Friday March 4 2011

In and out of sleep—I just can’t do it. Maybe 3 or 4 hours and then she walks into the room pissed because I sent Les another message of disdain and anger. I mean, what would you do? It’s a classic scene of two men competing for a girl. I basically told him to back off in so many words. She’s standing there upset because she thinks it was out of line and may have sabotaged things. I can’t stop being dramatic and emotional. My mouth is terribly dry—drinking a water bottle.

Eventually, she lies down next to me. She smells different and almost foreign to me. I feel even more insecure now because I can’t seem to convince myself that she’s moved on—that she’s really done. I know she cares about me. I know she won’t forget me. I’m just incredibly scared of losing her completely. The last time something like this happened I demanded she be mine. And she liked that and went with it. And then we started dating. We joke about the idea of me one day demanding she marry me rather than asking. Would you really marry me later in life?

“You’re making me crazy!” I still see a lot of instability and fluctuation in her. I mean, we can all be like that. She’s still self-interested as am I. But man, the thousand words just aren’t cutting it for her. I don’t have much more that I can prove that could convince her how much I love her and want to be with her. She’s just grown cold.

Okay. Okay. Robert, it’s time. It’s really time to kill it. She wants to be free. Let her go and make mistakes—maybe it will lead her back to me. Let it go. Let it go. Let it go. Yes, I’m brokenhearted. Yes, I’m in pain. Yes, I love her. And Yes, I have to risk time apart from her and let it unfurl again if she’s willing to. The world we had is crumbling. A new development is in the works. Let’s get productive. Let’s live life.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

—Psalm 34:18

Immune Defense.


Lying down on the bed watching Croupier [1998].

“The world breaks everyone, and afterwards many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills - it kills the very good, and the very gentle, and the very brave, impartially. If you are none of these, you can be sure it will kill you, too, but there will be no special hurry.”

Your love used to be too big for me, my love. But now my love is too big for you, my love.

Attempting to nap—I’m kind of bedridden.

Phone talk with Renee—I miss her one-on-one friendship—she has good insight.

Tuna Salad Sandwich. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Time for the Friday night thing. I drive—James in the passenger seat. The Killer’s “Mr. Brightside” finds me well on the stereo. Feeling a sense of excitement having a night out with friends. I need this.

Picking up Rachel from her dorm. It’s another complicated entry through the gate—they need to get our names, check our ids, confirm with Rachel over the phone—a legitimate 10-minute procedure. But we got her in the back with the newspapers. Picking up Chris, too.

The Wave—dance catharsis, the beat, the boom, the snap, the shake. After two beers in I’m loose as a goose. Tristan and Renee, the girl I met from last time, join our posse.

Towards the end of the night I find myself leaning over the dance floor barricade, just watching the bodies groove to Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart”. I’m lost in a down tempo thought.

Driving away from Norfolk. I’m mostly quiet and hypnotized by the road.

Rachel spouts out, “I can hear your thoughts permeating the car!”

Newspaper route.

My brain is churning. I’m depressed. I’m sad. It feels like I’ve started the grieving process all over again.

We didn’t make smart moves in the beginning. I didn’t think I’d be this vulnerable. I thought I’d be invincible to pain. I should’ve known better. Well now we both know we’re capable of hurting one another.

You found your emotional independence. Congratulations. You don’t want me anymore. You’ve written me into your history book. I’m just your past now. I’m dead to you. I am nothing but a ghost with no choice but to haunt the empty recesses of your heart and hope you’ll hear my howl of longing one day. But for the time being, I can’t pine. I have to be healthy: mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically. As much as I want to be in a state of denial and say “No! No! No!” I know it’s going to be healthy for me. Maybe for you, too.

I know. I know. I’m dramatic. But it doesn’t change how real this is. It doesn’t change how much you’re always going to mean to me. Please, when you think of me, always see me with open arms because they will always be open for you.

Chicken Noodle Soup. Garlic Naan Bread.

Watching Daybreakers [2009].

Here’s a live performance of a song I wrote this past week entitled “A Thousand Words”.

“a thousand words i've given to you

a thousand words just to prove

the unchanging desire in me

but a thousand words won't do

a thousand lines i sang about you

a thousand lines just for you

i believe there is an open door

that you choose to ignore

see outside imperfection

see outside of you

see outside this perspective

see inside of me

a thousand hearts i painted for you

a thousand hearts just to prove

the undying fire in me

but a thousand hearts won't do

a thousand times you gave up on me

a thousand times just to see

if i believed in the open door

and a thousand times i'd ignore

see outside imperfection

see outside of you

see outside this perspective

see inside of me

on and on we offer love

on and on i still try

i will live in secret pleasure

if you live inside of me

a thousand words i've given to you

but a thousand words won't do”

Early bedtime for me. 9 a.m.

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