hello. how art thou? Better than most i hope. i received your many messages after being out at school or out at boring escapes. anyway, i write now because you do need to know that i am here and hearing you.theres a strike through the first version of her name because she was attempting to change the appearance of its spelling because there is no "y" in the spelling of the name to begin with. and then of course there may have been other reasons too.
when last we spoke anger, frustration, hurt and oppression filled the air. i hope, still, that you continue to hold reason in the palm of your hand. i wish i could make the pain go away, or dissolve the longing for happiness. See, i believe its the longing for the impossible that makes life a misery. But that's another tragedy for another time and place.
on the matter of the purported road-trip to Disney's land, i am sorry i have to decline the handsome offer. i hope you ahve fun (though). and i know you'll understand.
with so much busy business to keep ourselves from the pain, the trade-off is equal to that which makes us suffer. The tradeoff, yes, what we lose and what we may stand to gain, in one single swoop of time's hand, is decided. i'm angry at the world and i can't say i'm alone but i can't say i want company (of those who are angry like me). i'm angry at the world and i have no right to be, thats the way it is. this is what happens when i am idle. madness, the aching kind.
and yet i don't know why i should want to tell you. and i can't think why you should care.
and of course i never sent it because i never finished it.
the bold line(s) are self-explanatory.
and in the same ragged notebook i find this too. i was going through a pseudo song-writing period. january was going to play music and i was going to contribute both my voice and some of my lines. this is one of those that i crossed out--mainly because i'm not a song-writer. and so having said that.. and a way way go....
promise
i could go out and see the world,
if i wanted, for what it is;
and tell you, for what it's worth,
the truth
wrapped with pleasing new ribbons
and a brown paper bag
i could hold your hand when you were scared
i could stand by and let you save your pride
pretend that what we'd shared
was just a thing to do, for it's time.
i could cry into your shoulder(s)
and later stand alone in the center of the room.
i could leave and it would be the end,
i could leave
my solemn little book
my solem little book
my dark angel,
when i could call you mine.
my boy
my troubled, heartsick love,
when you were still my love.
my friend
when friendship did not turn
to hateful, hurting stormy
silent hell.
Where do i begin to tell you
all?
where do i begin the end,
that i might close the book?
leaving
oh. what's worse?
the lies of a beautiful face
or the smile under cover?
you look like a stranger
and i can't get far enough
bow my head low enough
or keep myself closed
(kill the dream so you won't notice
i still feel you here in the poorly lit back-room of my memory.
i pushed you away
but i didn't know you wanted to be
so much closer to her than to me
i swallowed my own lies
i swallowed the lump in my throat
and pressed my tears dry
i forced my heart to turn over
when i woke you were gone
oh. whats worse?
a heart that gives
to a love that lives in another
or the loss of a friend?
oh, whats worse in the end--
15:22 - Tuesday, Jun. 07, 2005
Recent entries:
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newlife.html">begin at the beginning. - 10 April 2008
moody.html">a blanket for a bad mood under the sun. - 25 March 2007
emilludwig.html">...kissing a fool... - 05 December 2006
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