(no subject)
he spends a day sending songs to your email address that make no sense. at this point, in this place in your life, it just doesn't make sense. because he knows these stories. when you were a kid you turned on that jewel album because it made sense and you, small and awkward and sort of helpless when it came to making friends, did not. you never made sense, and you still don't, really, except that now if you can turn on a song or two just to settle you back into your skin again, it's okay to be yourself around strangers. and jewel was the beginning of this coming to terms with yourself. three years and souls bared and dragged through gutters and catching every painful tree branch on the way down, you know he knows this story, and so it's not a mistake that he'd send you a song from that same damn album. and this doesn't make sense.
you walk around these days and you say, i hate the internet. i love and i hate the internet, but mostly it's just trouble. i hate and i love al gore. i hate the internet. you hate it's lack of personality. how it's everything, all spread out like squiggly limbs branching out from your laptop, and nothing holds shape. and so songs in your inbox just makes you say it even louder. this is easy to do. to think about trivial things so that the songs themselves can't hurt you. but they can, and they do, because that's the way the story goes. a girl in love with music first and although she doesn't seem to get much in the way of real life the rest of the time, she can make one hell of a mixtape.
can we cut back to the part of the story where your brain begins to sympathize with the rest of your body, cuts off all feeling and you become numb? can we look back, objectively observe your behavior from the months july to now?
you cannot figure anything out. a year ago, when all of this started, til now, and you're lost and sometimes desperate and sad things. the only thing you can do is show nothing. when it gets to be too much, you send him an email back saying, enough. and that's all you can spare him. you could, no you could spare him more, but that's all you will give him, because no no no. you remember.
the distance should make this more clear. four months, different homes now, plane rides and train rides to new places without each other and back again, all of these things that have kept you separate, defined the both of you as different people, and shouldn't you understand better? it was awful and he told you to go and leave him alone and he actually used the words "mystery and fleeting" at one point and made your brain hurt, and these things just happen sometimes, where you get your heart really fucked over, but you know you can start from scratch, take the things that are around you and build something new to continue with. a new dictionary of familiar things you do, now.
show nothing. this is what you do.
but you are very tired of nothing.
you walk around these days and you say, i hate the internet. i love and i hate the internet, but mostly it's just trouble. i hate and i love al gore. i hate the internet. you hate it's lack of personality. how it's everything, all spread out like squiggly limbs branching out from your laptop, and nothing holds shape. and so songs in your inbox just makes you say it even louder. this is easy to do. to think about trivial things so that the songs themselves can't hurt you. but they can, and they do, because that's the way the story goes. a girl in love with music first and although she doesn't seem to get much in the way of real life the rest of the time, she can make one hell of a mixtape.
can we cut back to the part of the story where your brain begins to sympathize with the rest of your body, cuts off all feeling and you become numb? can we look back, objectively observe your behavior from the months july to now?
you cannot figure anything out. a year ago, when all of this started, til now, and you're lost and sometimes desperate and sad things. the only thing you can do is show nothing. when it gets to be too much, you send him an email back saying, enough. and that's all you can spare him. you could, no you could spare him more, but that's all you will give him, because no no no. you remember.
the distance should make this more clear. four months, different homes now, plane rides and train rides to new places without each other and back again, all of these things that have kept you separate, defined the both of you as different people, and shouldn't you understand better? it was awful and he told you to go and leave him alone and he actually used the words "mystery and fleeting" at one point and made your brain hurt, and these things just happen sometimes, where you get your heart really fucked over, but you know you can start from scratch, take the things that are around you and build something new to continue with. a new dictionary of familiar things you do, now.
show nothing. this is what you do.
but you are very tired of nothing.