what does it mean to wake out of a dream and be wearing someone elses clothes?
he won't talk to me.
utterly discouraging when all all all i want to do is talk and talk and talk and talk. his sister in law rearranges plants while i write this. puttering and trying to talk without talking about "it," she envelopes me with british politeness and a muttering of dancing around the truth and real reason for the smug concentrated look on my face she wanders and dance beautiful in the discourse, her semantic steps with that cute little accent intriguing and almost almost disarms and disengages me...
with paul simon in the background talking of emily or the boxer, or what he'd rather be.
i struggle.
this is our thing. this has been our thing talked about and talked about into pillows and sweat sweet sex we've talked about it and now are doing it together we're doing it around and wandering and counting the pubs on the edge of the river in london counting the cars on the motorway we are here and moving onto there drinking and smoking and screwing and being together we are together away and to have that taken away from us...the most together i've ever been with anyone in my life, the biggest step the biggest chance the biggest merging of ourselves into a self and having that self that merging ripped and torn and taken disasterously away...will never ever be forgiven.
i can't do this. i can't love who i want to love who i feel i love because of the SHIT the fuckin SHIT that piles up that isn't my fault and may be partly his fault...or completely faultless but just fuckin THERE.
i've wandered into England where a part of my heart i didn't know i had lies, my mind is distracted and confused, my mind many miles away, they lie with him
in his sleep
i want
to kiss him in his sleep as we begin the day
to finish all the poems and words and writing i've started
though i don't know why i bother
spending the time to write these things i can't believe, they tear and strain between us...i've come to doubt all i've held as true, standing alone without him, without the only love and truth i know in you...watching the drops of rain onto english grass, you sleep next to me tonight, and i know we are like the rain, going before the grace of us was ever known.
i give up.
he won't talk to me.
utterly discouraging when all all all i want to do is talk and talk and talk and talk. his sister in law rearranges plants while i write this. puttering and trying to talk without talking about "it," she envelopes me with british politeness and a muttering of dancing around the truth and real reason for the smug concentrated look on my face she wanders and dance beautiful in the discourse, her semantic steps with that cute little accent intriguing and almost almost disarms and disengages me...
with paul simon in the background talking of emily or the boxer, or what he'd rather be.
i struggle.
this is our thing. this has been our thing talked about and talked about into pillows and sweat sweet sex we've talked about it and now are doing it together we're doing it around and wandering and counting the pubs on the edge of the river in london counting the cars on the motorway we are here and moving onto there drinking and smoking and screwing and being together we are together away and to have that taken away from us...the most together i've ever been with anyone in my life, the biggest step the biggest chance the biggest merging of ourselves into a self and having that self that merging ripped and torn and taken disasterously away...will never ever be forgiven.
i can't do this. i can't love who i want to love who i feel i love because of the SHIT the fuckin SHIT that piles up that isn't my fault and may be partly his fault...or completely faultless but just fuckin THERE.
i've wandered into England where a part of my heart i didn't know i had lies, my mind is distracted and confused, my mind many miles away, they lie with him
in his sleep
i want
to kiss him in his sleep as we begin the day
to finish all the poems and words and writing i've started
though i don't know why i bother
spending the time to write these things i can't believe, they tear and strain between us...i've come to doubt all i've held as true, standing alone without him, without the only love and truth i know in you...watching the drops of rain onto english grass, you sleep next to me tonight, and i know we are like the rain, going before the grace of us was ever known.
i give up.
posted by Faint faint faintedink at 2:59 p.m.
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