the hand gropes.

i miss you. i ache because i am missing you to such an extent that i cannot begin to comprehend. and i do not know why i am feeling this. and i do not like it.

summer closing, and what do i have to say for myself? regrets linger, memories don't fade, and some days i couldn't be happier. i can't say that i 'found' you, as you've been there for an extensive period of time. however, you came around at the opportune time. some days i wish differently, but you have to remember that i'm still learning. still trying, still recovering. it isn't easy to go from one to another, not a smooth transition. but i'm trying, please believe me when i tell you this. i want to try. for you.

the thoughts i don't speak

i'm scatterbrained.

"are you sad?

you better not be sad."

what if i was?

i can't explain what is indivisible.

numerous, endless theories.

could it be me chasing desire

or you starting the fire?

reach till you're out of room to stretch.

over and over and over.

nostalgia.

the truth.

you and i are going to be okay. you know that, right?

we're going to be.

okay?

right.

the shaking stoplights.

Poetic?

Pathetic.

A constant tug

between the war

on terror, or

peace of mind.

Without a general

sense of

direction

I stand

motionless in

the wavelengths

between cerebral ticks.

Anonymously,

subconsciously,

impersonally is the

despair...

we have succumb to,

this.

This tangram

with mismatched

puzzle pieces that

almost

fit together.

This celestial

ribbon portrayed by

connect-the-dots

without

numbers.

This... mess.

i can tell myself over and over again that it’s your fault. that i was led into a point of despair without knowing how it would end. but that’s not true. it’s as far from the truth as humanly possible. i can’t convince myself that you’re to blame.

this is what i didn’t want to happen. believe me, i know it’s the right thing to do, the mature decision, and that it will get better. i go over and over through restless nights of what i did wrong. what i could have done differently. the thing is, i can’t come up with a single thing. i can be happy with the effort i put into it to fix/change/notfuckitupmore. however, i cannot say that i some of my love wasn’t crumpled up to not be fixed again.

i do get through the day without too much of an issue, but the night comes and i lay awake and stare at the ceiling above. “spent the rest of her teens experimenting with prescriptions in a futile attempt to know more than the doctors.”

and i’m sorry. i need to apologize for being like this. it’s not your fault. you won’t believe me either and i can’t change that, i know.

the slow fade of love. it’s mist might choke you. it’s soft edge might cut you. it might hit you from below. it’s my gradual descent into a life i never meant.

this thing hurts like hell, but what did you expect?

and i realized too late what i had, too.

the shit hits the fan.

today is the day where i want nothing more except to go home, watch RENT, and fall asleep. cut out all contact with civilization. there's no dictionary definition to explain the turmoil inside of my stomach, whirlwinding through my mind. the question lingering is who is to blame?

you: to be honest, i want to be to do this, but i'm incapable. even with all of the valid arguments of you were the one who continued to press forward without yet leaving the past behind. i eagerly obliged, but can i say that you should have known better?

me: this is where the blame is always put, most often by myself. even though i was completely aware of the situation at hand i still continued to lead you into a web. "the talking leads to touching, the touching leads to sex. and then there is no mystery left." i was aware of what i was doing, but with the slight hope that the consequences wouldn't be so dire.

desiring for this to be resolved would be a giant leap. i don't know where the fuck to start.