long december
before i send it out with a bang (quite literally the best one I've ever had) I need to write down some memories so I'll always have them. (and because I would do anything to drain this moody sort of heartbreaking feeling that trading Charleston for Asheville always creates...)
(in Charleston I woke up on the first day of the New Year to watch an Emancipation Day parade float by right in front of Landon's house and I was drunk on SO many kinds of love, I can't even begin to explain the perfection all the reckless joy I have to give up now.
but let's back up and navigate towards the only reason I ever write. i'm thinking 20947019274 things about a man and I need to sort them out.
i'm changing. i don't need to define it all anymore. im starting to accept that some relationships just unravel in tangled ways when historically i've always needed to wrap someone around my finger.
(i can be as deep as I need to be. as honest. this is only for me.)
(how much i've changed in 7 days alone)
arguing with landon last night about Pawlowski's ability to blow magic dust in my face (and every girl's face for that matter) and he is almost enraged that
I lose all my rationality, become weak in the knees. and on my best/worst days even fall for an illusion.
he knows me better. I know me better. i'm out of control and definitely out of character these days and loving every second of it.
he's just Pawlowski
i spend hours trying to see down his soul. I try to see what he is thinking and at times I feel like he knows I'm capable reading his mind, reaching down and pulling his heart back in it's proper place because I think his has sunk way down low. so low he doesn't even care if it beats sometimes. women live to do this.
and then just as easily I don't care. just as easily, I can't. for the sake of my own sanity.
(how can you simultaneously and truly care and not care at the same time?)
we climb up a tomb from the 1800s. sit at the top of this tomb in a historic graveyard (a scene exclusive to charleston and actually gorgeous in the sense that I feel nothing one should feel in a graveyard, just a calm sort of anger and disbelief laced with an overwhelming urge to laugh and kiss him. he has already slept with 3 women since I've been gone)
who does that? what angry star runs your devil/angel heart? how long will you live like this? do you even want to? (he is so honest. he is so fucked up. he is me if I was honest to myself) i have so much to say to you but suddenly i don't care if it all gets said.
i wrote you a letter (in my usual emo fashion) but I'd rather call you a fucking whore to your face in a graveyard on top of a tomb six feet in the air in charleston south carolina where it is 70 degrees on the last night of december where I feel absolutely crazy for you where you have blown magic dust in my face
and I kiss you knowing you'll save nothing for me, I kiss you only because your curious affection for me is almost tangible therefore I know it's real, even if everyone shakes their heads at us. even if everyone tells me I've been drastically duped. I FEEL IT IN YOU.
i kiss you because I know that we are about to call it a night and like last week you will hold me all night in the most perfect way I like to be held without any expectation (thats part of the magic you blow in my face.)
every girl is in love with you. i see them in the living room glaring at me because you've blown magic on them too. they want you like I had you last night
all the way inside them, your hand between the abdomen and the bed fucking them like a ghost running through a wall kissing their back, pulling their hair. so good it's like the lust induced dreams I have in the morning before you even touch me. so good you wake up the whole house.
i've never felt like this. i don't think you even have anything to do with it.
i feel like i'm waking up. it's not even about you.
i've been accidentally attaching because i think that equates to love.
but i can feel love just fine. i can look in your eyes and take what I want. and i can leave.
we were all born to leave.
there are all different kinds of love.
(in Charleston I woke up on the first day of the New Year to watch an Emancipation Day parade float by right in front of Landon's house and I was drunk on SO many kinds of love, I can't even begin to explain the perfection all the reckless joy I have to give up now.
but let's back up and navigate towards the only reason I ever write. i'm thinking 20947019274 things about a man and I need to sort them out.
i'm changing. i don't need to define it all anymore. im starting to accept that some relationships just unravel in tangled ways when historically i've always needed to wrap someone around my finger.
(i can be as deep as I need to be. as honest. this is only for me.)
(how much i've changed in 7 days alone)
arguing with landon last night about Pawlowski's ability to blow magic dust in my face (and every girl's face for that matter) and he is almost enraged that
I lose all my rationality, become weak in the knees. and on my best/worst days even fall for an illusion.
he knows me better. I know me better. i'm out of control and definitely out of character these days and loving every second of it.
he's just Pawlowski
i spend hours trying to see down his soul. I try to see what he is thinking and at times I feel like he knows I'm capable reading his mind, reaching down and pulling his heart back in it's proper place because I think his has sunk way down low. so low he doesn't even care if it beats sometimes. women live to do this.
and then just as easily I don't care. just as easily, I can't. for the sake of my own sanity.
(how can you simultaneously and truly care and not care at the same time?)
we climb up a tomb from the 1800s. sit at the top of this tomb in a historic graveyard (a scene exclusive to charleston and actually gorgeous in the sense that I feel nothing one should feel in a graveyard, just a calm sort of anger and disbelief laced with an overwhelming urge to laugh and kiss him. he has already slept with 3 women since I've been gone)
who does that? what angry star runs your devil/angel heart? how long will you live like this? do you even want to? (he is so honest. he is so fucked up. he is me if I was honest to myself) i have so much to say to you but suddenly i don't care if it all gets said.
i wrote you a letter (in my usual emo fashion) but I'd rather call you a fucking whore to your face in a graveyard on top of a tomb six feet in the air in charleston south carolina where it is 70 degrees on the last night of december where I feel absolutely crazy for you where you have blown magic dust in my face
and I kiss you knowing you'll save nothing for me, I kiss you only because your curious affection for me is almost tangible therefore I know it's real, even if everyone shakes their heads at us. even if everyone tells me I've been drastically duped. I FEEL IT IN YOU.
i kiss you because I know that we are about to call it a night and like last week you will hold me all night in the most perfect way I like to be held without any expectation (thats part of the magic you blow in my face.)
every girl is in love with you. i see them in the living room glaring at me because you've blown magic on them too. they want you like I had you last night
all the way inside them, your hand between the abdomen and the bed fucking them like a ghost running through a wall kissing their back, pulling their hair. so good it's like the lust induced dreams I have in the morning before you even touch me. so good you wake up the whole house.
i've never felt like this. i don't think you even have anything to do with it.
i feel like i'm waking up. it's not even about you.
i've been accidentally attaching because i think that equates to love.
but i can feel love just fine. i can look in your eyes and take what I want. and i can leave.
we were all born to leave.
there are all different kinds of love.