today, this monday & the leading up to it seemed booked for some collision course, and the buses, oh it is just as true. all at once oddly enough, & no clue what to do. i know which direction makes sense, but i seem to feel nothing. is that a lie? it's not, but there are so many thinly veiled, crisscrossed layers of this tapesty, woven something, i am woven into it. from all directions all at once, unexpected & clearly as an amusement, i am an easy target. oh i am not making myself the victim, not this time & i will not be. i do not need to be, and i can feel and live and burn perfectly well without being this time the victim, at least i think i can, i need to learn these lessons. everyone finds it so easy! i don't understand. i am a difficult choice, oh certainly, but a very good fall-back, convenient definitely and it sickens me. i wonder, is it me? do i do this to myself? oh i do wish for some substance, something to make this worthwhile, some substance to myself, it is evolving & growing, it is a growing process, glittering green in it's youth. and it still is, young. but is it dangerous, being too open-minded, to star-struck and blinded by ideas, i have only a vague direction to guide me & even then no very strong hold or apparent inclination. what should i depend on to determine? well of course, it is nothing but myself & is it only that i have not accepted it yet. how far can i see my own limitations, sometimes they are so close & sharp in focus to perhaps called exaggerated, and then again (a prime example!) they are too distant & blurred, i cannot tell and that is my excuse. what is this a document of? a document of my growing up, of some sort of excess,some explanation or a descent into streamlined, technicolour fizzing confusion. i cannot even write, nor begin to explain. so i do not choose to get mixed up again for the sake of your bruised ego, i will not cause this fight & take it to mean more than it does, or take to heart even that you have forgot. i will sink into what i know & enjoy & what i need to do. i will follow this way, that i do not quite know, or know what to expect and i shall look for the best. i do not need petty arguments, and if youd decide you do not need me, then i grieve and learn to do without you too. don't pick me up only when you need me, i have to learn to be stronger than this, i can't let you beat me, and break down so much already built. do you think that i am talking to you? you are wrong. to you i can say; i am sorry for some of things i said, but the hurt you caused was very real, that is why it still exists in writing. i am sorry if i hurt you, but we hurt each other & yet it is so far behind us now. thankyou for everything, i loved you so much & i am glad i did. but it needed to end, and it has. and that is it. you will always mean so much to me, more than anyone knows, or knows you to deserve and i will always love you in some way. i never wrote the good things, and so you never read them. they exist, but sometimes i wish you could have. but i have to escape from this, just as i escape from these other things, from someone who followed you. and look forward. i don't understand this, or expect you to read it, it is my stream of conscience, it is cathartic for me. i cannot strip down my mind into orderliness, i cannot choose to behave or constrict and these feelings bounce & expand, i cannot expect from you what you are not capable of, i will accept that, and i must check myself, i really must, for this arrogance, but if this cannot spill forth here, then where? it spills over, and this is freeing. breathing clean air. i wonder how healthy this is, how much love is here.

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

last * next