The first day of the rest of my life.

Finally.

The finale.

All of this, put to rest, and that euphoric state is even over. How could I have missed it before?

Granted, I'm leaving angry, but better angry than attached at the hip. Not like farewell will be difficult this time. I have better things to do, better things to dwell on, better things to look forward to. I will not be dragged down, I will not be taken for granted, and I will not give up on the things I hold dear.

This is a beautiful day, and it holds promise for tomorrow. Because tomorrow will take me further away, where ever that may be, and I can't wait for it.

Despite the little things that will always be amiss, I will find that 'bigger and better.'

So thanks for everything.
And thanks for nothing.

Forever and always,
Fee

An End I Can Live With

This I Will Hold On To

Breaking my stride

I was doing so well, you know.

And then you just be yourself, and I remember why loving you has always been so easy. Why this has been so hard.

I'm enjoying myself, I am, but that doesn't make love go away.

How can I accomplish this if I left everything with you?

You are dear to me, you truly are.

I love you eternally, and I'm doing my best to prove it in the only way I never could.

Just keep holding on, someday we'll get this right.

I'll remember you even when...

Terrible Storm//Nostalgia hits hard

There was a terrible storm
And you were wearing all our coats
In the back of this car
I feel like I have traveled nowhere
We buried in the snow
I kept warm inside of your clothes
You swore that nothing would ever change
The way we were right then
It was a colder at night
Bought a hotel I
I thought you would never
Find another
Love again
Oh but you haven't missed a thing
No you haven't missed a thing
No you haven't missed a thing
No you haven't missed a thing
There was a terrible storm
And you were wearing all our coats
In the back of this car
I feel like I have traveled nowhere
We buried in the snow
I kept warm inside of your clothes
You swore that nothing would ever change
The way we were right then
It was a colder night
Bought a hotel I
I thought you would never
Find another
Love again
Oh but you haven't missed a thing
No you haven't missed a thing
No you haven't missed a thing
No you haven't missed a thing

-Tegan and Sara

Introversion

You were right
What you said to me
that day
About how
I live in my own world
How
I let no one in

It's true
I'll admit that
Letting them in
Takes a lot out
of me.

But you missed
the most important thing.
That you
made it deeper
than all the others
put together.

About you, not for you.

I've returned to that state of anger, but its strangely different this time. I'm mad about things I never thought I would be mad about, and yet I've been losing sleep over it.

To say the least, I feel used; I was dragged around as if she cared for too long, when I think we both knew full well her love disappeared in my absence.

To tell me I didn't know how to be together... When she so blatantly told me she needed to maintain her autonomy. There is no pleasing her, least of all when she is actually asked for anything more than her presence. But a presence doesn't give emotional support; that hand to hold won't always suffice--as if it was ever there anyway.

So, while it might prove my hardest task yet, my newest resolution is to move on. There is nothing left in the past, nothing worth dwelling on. The best that can come is energies directed to something more useful; so many artworks float through mt head, all about her, none for her. And maybe that will prove to be my healing, maybe that can vent my frustration enough for me to be set free of all the dead weight and never return to this pitiful point.

I will always miss that love, short lived though it was. But she was right--settling is not an option.

Exactly the words I needed.

PLAY

In one more day

I have come to terms with the fact that I will always love her.

It is therefore permissible to say that all of my anger, all of my hatred, is a product of jealousy and want.

I think it is also sufficient to believe that all of the sadness and anger and contempt in my current position were caused not by poor circumstances--I'm getting by, am I not?--but instead by the flood of emotions stirred by her.

It comes to my attention that maybe she has done the same as I, having forced herself to see the bad only, to make herself feel antipathy towards me, in order that she might get along without me.

But its a far stretch, I realize, and if my hypothesis be proved wrong, so be it. Tomorrow is another day; that day presents the contingency of infinite opportunity, and those opportunities I cannot fail to take.

Despite my theatrics, the future hinges on that taking.

And on to something new?

Futility.

All it ever was.

If I can succeed, succeed in forcing myself to remember the bad, remember the things I've lost along the way, remember unhappy times and immeasurable stresses, remember all things negative...

Maybe then I can begin to move on.

Saturday will be telling.

Until then, in these next 48 hours, I will wait in agony.

Forcing myself to do this, knowing that in the end this will be the best thing for both of us.

Forgive me my petty spite. I wish you the best.



Promise.

To realize

I've been going about it all wrong.

Making everything about logic, wanting, needing to find answers as if they would materialize.

There are no answers, not to this puzzle.
And if there are, they're only biological. Beyond that, its out of control, because try as we might, we are nearly incapable of controlling our own emotions.

For once...

I'm beginning to doubt.

The way you loved me.

Would it have happened so fast if you had?

For the first time I doubt your love. Eight years.
Was I a fool?




This will take time. And I'm not sure my stomach is large enough to swallow it all.





Now all the pieces are missing.

And its official...

All of this.

This is the end. My stomach is in my chest and my heart is in my feet and my mind sailed out the window just a short time ago.

And I have no one to talk to but her. Because no one else could possibly understand, but how does one explain themselves in this situation?

And she speaks to me as if we never happened, as if I'm not as fragile as I once was... Only now I'm more fragile than ever, holding onto something that could never be.




...I think I may vomit.

It hasn't hurt this much in years.

Just when I thought--

Those old words.

Mine so foolish and yours poetic, as always. Tears and interminable laughter ensue. No one could make me smile like that.

I want to take action in this moment, but I truly believe its too soon. And I think I've finally decided this has nothing to do with everything else. That my indecision was an excuse to get over you.

I don't know that I can accomplish that.

And you will ask why I still love you, why I ever loved you.

I have not a list of reasons, but one single answer that suffices to tell all. Prosaic and probably trite, the kind of line romantic comedy hinges on.

When I'm next to you, not a piece of me is missing.

Not a Love Song

Running in Circles

Its beginning to feel different.

For that length of time, and I became keenly aware of the things I'd missed before, the things that had remained covered for years. The thing I miss the most is that touch.

I am still in love, admittedly, but that love has certainly changed. I regret. I regret.

My head hurts from this.

All that time, and I succeeded in being just friends. But now, after the disconnect, I feel like it was all wrong, it was a farce.

'I need to be friends with the person I'm dating.'
Those were the words and I understand them completely. I want that again; to be friends is wonderful, yet something, something important, is missing.

I haven't felt this sickness in so long, but it creeps through my abdomen now.

I don't know where to go.

Those plans I had will likely not be pursued--and not out of fear but out of the realized notion of their futility.

I am afraid to confuse this with something else. Afraid to let the other things get in the way and cloud my judgement.

But can 5 months really be wrong?

I cannot allow myself to sit back and wait anymore, but I also can't move forward because I'm not yet sure what I'm attempting to move forward to.

She hasn't forgotten; the problem is she refuses to remember.

In reply--

You have destroyed me.

Destroyed the false hope I was holding onto to make it through each moment. My false hope of proving you wrong, showing I could do it right this time.

I don't have much to offer, I am fully aware of that. And saying I'll try doesn't mean much, only that its another promise in this world which may or may not be fulfilled--what does it matter to you? There's no proof I'm actually attempting, or moreover that I will ever have any success in those attempts.

But its all empty now. Moving from place to place for the sake of going through the motions. There is nothing after this, least of all any remaining shred of hope for something. Anything.

I see why you erased it all, but I still don't see the change. Maybe I'm not allowing myself to; maybe this hole is so deep what little light I see leaves deep shadows, altering my view into something that isn't.

I can't explain it.
This.
You.
That ray of light disappeared, and now I'm following the darkness instead.

Keeping it all in

Not letting the words hit the page for fear of losing them; won't be able to use them later, they will be trite and contrived and lack the meaning I need them to carry.

Instead, I imagine conversations that should be, the things I need to say only ever revolving through my head, never coming out and becoming concrete.

But I have this pathetic hope that I'm getting closer, that your responses mean not all is lost. Maybe it is, and I have yet to catch on; maybe you really meant what you said this time. Maybe you were always capable of doing so, while I have lost that capability.

Keeping this to myself, despite the fact that it all comes out in public anyway.

Learning

I'm learning, I really am.

I had learned so much and believe there was little left to be gained, and yet somehow this past week has shown me so much.

I know what to do. I know how and why and what to say. And yet I can't bring myself to do it.
"That's your problem--you're always scared of everything."
It rings in my ears every day.

But I'm not sure its fear this time, not really. Realism. Giving myself the time to be sure, to let all parties heal, to make sure the past stays in the past, never again to invade the present or future.

I will do it. But I have the sensibility to realize that another is involved, that things will not go as planned no matter how hard I try, that something will inevitably go wrong in the proceedings, that I will come out of it battered and likely losing.

And I refuse to let that stop me from trying.

Because I will be selfish in that sense, and do it for myself, because there is no point in not trying.

Lyrics

I will write my own song.

Because none of them do any justice to my situation, none of them even begin to explain it.

Pessimists revenge?

I torture myself with this optimism, imagining a future that will never be. It hurts too much to know the tides have changed, that I now stand where once you stood.

There have been changes, small ones and for the better, but not enough to make a difference. Not enough to keep dry.

And you erased it all, the little pieces I had left; now I have only vague recollections to hold on to. I always thought your words were concrete. How foolish of me to have believed technology might save me. That was always your realm.

And this wasted day is proof of it all, that I am still here waiting, waiting for something that will never be, possibly waiting for something I'm not yet sure of. Only waiting, but what good has waiting ever done?

Would it really matter? Would this be any different from before? I've waited on so many things, endured it all; though I think perhaps this one tops them all.

Treacherous optimism, leave me be. Let me be like the rest and see how terrible it was, how terrible it might have been. At least then I might not care, might not remember, might not want and ache every day that I wait in vain.

But taking action would only prove futile.

So I'm lost in this arms race against myself, free falling into uncharted territory, and no one is any the wiser.

At least not...

I remember...

Hey there,
I know it's hard to feel like I don't care at all.
Where you are and how you feel.
With these lights off as these wheels
keep rolling on and on. (and on and on and on...)
Slow things down or speed them up.
Not enough or way too much. (and on and on and on...)
How are you when I'm gone?

And I can't make it on my own.
(And I can't make it on my own.)
Because my heart is in Ohio.
So cut my wrists and black my eyes.
(Cut my wrists and black my eyes)
So I can fall asleep tonight, or die.
Because you kill me.
You know you do, you kill me well.
You like it too, and I can tell.
You never stop until my final breath is gone.

Spare me just three last words.
"I love you" is all she heard.
I'll wait for you, but I can't wait forever.

--Hawthorne Heights

Beginning to Heal?

Maybe a new beginning.

I'm beginning to see things, things I always hid from myself, things I pretended weren't there, so that we could be happy.

I have a habit of remembering the good and ignoring the bad. But why not? Optimism was my tragic downfall, thinking things might get better. The yang to your yin.

But three months have passed, and things are finally becoming clear.
The tears still come, and all too regularly at that, but its no longer the same thing. I miss other things, things I don't yet know how to describe.

A part of me will always love her, there's no doubt about that. But maybe she was right; maybe we aren't compatible at all, and someday I will be okay with that.

Not now, but something is changing.


I suppose this change was inevitable, given my earlier plans.
I just didn't know to expect it.

The things you don't know...

I never believed they couldn't hurt you. (And I don't know what fool came up with that phrase; some adulterer they must have been.)

I'm doing all these things, possibly on the verge of accomplishment, and your back has been turned for years. And though it sounds wrong, though it sounds like I've got my life all backwards and upside down, it's all kind of pointless when you're not around. What am I going to do with them, these accomplishments? Hang them on my wall, to look at them and say, "This is what I've done."

But I need more than that.

I need reason. In and of themselves, they are not enough.

I wanted to share them with you. I wanted to share everything.

Some days its so easy. Look at your picture and think, "You were never right for me."

But we all know I can't stay angry. At least not long enough to make it count.
And maybe that makes me weak, but it may also be my greatest strength, because I really can't think of many other people who can honestly forgive, who really do just want to move on and never look back except to say, "You taught me something invaluable."

I'm only asking for one thing.

But you've already taken it away from me.

A Turning Point

I miss my best friend.

Was it so hard to be both?

. . .

Sometimes I wish we didn't disagree on love.

Where you think love is selfless, I know it to be entirely selfish. And every evolutionary theory of human nature agrees with me. Without that selfishness our species couldn't have perpetuated.
Because we love the things that we like, we love the things that we want. Selfless acts are committed as a consequence of love, yet its not the same thing.
You have so often asked why I love you, as if knowing my reasons will change something. (And those reasons would be the same whether or not you know.) I have avoided giving concrete answers for fear of retaliation from you, because you would misunderstand.









...


Hate.

I realize its a bit dramatic...

...

In humid dreams

11:04 PM.

I should be sleeping, but instead I'm listening to the sound of crickets and feeling the staleness of immobile air. The evenings didn't always taste like this, bittersweet.
Last night you kissed me (or so my sleeping mind surmised). That current awoke me, but having done so left me with a deep ache. Those touches were electric.
Few other times in my life have I ever felt that way.
Remember that cold autumn night wrapped in a dozen blankets on your lawn?

I'm lying in wait, hoping to pounce when the moment is right. But it seems the moment will never be right, and when it is so much time will have passed perhaps you will have forgotten how it once felt.
("How long will I have to wait? 10 years? I can't wait forever.")

(The naiivety of that time astounds me.)
(Though I haven't changed a bit.)


This love is an illness.

The Rockies

I was looking to be inspired.

Instead I think only of you, of what you're missing here, that this should have been our vacation. The mountains are beautiful, but I feel I can't appreciate them fully without you to do so with me. And strangers, all of them, who I will keep my distance from until this adventure is over. Except you will still be on my mind.
Its rainy and cool here, a far cry from the stifling heat far below. Your kind of weather. Perhaps you'd be inspired, perhaps a place like this could get you to write again.
But not me. No, you are the thing that causes ink to be spilled, though strangely I can't find those words when we're together.
Its not really so painful anymore, as if I'm becoming immune. My tears are dry anyway, but this rain could certainly hide them.
Its too cold. I would love nothing more than to feel your arms around me as we watch the rain fall on this range.
But I will watch it myself, cold and uninspired, just shy of enjoying myself.

Probably not.

I feel like we've spent the last 4 years looking into opposite sides of a mirror; when we thought we saw each other, we were often only seeing ourselves.
Despite the fact that I'm saddened by this, it no less feels an inevitable part of being together. I want for you to understand yourself, to see yourself for what you are, what you're not, and the potential for what could be.
You've always loved the potential you saw in me, haven't you? But lover, your potential has always been two taps shy of recognized, and you need only to see that it is you holding yourself back.

What a mess I've gotten myself into.

Not for the first time...

I'm still in love with you.

Yet whenever I think of you, all I can think of is blame. How you blame me, for what you are, for what you're not. But those things aren't a product of circumstance, I was not the catalyst. You have allowed me to be that crutch, to make all the pain my fault, and only when I'm not around do you decide you can breath again, as if I were dead weight off your chest.
But I can't make you better, no matter how hard I try. And believe me, I've tried. From giving you my utmost to leaving you be. Neither of those seemed to satisfy you, nor did any of the variants in between.
Its strange to me that the person who taught me that only I could fix myself and no one else could would refuse to acknowledge that truism.

I'm holding out hope that such an epiphany will one day occur to you.
That maybe someday soon you'll see that I'm not such a villain after all.
That all I wanted was to return tenfold the love you have given me.

MIA

I knew this would happen.

Loving someone that much only makes it harder.