strawberry fields forever
It's all coming together so quickly. Back into the real world, she's single again. I'm truly facing down two of the most potentially painful things I can think of -- with a bottle in one hand (as backup) and a pen in the other. And a fierce laugh in the middle.
I was very concerned with what this summer would do to me. What she would do to me this summer. It wasn't that bad, until recently. She becomes single and I realize the truth or make up a fake one or something. Whatever it is, it is a pillar of my life. I'd stay here for her. In a heartbeat. If only to take a chance on relationship. If only to have a relationship. If only to have a relationship with her.
Back in high school, when I was in love for the first time, when I'd get off the phone with my current "her" I'd sort of, it's this sort of slow-motion movement with my face. These thoughts would glance through my head and I'd faintly smirk and laugh. It's sort of how I express deep-seated romantic satisfaction. Sort of a warm, tired rolling release of air and sound and satisfaction.
I do that with her all the time. Lost my train of thought. Many minutes between this paragraph and the last. It's not just to take a chance. It's, whatever chance I take, if I come out on top, I'm with her. She is the top of my life list right now. Cutting through all self-delusion, the possibility of being with her is the most important thing to me. Bar none. I haven't been able to sleep ever since I found out she was single. Not that I think my chances are so great, though sometimes I indulge in satisfying confidence, but my imagination -- the possibility of possibilities -- runs utterly amok. Works out a line of happening in such rushing detail that it's almost real. Or real enough.
I guess the tragedy of it all is that in order to expose yourself to a blissful perchance, you are also open to a spiraling downfall. But I'm getting at better and simply willing the bad away. When left with the bliss, I'm locked in slow, dreamy, aching waiting.
To move beyond inebriated word-spasms, she fills me up. And I simply will myself to think that this may become more permanent.
I was very concerned with what this summer would do to me. What she would do to me this summer. It wasn't that bad, until recently. She becomes single and I realize the truth or make up a fake one or something. Whatever it is, it is a pillar of my life. I'd stay here for her. In a heartbeat. If only to take a chance on relationship. If only to have a relationship. If only to have a relationship with her.
Back in high school, when I was in love for the first time, when I'd get off the phone with my current "her" I'd sort of, it's this sort of slow-motion movement with my face. These thoughts would glance through my head and I'd faintly smirk and laugh. It's sort of how I express deep-seated romantic satisfaction. Sort of a warm, tired rolling release of air and sound and satisfaction.
I do that with her all the time. Lost my train of thought. Many minutes between this paragraph and the last. It's not just to take a chance. It's, whatever chance I take, if I come out on top, I'm with her. She is the top of my life list right now. Cutting through all self-delusion, the possibility of being with her is the most important thing to me. Bar none. I haven't been able to sleep ever since I found out she was single. Not that I think my chances are so great, though sometimes I indulge in satisfying confidence, but my imagination -- the possibility of possibilities -- runs utterly amok. Works out a line of happening in such rushing detail that it's almost real. Or real enough.
I guess the tragedy of it all is that in order to expose yourself to a blissful perchance, you are also open to a spiraling downfall. But I'm getting at better and simply willing the bad away. When left with the bliss, I'm locked in slow, dreamy, aching waiting.
To move beyond inebriated word-spasms, she fills me up. And I simply will myself to think that this may become more permanent.