I could just die

This is straight from the vault. unedited too!

January 25, 2004                                                   

I could wait forever. I could wait and wait and wait. I wouldn’t mind. Its being alone. Not having anyhim to talk to. I know what I want. I know who I am today and who I’ll be tomorrow. It’s the days after that. The times in between. The people I want to know and the children I want to have. The husband I believe  in so much.  I see beautiful happy people everywhere. Glancing at each other, caressing the  waist, arms wrapped up tight, kissing with such conviction. Love is what I had once. I had someone to hold me tight at night, to whisper how beautiful and sexy I am while I was seconds away from ecstasy. I have felt the niceness of having someone to go on dates with, to watch late night television and scary movies with, to get high and stare at each other all night with. Someone to play drinking games and midnight top down rides with. Reading magazines and  playing jokes and being silly. Someone to claim as my own piece of breathing walking talking heart. An extension of myself. He let me feel that hot sting of a hand when I wouldn’t let things go his way. The beating of my heart when he hit himself over and over to prove that he loved me and he would beat himself to a pulp if it meant showing me he didn’t mean to hurt me. I remember when my heart broke and was repaired in the same night. I remember the look on his face when he saw me standing there. Waiting all sexy like. People talking to me, asking who I was waiting for. Saying when he came up to me how lucky he was to have a sexy girl like me waste my time. And him. He just. This is the end of this paragraph. When I can write one that isn’t lame and does make sense, I will come back and write one.

Part two

Now that I realize I am forever cursed with a “condition”, I have come to the conclusion that I should stay away from relationships and romantic encounters and  focus on the more important things.  Becoming a bona-fide spinster takes hard work and I need to bulk up for the forthcoming shit storm of my life. Being lonely is a process. It slowly wraps around  you and before one knows it, yr lonely. I remember a time when  I was so sure of my future…trailer park…babies…drugs…a “husband”.

“significant” other. What do they signify?

Qualities of the man of my “dreams”

1.       Tall\

2.       Limber

3.       Dark haired

4.       Excellent taste in music and art

5.       Sensitive, but not too sensitive

6.       Fabulous sexual chemistry

7.       Ambition and education

8.       Strange hobbies and/or  interests

9.       Very strong family values in a non religious way

10.    (left blank because one never knows)

Derek told me the first (before the last) time that we spoke, that we cared for each other because the sex was always great. Never boring, never stale, never bad. We loved each other. We yearned, we stalked, we lusted, we obsessed. But he also said that  we shouldn’t be together. I think that is the first remotely intelligent and selfless thing he has ever said to me. He said it because he has someone to hold his dick at night while he sleeps and dreams of the day when he will have a big free house and he’s sitting on a big free mountain of pot, and he is fucking in a big bed with a woman who freely lets him fuck her in the ass. I swallow my pride.

I try to stumble away , clutching the ripped and sewn and stapled pieces of my manifest of what a “man” is.

Goddamit if I don’t think about him every seconed of the day. He has once again left me… I AM 14 AGAIN!!!!! I am 14 with a heart as big as an apple and feelings so hurt…well, it hurts. I know that our paths will cross again. I just know. I trust with all my might that I will see him again. See that face…droopy a little…round tip nose…grey-blue-slate eyes. Long body and lean muscle. Skin that smells of soap and cigarettes and  sometimes even beer. “whatever differences our lives had been, we together make limb.” blonde hair that is so fine that even when tugged lightly during a romp in bed, he would cry out like a lamb looking for its mother. He has big hands and long fingers, dry from masturbation and  various work around the house. When he was on top of me and having an orgasm…his face would seem to melt. His eyes would lower and roll and his mouth would draw together and you could see his tongue a little and I remembered that I would never forget that ridiculous face. That  face that looked irritated but stern when  he made me a mix tape and sleater kinney started to play and he said “shhhhh!!! This is sleater kinney.” that face that electrified me like a lightning bolt straight through adolescence clear into adulthood.  I have said this so many times. I have thought this thought and contemplated every possible product of such.  “what I would give, to know what he was doing right now, at this exact moment.” he isn’t fair and life isn’t fair and I deserve to be deserving of someones love and affection and devotion and and and and…….someones everything. I suppose I will be pining artistically for the rest of this lifetime. I have no doubt. This operation was doomed from the beginning. Abort mission.