"The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like a leaf until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains."
I tell myself so many days, that this is the one I die upon. That despite whatever they carve into my headstone, it is today that my soul truelly left my body.
If that is true, then as something dies, so something must be born. Dolores, Chiyo, Mathilda...you will always find us, if you know what to look for.
"You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholoy"
And now, this time, I will tell my story as I can best recall it. Perhapes by the end of these pages, I will find my heart beating again...not quite as done as I had suspected it so.
Our story begins with a man who's face I can no longer recall. Infact, I often wonder if I was able ever to see those features at all. Perhapes now, with so much time between us, I have left them blank in my memory so that they might be altered and shifted depeninging upon my love at the time. I will start with him, because he is the first Humbert this precious Lolita ever encountered. I will tell you about the candy he gave to be greedy outstretched hands and the pictures I drew in crayon (oh how I adored the scent of a brand new box of wax colored crayons). There pictures of happy places and scenes in which the two of us where always smiling as lovers do, I would put in the compartment behind his seat and spend days delighing over the idea of him finding them. My secret. Our secret.
He knows. An obvious advertisment will catch the eye of any curious once upon a time lover. The problem is not in knowing...it lies in caring. To this, I can only claim my emotional masochism at its best.
Sit and wonder if the days will get better? Or do you sit and hold a handful like me, and wonder if there has to be a tomorrow at all.
I can't stop crying, and yet at the same time, i feel nothing anymore. If you cracked open my chest, i suspect you'd find nothing but decay.
Fail. Thats the only thing i ever do right. Is to fail. And I'm failing right now...
I don't know where I will be tomorrow. Whether I will be here, or back in California. I wish I could run an ocean away, but my need for that is gone. He'll never know how many time I've wanted those arms to catch me...to hold me...to save me from everything.
Instead life failes. Blood sheds like salty tears down my skin.
Where are you. Your patience ended just when I need it the most. Take me away from here. Please....just take me anywhere else. Because i'm dying here. The depression is too thick and it's weighing me down.
Where are you...I need you...
Im not writing this entry by choice. Lets get that out of the way. It doesn't matter however. Either way...this entry is getting written. Im so tired and my back is killing me.
Work is...a mixture of fantastic and exaughsting. Im begining to realize that no matter where you go, that political bullshit will follow you. I was really hoping to work at the Pride Festival, but naturally, due to popularity among the staff, I'm not going. Lame. April 4th is the deadline to have your resume turned in if you are planning to be considered for the book position. Which I am. My resume is turned in...so we'll see.
Blah blah blah...just rambling.
My nephew has moved in with us. At 14, that just means lots of attitude and rap.
I've gone two nights sleeping without my pills.
Since moving to Arizona...I've had several dates. None of which have led anywhere. I continue to think something inside of me has broken. Or maybe it will just take something more than before to job my heart again. Justin...the last mistake in a long line of mistakes...such an asshole...
I've been going out more. My attempt at being normal and having a social life.
Christ. What should I be writing here? I look back through my old journal entries and, cryptic as they may be....they make sense in the most comforting sort of way. I can't do that anymore. That place inside me where all of that came from....it's gone. Locked away maybe.
My head hurts.
We all knew Carlos would die. Whoops...sorry...watching Nightmare on Elm Street.
I know what you want me to write...but wouldn't that just be telling you what you want to hear?
I get angry because i know what it could be like. Because you know me better than almost anyone...because where things different...you would be the one. The ellusive one. But instead...this is what we have. This game that bleeds us both dry.
Will she join the dance?
Always. On broken glass I dance until the music stops...