We Never Danced, never

I can feel my soul yearn for you. While my mind says give it up, it is over, my soul feels ever so deeply rooted to you. Its sickening this uncontrollable obsession, stupid one-sided obsession. I try to remember there will be another lifetime in which our souls will meet again. And yet it is in this lifetime, this life today that I suffer thinking through the mistakes I made with you and how I have yet to save to you.

“Hope it's not too late
We were more than friends
I can hardly wait
'Til we meet again.”

It ought not be this way. I should forget you but you make it less than easy to do so. With your careless ways I cant help but care; about you, about what you do, what you think. Mostly if you think of me. And my rational says no. No he doesn’t think of me. No he doesn’t think in romantic phrases that have our soul intertwined like the roots of a flowerbed. No he doesn’t think of me. No.

Shake me up, let the crazy thoughts of my snow globe life fall in a different pattern. Let this thought, this elusive selective memory be buried by the plastic pieces of now, today, and tomorrow.

“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.