Hiss
I haven't been here in a while.
Much longer than normal.
I don't know that I really have much to say.
I started another journal. A locked one.
There were too many thing I wanted to write about-- to drain, like an abscess-- from my mind, in my own little private electron corner.
I haven't decided what I'm going to do with this journal.
I still have 3 more months to go, if I am to stand by my own resolution.
One year, I told myself.
One year, and I could then assure myself that I had... "tried hard enough"? That doesn't sound right.
But I suppose, inelegant as it sounds, it will have to do.
I just. I don't know what to write about any more? I've simply run out of momentum. It's been drawn out of me, like some nuclear siphon.
Hrm....
Just sitting here, in my study, laptop on my lap. Earphones streaming music directly into my brain, and find myself staring at the ceiling.
I feel tired.
I feel tired a lot, lately.
It feel like the weariness of healing.
And it makes me sad.
But I.... I don't know what to do?
I don't know what to write about, any more?
She said.
...
She said that she wouldn't mind talking with me again. Of us reaching a point where we could have conversation without her feeling as though I was ripping off a scab. Where that tightness in her chest wouldn't seize her with violent intent.
And maybe, after a while, we could talk again regularly.
But I don't want that.
I don't want to be de-fanged.
I don't want her to crush my scorpion's tail.
And if that is something she wants to do in the sanctity of her own home, and her own mind, then I cannot stop her.
But neither can I endorse it openly.
I refuse to allow myself to be willingly turned into an emotional eunuch. A non-threatening entity.
I made an entry-- I think but once-- that admitted openly that ... I couldn't even really be "just friends" with her.
Because I would always, with no compunctions, but letting her know that I still wanted her in a way that was more than that.
And maybe, y'know.... it's the prolific testament to my own selfishness. The unwillingness to allow myself to be willingly placed in that mold.
I don't know.
I would be receptive to discussing it.
But our conversations.... they aren't really dynamic and reciprocative.
There is little sharing of ideas.
Just dictation and apology.
And I don't begrudge her that.
It is it's nature.
12:07 a.m. - 2014-04-21
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