last book i've read: As Simple As Snow by Gregory Galloway
music currently caressing my ears: Snow Patrol's Open Your Eyes, Elizabethtown, Vol. 2, Beck's Guero, Mat Kearney's Nothing Left To Lose, and The Streets
general mood: generally down
quote: "I've waited and I'll wait some more, won't see me knocking on another door. But all this is crazy and amazing. There's only one half of us that I'm saving. So I'm praying just to let it go, watch from a distance just to see you glow. Seven hundred places seven hundred faces more." --Mat Kearney
I feel like an island. Like the ocean is lapping at my shoreline, but the heart of me is somewhere, lost, in the middle of it all. Hidden, perhaps I want it that way, but still lost to some degree. My wishes, my desires at my doorstep, but I do not see them coming true. I lack the foresight to know what will happen, but I know what I would like to see. I just need to get a sense of confirmation from you too. But it won't happen, will it. Not the way I imagined, never the way we imagine.
God, I have really lost myself out here. I am waiting, waiting, waiting. But you're living, living, living. It's time for me to live too. I thought we were both on pause, but it seems I've been muted too. Stave off the discussion, perhaps the problem will subside. But not in this ocean, not without a storm. At first it was a hurricane of love, now it's becoming a hurricane of loss.
So I'll just continue to search on my island for what is it I miss most. Is it protection from loneliness, the warmth, or all of it? Am I selfish, or am I feeling? You've told me you're unfeeling, that you're trying to feel. I need a feeler. Otherwise that part of us will die. Is dying. My little world that revolves around you has decayed enough. Why is rationality your beast, pornography your crutch, and limbo your savior?
All I wanted was everything, and I guess that was just too much to ask. I am good at asking for too much, but somehow I always hope it will work out. This time, it just has not.
