28.Jan.2004

but it's as ephemeral as it feels

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the apex of my vulnerability

That night ended sourly; a drunken altercation ensued. I've been sore and tender since. My default is not animosity. It's depression. In lieu of ripping his head off, I experienced my own private catharses subsequent to placating him. We left together. We went our separate ways upon returning home. He sent me a text message that read, "Stop being sad; be pissed at me instead."

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An e-mail from my younger-yeared imago sits in my inbox. She is excited for me and my impending escapades to the East and all the passion which certainly has to release in loving droplets at some point. It might be the weight of my fuel-crash, it might be the encumbrance of my own humanity, it might be the tongue of my unrequited endeavors, it might be the circumspect hesitation, it might just be the banality of despondency, but I almost want to say he, the one whose ground I ostensibly worship, won't even care.

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I can always see through others' facades, when they snap, when they hiss, when they infect themselves with ambivalence. I can always see through that to soothe them. I have yet to have someone do the same for me. I'm only taking offense because I'm sick of your fucking distance. You should have just held me.

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Ache.

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time & machine