Well hi there again. Fancy... not meeting you here?
You know... I had a bunch of things on my mind last not, and the previous week. And yet, now that I'm here, ready to write, they've become all slippery and elusive.
Hrmm.
Well. I suppose if I just start writing, it'll all come organically. Right?
How are you, anyway? I wonder about that a lot. How have you been, this year so far? These past couple months?
I still wonder what you're doing with your life. I wonder if you're still working at Bel-Air, and if you ended up going to school. Like, I would wager money that you are, but I don't actually know?
I think about your apartment back out not so far where you used to live with your sister. I think about your cats, Gwen and Fee, and genuinely hope they're doing well. I think about your bed (which probably isn't your bed, any more). I think about Bernerd, and Little Girl Bear, and hope THEY are doing well, too.
Every time I drive past Sunsplash, I my brain sort of switches over to "Katie's area". Anywhere toward Rocklin is like, your 'hood. It makes me chuckle when I write it that way, but it's not untrue. That was sort of like... everything North and East of my work, was kind of your ... kingdom? I know that's a weird metaphor. I don't have a better way to describe it, though.
The East bit comes from when you were living with your sister. I remember the handful of times I drove out there, feeling.... disconnected? Sort of separated from the world. Like seeing it through a watery lens. Always feeling a jumble of emotions roiling in my stomach any time I went out that way. I have a lot of negativity built up inside my head, emotionally, travelling east on Douglas. It makes me uncomfortable and unhappy.
Is that weird? I think it's weird.
It's because I have very, very few happy memories from going out that direction. The singular time I visited you out there, we were in your own little pocket of the universe, y'know? Your little room didn't count-- it was another dimension.
Anyway. I don't know why I write that, other than it's something that sort of burned itself into my brain. Any time I'm out that direction, I get ... distinctly uncomfortable. And I honestly can't remember the last time I felt that way about a place. It's like a black smudge on what I try and keep as pristine of memories as possible.
But that whole block of time was fucking ugly, wasn't it?
I'm sorry.
I know I've said that many times. Many, many times. And I don't know if you ... if you ever heard it, and retained it, as genuine. I don't know if you'll ever forgive me. And I think that's ok, y'know? If not forgiving me helps you to find consonance, then it's a price I gladly pay. But then, I also think about a coal metaphor we had between us, and I sort of tilt my head and smile sadly. You've already passed one burning chunk of an ember on to me, for sole safe-keeping. And make no mistake-- it still sears. But I also wonder if you are still carrying a tiny incendiary of your own, of a very different kind?
I mean. Hm. I wouldn't presume to tell you that I deserve forgiveness. And if you don't have any to offer, that's alright. Really, truly. But does it make it hard to ... do things? Isn't it inhibiting? Like, don't you have to hold yourself at right angles to keep from burning too much of yourself on it?
I mean, I dunno. I actually probably don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. And it wouldn't be the first time. That's for certain.
But, yeah. What was I saying?
.... ... oh, right. I wonder if you ever... came to reach a place where you believed that I was sorry?
I remember you telling me once that you like to remember me as the dynamic, deep and fully-realized man you once loved, instead of a singularly hurt or villainized one.
Is that still true? Was it ever, really, for any amount of time longer than the length of an entry and the emotional residue of it?
I know (well, don't know-- but strongly speculate) that you meant more than... what am I trying to say?
Let me try again.
You said once, "It would just be easier to just shut you out, completely. It would smooth everything down." And I really have come to believe that you meant more than just "shut me out". I think it meant more. Like "It would be easier if I just compartmentalized you into the way I wanted and needed to in order to move forward with my life, with you as a footnote. A curiosity. An interesting, unfortunate thing that happened once, long ago."
Is that accurate? Because it's ok if it is.
I'm content being whatever you need me to be, now. <3
The last thing you said, too, was "But that doesn't seem fair"
And, really-- I never expected you to be fair. Y'know? I certainly hadn't been, for far too long while we were together. But then, I also wonder if you meant "It's not fair that I can't just have a piece of me stay with you without it causing so much discord within me. It's not fair that I can't have a lot of this world, but still some of your world."
Maybe I'm wrong, there, too. Maybe you just were being considerate of my feelings and investment. And if so, I am flattered and thankful and humbled by your consideration. But I always sort of read a little bit of subconscious expression in that statement. Y'know?
But-- and let's be serious, now; that could very easily just be me seeing what I want to be true.
I remember, too.... very, very clearly:
"I do not trust you. I don't trust your promises in your journals and letters. They weren't true any of the other times. Now is not different."
And what can I say to that?
I know I have referenced it many times. But that sliced through me so cleanly, I don't know if I'll ever recover from that. To have hours, and days and months of my work for you invalidated by such a simple set of sentences.
Sometimes I wonder, why did I even bother continuing to write, after that?
I've thought about that a lot. Part of me did it because I wanted to prove you wrong (as if additional content, and tenure, and stubbornness would somehow retroactively change your mind?). Another part of me wanted to try and... bleach out the shame that I felt when I read that, because it resonated on a frequency of terrible truth. And even now, I cannot refute the context and circumstances under which you typed those words, y'know? I can't reject that statement intellectually, because I can't allow myself to delude myself like that. Frankly. But I still try and scrub some of my guilt away by disproving your statement a little bit.
Lastly, the main reason I kept writing was for Us. As a homage to the most beautiful, crystalline memories we made together. For the dream that once was, and I strongly desired to taste again. Even if it was only like kissing a cloud, just for a moment. The memory of a dream. I kept writing because, even if you didn't believe me? *I* believed me. Believed in this. And I wanted to... dedicate myself to showing myself that I could do this, and easily. As a testament to the error of my previous actions. My previous life. And as template of liquid praise for you. And Us. By enshrining my mistakes. Our relationship. Your beauty.
Does that make sense?
You might not believe me now. Even still. And when I say that, it's sort of comically self-contradictory, because you probably won't even read this, either. And maybe you have opted to keep the darker memories closer to your heart, so as a reminder to not tread the path that leads back to me. And I don't begrudge you that.
But I wrote all this for you.
All of it. Even the parts that were partly for me.
I know it's really not much. They're just easily summoned words plucked from my brain and pasted here, for confectionery consumption. Like verbal popcorn, or written candy. But it's still... something I did.
...
I mean. I don't know.
I'm not sure why I wrote all of that, just now. You'll surely have already forged and tempered and sealed your own perceptions regarding these words. And your own perceptions cannot be substituted by anyone else's.
So. Yeah.
There's that.
I thought about you on my run, this evening. Listening to the themes of Spiral Knights and Bejeweled. You've bled into a lot of my life, when I think about it. Even after you had gone, the viscous fluid of your essence remained. It stained and seeped into many things. And this is no complaint! It makes me smile- albeit, bittersweetly-- when I think about it. It's just... kind of stunning, when I think about it.
Hm.
So.
Yeah. I guess.
I'm really tired, actually. My eyes are burning.
I'm going to go to bed, now. But I will still have more to write, tomorrow.
I hope you are sleeping sweet, and dreaming deep.
11:50 p.m. - 2014-07-01
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