the last one?
I have been at my throat for the past year, remembering you. How did I? Music, smell, cool air at night, november.. evoking memory. It's strange the way i came to discover that you can overwork your feelings and your memories. Contrary to popular belief, or perhaps i am just deceiving; I have not been nostalgic for us in months.
I want to face your direction, close my eyes, bite my lips, and give us a "tough shit" gesture.
I sent you a piece that i've been dancing to recently; loving myself to. I feel happy this way, and less heavy.
I stopped listening to music that reminds me of what we had awhile ago, after they stopped speaking to me. It was hard for me to accept this; a morbid depression lingers when i think : the music we loved eachother to no longer elicits feeling; memory of us is numbing, my perception of the world changed and grew into another. Admittingly, it is less beautiful- i've found that things tend to be like this when you're out of love.
[what if i had never went to your show?]
At my throat still, i threatened my sovereign existence after you left. Fearing I would erase a bliss of childhood by growing out of you. Im closing my eyes, biting my lips, clenching my brow; Baby, it happened..but we must grow.
It's been sad for me, all of this. Pitiful, and i've wanted to cry for it again tonight; for me, you, both of us. But i can't do this anymore. You cannot imagine..
Im most upset, because i know that you are one of the only who would dance with me in the dark, and not laugh when i move my hips all over the place. I know you would find it beautiful. You have smiling eyes that would shine through; and i was grateful to find that comfort. You know it's rare.
Now, im feeling sloppy and unhappy with this entry, but i suppose it proves sufficient for it's timing and my trying to sound most blunt while still butchering a form of poetic justice. I tend to do this often/
: 'Ah, youth whose memory brings despair!'
i've drowned in this concept too many times.
i'm not going back to edit.
I want to face your direction, close my eyes, bite my lips, and give us a "tough shit" gesture.
I sent you a piece that i've been dancing to recently; loving myself to. I feel happy this way, and less heavy.
I stopped listening to music that reminds me of what we had awhile ago, after they stopped speaking to me. It was hard for me to accept this; a morbid depression lingers when i think : the music we loved eachother to no longer elicits feeling; memory of us is numbing, my perception of the world changed and grew into another. Admittingly, it is less beautiful- i've found that things tend to be like this when you're out of love.
[what if i had never went to your show?]
At my throat still, i threatened my sovereign existence after you left. Fearing I would erase a bliss of childhood by growing out of you. Im closing my eyes, biting my lips, clenching my brow; Baby, it happened..but we must grow.
It's been sad for me, all of this. Pitiful, and i've wanted to cry for it again tonight; for me, you, both of us. But i can't do this anymore. You cannot imagine..
Im most upset, because i know that you are one of the only who would dance with me in the dark, and not laugh when i move my hips all over the place. I know you would find it beautiful. You have smiling eyes that would shine through; and i was grateful to find that comfort. You know it's rare.
Now, im feeling sloppy and unhappy with this entry, but i suppose it proves sufficient for it's timing and my trying to sound most blunt while still butchering a form of poetic justice. I tend to do this often/
: 'Ah, youth whose memory brings despair!'
i've drowned in this concept too many times.
i'm not going back to edit.