I want Tortoise Love.
Penn State is like Justice long undelivered.
Since the roughly four weeks of my arrival, I have made vast amounts of friends; some of course are fairweather and will eventually piss away and go seperate directions from me--some will probably end in some sort of emnity, grow tired of me or something, but some (I feel many) will be with me until at least I leave this place, if not longer. The people that I now know the first names and origins and passions of now number greater than all the people I even associated with at Penn College.
I am so happy to finally know people. In my two year hermitage in Williamsport, I suffered isolation and idiosyncracy unlike I've known since I was in elementary school. Things are finally returning to normal; my flambouyance has a place here, my campfire personality keeps drawing hands to warm in front of it. I'm very happy.
To my left, the fabulous Countess Casey Carelton. To your right, His Grace the Archbishop Cory Coppersmith, who has not had new photographs posted since 2005.
As you can all see...my hair is longer? I haven't posted new pictures of myself since roughly a year ago (god!) but nothing much has changed. That's my lovely scarf...and Casey, who's pretty much the most bitchin' girl I've met since I came here. Soon, with time and food and conversation, I will grow close to the people I have met. I will have, once again, people around to support me in rough times--something I've only had long distance since I moved.
Now, I'm going to get ridiculous and start talking about emotion and love and romance and dissatisfaction. So, if you don't feel up to it, go away. If you want to read melodrama and self-absorbed wallowing, read on.
There is only one hole left in my heart. I think, when the heart is broken, or wounded, or whatever, it never really heals. I think it scars over, or callouses. But the wound is still beneath; the marks are never erased. I have been, in the last two years, in three small, failed relationships, all pathetic, all doomed, all with minimal romance and happiness. One was adulturous, one was long-distance, one was unrequited. I have forgotten what it's like to be in a relationship where both people are attracted to one another. I can't remember what it's like to not have to pretend to be attracted, or not worry that the other person isn't attracted. It's such a goddamn mess. I'm tired of failure, and I'm tired of relationships as short as the lives of cicadas or cherry blossoms or icicles. Give me the long, slow love; the one that lasts like stalagmites. The tortoise love.
And since I've arrived, I've seen dozens of wonderful boys. But not wonderful enough? Some I hope never like me--I don't want to have to reject them. I have been attracted to so few of them, and I'm glad for that. I'm so happy I haven't suffered the pain of "falling in love" with somebody. That pain, by Diana, I want only to suffer again if it's worth it--if the other one suffers with me, for me.
This was a really long.
Since the roughly four weeks of my arrival, I have made vast amounts of friends; some of course are fairweather and will eventually piss away and go seperate directions from me--some will probably end in some sort of emnity, grow tired of me or something, but some (I feel many) will be with me until at least I leave this place, if not longer. The people that I now know the first names and origins and passions of now number greater than all the people I even associated with at Penn College.
I am so happy to finally know people. In my two year hermitage in Williamsport, I suffered isolation and idiosyncracy unlike I've known since I was in elementary school. Things are finally returning to normal; my flambouyance has a place here, my campfire personality keeps drawing hands to warm in front of it. I'm very happy.
To my left, the fabulous Countess Casey Carelton. To your right, His Grace the Archbishop Cory Coppersmith, who has not had new photographs posted since 2005.
As you can all see...my hair is longer? I haven't posted new pictures of myself since roughly a year ago (god!) but nothing much has changed. That's my lovely scarf...and Casey, who's pretty much the most bitchin' girl I've met since I came here. Soon, with time and food and conversation, I will grow close to the people I have met. I will have, once again, people around to support me in rough times--something I've only had long distance since I moved.
Now, I'm going to get ridiculous and start talking about emotion and love and romance and dissatisfaction. So, if you don't feel up to it, go away. If you want to read melodrama and self-absorbed wallowing, read on.
There is only one hole left in my heart. I think, when the heart is broken, or wounded, or whatever, it never really heals. I think it scars over, or callouses. But the wound is still beneath; the marks are never erased. I have been, in the last two years, in three small, failed relationships, all pathetic, all doomed, all with minimal romance and happiness. One was adulturous, one was long-distance, one was unrequited. I have forgotten what it's like to be in a relationship where both people are attracted to one another. I can't remember what it's like to not have to pretend to be attracted, or not worry that the other person isn't attracted. It's such a goddamn mess. I'm tired of failure, and I'm tired of relationships as short as the lives of cicadas or cherry blossoms or icicles. Give me the long, slow love; the one that lasts like stalagmites. The tortoise love.
And since I've arrived, I've seen dozens of wonderful boys. But not wonderful enough? Some I hope never like me--I don't want to have to reject them. I have been attracted to so few of them, and I'm glad for that. I'm so happy I haven't suffered the pain of "falling in love" with somebody. That pain, by Diana, I want only to suffer again if it's worth it--if the other one suffers with me, for me.
This was a really long.