you've got a gypsy soul to blame
Amy's getting married in three days. On the surface I am so happy because I adore Steve; he's perfect for her and she would never be doing as well by herself as she does with him by her side. On the surface I wish them every happiness, and I pray they continue on the healthy path they've maintained this past year. But deep, deep down I'm destroyed.
She and I had been together for six months when I started this journal back in January 2002. We were already about 1/4 of the way into our descent into havoc at that point, but I was skilled at transcribing surface memories to mask the destruction--much the same way I'm doing now. For years before we got together, then for years after we broke up, we would marvel at how we never got sick of each other, and talk about how the other was the only person in the world we could ever see ourselves growing old with, how we'd end up on a porch in rockers talking about parallel universes and the power of now until our brains gave out. Was it fantasy or fiction? I still have the notebook where we wrote our wedding vows. Now it's ten years later and she's texting me at eleven p.m. from the hotel room in New York where she's staying so they can catch their early morning flight to Vegas, and asking if she can call me tomorrow so I can help her edit the ones she'll exchange with Steve. Of course, I tell her. Of course. But where is the reality in all of this truth?
"I believe that in our own crazy, fantastic way, we will get further than other people do by realistic means." But further into fantasy, not human life. It's our human life and our togetherness that I fought for with all my trickeries. -excerpt from my LJ, 2002
It's late and I'm a little sick so I'm nostalgic. I know she and I were only ever meant to be best friends, but it's impossible to completely ignore the vague sense of loss that once in a while curls it's tendrils around the corners of my mind. I could miss about a thousand other people, too, right now if I allowed myself to go there, so the best course of action is to watch "The Adjustment Bureau" and just go to sleep.
She and I had been together for six months when I started this journal back in January 2002. We were already about 1/4 of the way into our descent into havoc at that point, but I was skilled at transcribing surface memories to mask the destruction--much the same way I'm doing now. For years before we got together, then for years after we broke up, we would marvel at how we never got sick of each other, and talk about how the other was the only person in the world we could ever see ourselves growing old with, how we'd end up on a porch in rockers talking about parallel universes and the power of now until our brains gave out. Was it fantasy or fiction? I still have the notebook where we wrote our wedding vows. Now it's ten years later and she's texting me at eleven p.m. from the hotel room in New York where she's staying so they can catch their early morning flight to Vegas, and asking if she can call me tomorrow so I can help her edit the ones she'll exchange with Steve. Of course, I tell her. Of course. But where is the reality in all of this truth?
"I believe that in our own crazy, fantastic way, we will get further than other people do by realistic means." But further into fantasy, not human life. It's our human life and our togetherness that I fought for with all my trickeries. -excerpt from my LJ, 2002
It's late and I'm a little sick so I'm nostalgic. I know she and I were only ever meant to be best friends, but it's impossible to completely ignore the vague sense of loss that once in a while curls it's tendrils around the corners of my mind. I could miss about a thousand other people, too, right now if I allowed myself to go there, so the best course of action is to watch "The Adjustment Bureau" and just go to sleep.