“There’s no place like home to make me feel alone”

Once again I fell under his smoky spell. Just when I thought I had risen above my old obsessions I found myself wrestling in his sheets after midnight. He responds with blankness, he no longer feels for me the way I seem to want for his attention. He is melancholy while I push buttons that I know are infallible. Less begging this year, more of an understanding, a Christmas tradition if you will.

And now I wait for my in house love to return, I wait with little remorse. Have I no heart? Or is it that I have too much heart, too many feelings? Too much feeling, touching. What now? I tend to be destructive in idle love, I need a jump start and I doubt Disneyworld will fill the void but I’ll give it a try.

Happy Birthday
Happy New Year
Another year full of hope on the horizon and yet I doubt it will be much different. Same listlessness, same absentminded philandering. More heart, less soul. More soul, less body.
Wishes, dreams and mostly schemes.

Looking for more information on the Moons

Maybe I’ll just go and cry alone at all of our love and everything I still think I'm missing. You are my beautiful being, the sleeper to my dreamer, the rock to my waves and yet with all that has and is becoming I feel lonely and still a little lost. I wish to slow dance to scratched records under twinkle lights with you while you want for television glow and hoppy beverages. Where and how have we made this happy medium my love? You have taken the crazed look from my eyes and replaced it with a glazed love-drunk stare. You saved me from myself and I only hope I have saved enough of myself to be eternally Me.

Two months later: giving up the old Obsessions and It's Love again

Listening to Built to Spills “Car” and thinking of the old days where I relished in our awkwardness and my keen ability to seem completely insane but be in total control of our relationship. I have done my best in these last months to break my lasting vice of the old Him. Small successes have been made and I am proud that the turmoil that these thoughts and obsessions were causing has subsided like the staunch heat of summer.

I once again find myself in what should be autumn and yet no leaves have changed here and my sweater speaks only of the incessant air conditioning.

Most importantly Love has grown from where there was only a dry well. A lovely babbling brook of laughter and joy, smiles where there were tears and a clenched jaw, conversation where there was silent resentment, lust where there was disgust, companionship where there was deceit, trust where there were glares of jealousy but most importantly Love, again, from a best friend.

Well its almost like being in love

It smells like tears as I cry myself to wake. Through sobs I ask for your help and you say, “ I’m sleeping.” Well sweet prince as you lay in slumber I’m lost in life and silently plead and beg you to love me whilst I struggle to tolerate myself. It feels like an earthquake tearing through my soul. The image in the mirror is but a shell of my former vivaciousness. I plead to her come back to me, come back and go back to nights of wild ruin and days of sun soaked abandon. Have I chosen this life in exchange for the wonderful nightmare of a dream I used to live? It seems that way more and more. I try to tell you secrets and you make them into jokes, cant you see I need something much more then your carelessness. I need an intellectual, an artist, more than your muscles and muscle milk. You may look good on futuristic paper but your canvas in blank and mine is being shaken away like an etch a sketch where only specks, mere remnants of my former life cling there statically. I need a change and hopefully something will present its self before someone does.

Lonely never, ever change

I wake in the night breathless from dreams and nightmares, alone for once no one to talk me out of these illusions except the bright light of the television.
In dream I choked and struggled for breath as I ran from my family congregated in a church, I never was good at breathing when it comes to structured God. As I ran from the white clap board steeple down the dirt path my nightmare followed me, a young man, he must have been beautiful at one point, in a suit with a black cloth over his head, once I turned to catch my breath he was there unveiling as I screamed, “no, no, no.”
His right eye was sewn shut.
Blind to the world?
I woke with a start still mouthing the negative.
This vision has left me in a funk listless and sad. Listening to old standards as I go through the motions, “ Lovely never, ever change.” These songs remind me of dinner parties from my childhood, candlelight and Billie Holiday, pasta and my mom sneaking cigarettes. Days were easier then, nights too, and I just keep searching for somewhere beyond the sea.