Journal # 21 - It's Been Six Whole Minutes and You Haven't Called Once
i'm under the illusion that my live journal will catch disease and crumble to miasmal rotting shreds if i don't update it. this is, of course, ridiculous. i think i may have a bad case of hypochondria.
what time are we upon, and where do i belong? what should i say in this day and age?....well, i am sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry.
i'm sorry that whenever i think about him or her or them or it, i return to a cracked mental painting filled with tantalizing feeling and i want to stay in the past forever. won't i ever leave the warm, hazy sands of its softly fading beach. a sunset at noon. in the past everything is dark. the ghosts of people who used to be there smile blankly and walk away. i can't touch them anymore. i still look up his phone number in the phone book; i still drive by her house; i still talk about them even though it's over whatever it was anyway. i am every drunk at every bar on every lonely night. what i am writing to you and apologizing for is because i still want to touch them even though i can't anymore.
how can i display my future to the past and make it see what it is missing? why do i need to do it so much? i think i am in love with old feelings. this is, of course, ridiculous. i have a bad case of nostalgia.
i am still inwardly fighting. honestly, i want freedom. no really, i do. i want to float away from everything. no more fucking strings snagging my wooden hands clinging desperately to the precipice. tangling and dangling me. teasing me with the thought of letting go but never actually letting me. knock on wood. someday i will cut my strings run away and breathe actual air again. my pseudo freedom exists. but then the second i have a dream, i smell an old perfume, i listen to a favorite song from long ago, the past comes cascading back. i'm hanging over the edge of a waterfall.
panic. this is the time to panic. there is no time left. you wasted your first impression. panic. we live in a beautiful world. someone turned out the lights. someone closed their eyes. everybody forgets. nobody is listening or waiting or watching anymore. everybody had other plans when you fell apart. now really, start to panic.
those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. and those who remain, craving a do-over, always remember.
what time are we upon, and where do i belong? what should i say in this day and age?....well, i am sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry.
i'm sorry that whenever i think about him or her or them or it, i return to a cracked mental painting filled with tantalizing feeling and i want to stay in the past forever. won't i ever leave the warm, hazy sands of its softly fading beach. a sunset at noon. in the past everything is dark. the ghosts of people who used to be there smile blankly and walk away. i can't touch them anymore. i still look up his phone number in the phone book; i still drive by her house; i still talk about them even though it's over whatever it was anyway. i am every drunk at every bar on every lonely night. what i am writing to you and apologizing for is because i still want to touch them even though i can't anymore.
how can i display my future to the past and make it see what it is missing? why do i need to do it so much? i think i am in love with old feelings. this is, of course, ridiculous. i have a bad case of nostalgia.
i am still inwardly fighting. honestly, i want freedom. no really, i do. i want to float away from everything. no more fucking strings snagging my wooden hands clinging desperately to the precipice. tangling and dangling me. teasing me with the thought of letting go but never actually letting me. knock on wood. someday i will cut my strings run away and breathe actual air again. my pseudo freedom exists. but then the second i have a dream, i smell an old perfume, i listen to a favorite song from long ago, the past comes cascading back. i'm hanging over the edge of a waterfall.
panic. this is the time to panic. there is no time left. you wasted your first impression. panic. we live in a beautiful world. someone turned out the lights. someone closed their eyes. everybody forgets. nobody is listening or waiting or watching anymore. everybody had other plans when you fell apart. now really, start to panic.
those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. and those who remain, craving a do-over, always remember.