i did think it would, was i under the assumption that i would be nonchalant?

i thought i couldn't wait to move out. i thought that i'd start that long drive south with a smile on my face. but this marks the end of freshmen year. these songs, moments, and routines that characterize this point in time, are sealed inbetween August[2004] and April[2005]. the only way back are through these ambigious posts that are too vague to remember what goes on. i dont write enough about my life.

i never wrote about working at abercrombie. how i memorized the entire tape and my favorite songs were "i turn to you" by that spice girl, and "san fransisco" by ?. never wrote about how much i hate folding clothes and how ANAL they are about precision and neatness. i always went to starbucks on my break-
viente ice passion tea, no sweetner cause i add honey myself.

didnt write about carrabbas. how 50 cent and G unit remind us of rolling silverwear in the back. danielle, hildy, and I now have a three person routine to ANY 50 cent song. (i sort, hildy polishes, and danielle rolls...damn ill miss that) i began begging for quarters shortly after i discovered the M&M and reeses peices machine in the back. i promise you, D money had found his purpose when he woke up in the morning, and it was bringing an abundance of quarters to work for me. the second i walked in the back he would hold out his hand and there would be a quarter, he'd laugh and say,
"i got a quarter for you baby" i was strangly comfortable with him. as weird and cooked up as he most likely is...he makes me laugh. aw hell i might marry him- he's big enough. [kidding guys!!!!!

how could i leave out my ignorance? my obsessions? what the fuck is lodging? who came up with that name and decided it should mean 'a place to stay'. im at a loss. FUNERAL HOME? see that makes no sense because it sounds like a morgue or a place where they keep the stuff for funerals. im going to marry one day. soon i hope. and he'll be borderline obese with clogged arteries and high cholesterol, just the way i like them. hildy will marry too- he will be emaciated, lookin like somethin straight out of the german concentration camps. he will probly be jailbait too. and danielle will have this hot guy, the normal guy[probly EX boy, starts with a K ends with a YLE.], and she will STILL be saying,

"what the fuck is wrong with you guys? are you blind?"

i guess so, cause i think everyone is hot.

never anything about angies- a little peice of heaven on earth. i would miss class for this place. i have missed class for this place. i stole the peruvian sauce this afternoon on our last trip of the year. i looked like shit, and i saw a big truck and swore if it was J the-you-know-who i wouldn't go in.

our drinking habits. how could i miss it. if i so much as even LOOK at a bottle of alcohol...im wasted. hildy can drink 3 bottles of 151 and she's got a BUZZ. if that. and then danielle- the normal one.

who drives the worst? i dont know. danielle cant do two things at once. im suprised she can chew gum and walk to class. she might as well pull over to talk on the phone while shes driving. she covers the horn like shes getting paid big bucks to do so...i swear she thinks everyone turning onto the road is out to side-swipe her. apparently danielle says shes had some death threatening close calls with Hildy- but i cant testify to that.
so i guess im the best driver. except when smoking with chelsea. i went 35/40 mph in a 55. oops.



i guess the most important part of this semester was the two people that took me in. ill say that sappy isnt my thing cause i like it rough[smack me around a little bit, pull my hair, and make me bleed- whoa sorry]- but when it comes down to the truth i wont deny that tears swell at how thankful i am for Hildy and Danielle. I was too wrapped up in my own life 1st semester and that was ok. but when I hit rock bottom i cant remember how many times danielle invited me to come out. how much she and hildy let me into their friendship to find that there was happiness outside of a relationship. now granted, id choose a relationship leading towards marraige any day- i really have learned the importance of friends. maybe i didnt notice it until i was in desperate need of them, but i feel like the two of them gave it to me as much as they could.

i dont care how stupid you guys think i am, or how much of a paranoid WORRYER i am in regards to time...you fuckin love it. and to think all those times you tried to tell me that i was too dumb to hang out with you guys...deep down you really liked it. ill miss you guys. but it wont be long till i meet you at 3am in the third shower stall....we can always sneak back into the hall for some fun.

love you- sarah!!

[ "hey! doctor!" "well hurry up cause i gotta get trisha!" "whos that spartan in my teepee?" "sup" "you wanna make out? no? ok, maybe tomorrow? no? ok!" "diced peaches huh?" "alexis!? im only MAD at her! what alexis! what!" "ross! emily, thank god! i was just about to- YOU SUCK! break up still on!" "my dawson...and carlos" theres too much and i have a bad memory]

She Always Takes It With a Heart Of Stone-

But if there's anything that I've learned this past year living in Jacksonville, it's to

Experience.

I don't care how hard it is to detatch myself from someone, I'll grow to care for them and even when it hurts to be let down- I'll be thankful for that experience.

It could be anything. It could be

Driving to Savannah at 10pm on a school night like there is no obligations to tomorow. I just wanted to see the city agian. And it hadn't changed since mom, Jim, and I had walked those streets. But I most certainly had, and it took going back to some place and seeing somewhere not so new, with a bitter heart, to make me glad that Jim left us. Who would I be now, if he was still around?

This year of college is gone. I can never go back to these days and feel the same way. I can only look back, at the sound of a familiar song that I associate with this.

Experience, by far, is my new hot commodity. Maybe I had this idea in my head subsonciously before this post, but it took some down time in the shower to make me put it into some philosophy...

RELISH TODAY
REMORSE TOMORROW
see i had it in me all along....