REPORT A PROBLEM
Ms. Peach to You
Once, I loved it. It wasn't perfect, but I loved it. I'm sure that now it would think I never loved it at all. But I did. Know what I hate the most about loving something? After it's gone, no matter how much it hates you and you hate it, a part of you stays with it. Forever and ever and ever. And you may hate that stupid little part, but it's there. The hole of yourself where that part was waits for you to remember what you lost. I lost when I loved it. That is so terribly sad.
The ocean is so beautiful. Justin and I sat on the beach for a long time last night, talking and looking out at the ocean. Everyone should really give Justin a lot more credit for…well, for just being Justin. Sure, he makes mistakes. But here's a little quip those two guys in particular might like: Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. The ocean is beautiful. Justin is beautiful. And I'll keep on telling him that, because too many people he calls friends tell him differently. I'll keep on telling him that until he really believes it.
I am so worried about you. I'm worried that the reality of existence is going to rear its ugly head and bite you in two. I don't want that to happen to you, any more than I want it to happen to myself. You need to realize that everything you cling to will not protect you from our world, much as you would love to believe that it does. That is the most dangerous thing about it. You are not safe, my friend. Deep down, you feel that, feel it when you cry at night. You're too intelligent not to.
Thank you so much for all of this. What you have done is incredible. You keep me warm at night while thousands of children die in distant lands. I thank you, too, for helping my mom out. I know that she was thinking of you when she locked me in my room all those years ago. At least, that's what she told me. Thank you, too, for making sure that all of your cronies are so full of intolerance and hate. I love what you've done for me, for my world. I'll never be able to thank you enough.
So you drove up to my house in that shiny new car. I know that you expected me to be really impressed; I suppose, in retrospect, that part of me was.
The most striking thing about you is your constancy. I realize every time I see you that you haven't changed a bit. You open the door, get out, lean against the car, cross your legs so slightly at the ankles, shove your hands into your pockets, and smile. Hair falls and shades your eyes.
We go through the same cycle every time, too. And when it is over and
done, and I have to leave, I realize that all day you have been trying to tell me that you still love me. And there is a moment, when I'm standing by the door, that you're about to say it. But I turn, you catch the scent of my hair, and the moment slips by.
Something in you dies when I get back into that shiny new car. You are silent as you drive me back to a place we've been thousands of times. My eyes promise you that we will be here again.
But I can promise nothing more.
I think that you are the most fantastic guy I know. Just being around you makes me feel…safe, somehow. When I'm upset about something, you're there to put everything I feel into simple but eloquent terms. You're great with advice, too. You're quick to understand, slow to judge, compassionate, considerate, intelligent, forgiving, kind…I could go on with the adjectives, but I think that you get the point. We should really hang out more than we do now. You always make me so happy, and that's awesome. You're awesome, Sam. And your awesomeness now has a permanent little home in cyberspace.
There are a lot of so-called "celeb hunks" that are really unattractive. Tobey Maguire, for example. (You know, the dude who did the upside-down kiss in Spiderman.) He is not sexy, no matter what People magazine says. Neither were Dawson or Pacey from Dawson's Creek. They're both so ugly that I can't even remember their names. But you know who is really, really hot? The guy who plays young Jean Luc in the new Star Trek movie. Even though he's pissed off for half the flick, he's awesome. And Chris Martin, from Coldplay. I could lose myself in those eyes.
can't stop can't stop the can't stop can't stop warm can't stop can't stop touch can't stop can't stop of can't stop can't stop your can't stop can't stop eyes can't stop can't stop on can't stop can't stop mine can't stop can't stop leaves can't stop can't stop me can't stop can't stop on can't stop can't the can't stop can't stop floor can't stop can't stop an can't stop can't stop addict can't stop can't stop out can't stop can't stop of can't stop can't stop time can't stop can't stop money can't stop can't stop breath
We went to the concert, we had an incredible time, we left feeling different. We got into the car, we played some music, we started to talk. We talked....and we talked....and we talked. I drove, feeling different; you rode, feeling different. We were so honest, we couldn't hide anything, we didn't want to. We sat on the porch, we felt time crawl away, we wished....for something. Driving you home, you wanted to stay, you needed to go. Time to leave now: I laid on your shoulder, your hands in my hair; I could hear my heart beating.
The twist, buried beneath lungs and heart and soul: I see/feel emotion, transcend beauty and time. A woman holds a piece of blown glass into fading daylight – and the rainbow of reflection, the colored droplets? You. A sundial, standing alone in an untouched desert, the sun long since surrendered to cold – the shadows between midnight and one? You. You haven't torn my heart out, haven't fulfilled the cliche; but I have. I reached into my own chest and wrapped you around all that I am. Beautiful metaphors and complicated syntax cannot touch you. These words have not even come close.
I have this recurring dream about flight. I get a big box in the mail one day, and inside is material to make myself a set of wings. I attach them to myself and fly for an entire evening. The neat thing about the wings is that nobody else can see them, unless I want them to. The dream gets a little hazy, then, but I remember the end. I reveal my secret to someone whom I love more than life, and I take him flying. There's nothing like the wind in your hair. Even if it's only a dream.
Wow. I don’t like you at all. I don’t like how you are treating my brother. I don’t like how you are treating my mother. I try hard not to think about what you were before all this...back when things were completely uncomplicated, back when I still respected you. I know as well as anyone that ‘hate’ is a very strong word. Today’s society is much too flippant with it. Thus, understand the gravity of these words:
I hate two people in this world, and you are one of them.
I can’t wait to say that to your face.
you are afraid so afraid of those fantasies that will never come fearing revelation that will never exist no one will be taken do you not understand how reality works try to exercise your no-secret love but you are burned burned in your heart and on your soul and souls yes they are quite tangible but the line extends no further close your eyes close your eyes wish that something someone was talking back to you little do you know you talk to your own hatred and that is why you should not fear anything but your own precious lies
I wish I’d never told you.
My sanctuary defiled;
I defile you
(with little effort)
Because I’ve come to terms with my anger.
It’s an adore-detest relationship, you see.
You become my fodder. So:
Trample the words that should be secret,
Expose me in public
Try so hard to put me to shame.
But I am fearless, you see:
These words are the fruit of my hands
I stand tall behind my truths.
Could the same be said for you...
I wish I’d never told you.
But I suppose it’s been fun.
You, my love, have poisoned yourself.
Things that I am addicted to: cream soda, Fight Club, Easy Mac, Yoplait Light yogurt, kettle corn, Love Spell by Victoria’s Secret, leather clothing, Diet Pepsi (caffeine free, of course, so that I don’t die), Justin *wink*, court shows on TV like Judge Joe Brown or Judge Judy, that one thing that I probably shouldn’t talk about, Easy Cheese, raspberry cheesecake, eyeliner, that other thing that I definitely shouldn’t talk about, books, Greg Iles, Chris Martin (hell, Coldplay in general), instant gratification, shopping with plastic, lip gloss, lemon (ade, s, or juice), Tom Cruise flicks, high heels, and expensive lingerie.
My dad and I found my poor little lost kitty cat today. We were driving back from the store, and there she was, soaking wet, perched on the steps of Country Day School. I got out to fetch her; she was so terrified that at first she wouldn’t come to me. The poor thing meowed the whole way home. I put a collar on her right away, and vowed to take better care of her. She hasn’t left my side since I brought her back. Last night I slept in my living room chair with her lying in my lap.
You were right: The bridge was mine to burn or cross. It seems I’ve burned the bridge and every memory dating back to our loss of innocence. I like things much better that way. I can still keep a totally unblemished snapshot of you in my mind. You can still be my ideal. I’ll see you like that for always, like we’d never crossed the line. I discovered that people are only as real as you make them. That’s what you taught me. There were two yous: one you were, and one I dreamed. Guess which one I’m clinging to?
Friends often look to me for guidance. I wonder what it is about me that compels others to spill their guts in the hope that I can fix things.
There is something electrifying about truly knowing a person, knowing them in daylight and in darkness. Someone once told me that they had no time for folk with fabricated facades. I was dumbfounded.
How is that possible? If I followed your philosophy,
I wanted to say,
you probably wouldn’t be sitting beside me right now.
I’d still be thinking you were that slightly self-centered boy sitting up front. No time?! Bah.
All you did was nothing at all...that was enough. I have never expected anything from you, but I have never given you less than everything. I tell you that my heart isn't yours: I am lying through my teeth. You are in my thoughts, you are in my dreams, you are on my lips, you are all my songs, you are my secret that is more exquisite than beauty, more transient than time, more putrid than hate and more painful than goodbye. You are the love I am not allowed to love. I can't stop crying. I love you.
(This will be the last time I write something for you. I am only attempting to meet your blinding hatred with my own.)
I thought I knew you, then. I thought you were too kind, too gentle, too beautiful to act like you have. You took me in; you stroked my hair; you made me a part of your exclusive group.
I see through you now.
Fuck your people that judge while spouting love. Fuck your lies that seduced my senses. But I won't say "fuck you." Oh, no. Fuck the person you've shrunken into. I hallucinated a better one.
What would life be like if it hadn't happened? I have never lived the stereotype, never seen my sky fall or reality collapse. Divorce has been a needle in my stomach; I am acutely conscious of its presence, but it only pains me when I twist. Of course, things weren't always that way. It was a wet back alley, once. Shoulders pressed against the filthy brick of a corner, I was pummelled in the face by some secret aggressor. I caught the briefest glimpse of her eyes...forced myself to stand, spat out teeth and blood, prepared to fight back.
So my dad and I were talking today about his work. Suddenly, while telling me about a case brief that he had to read, he took a fit of uncontrollable laughter. When I asked what was up, he related the following story:
A boy of about 16, who comes from a loving and happy family, begins to strike up a friendship with his two next-door neighbors. Although these neighbors are adults, the three share a love of video games, and get along quite well. It is not long before the boy is stopping by their home every day after school
to hang out in their basement and play. Not wanting the boy’s parents to think something is amiss, the two men approach the mother one evening. They explain that they are gay, and were worried about the possibility of unsavory rumor surrounding their friendship with her son. She is pleased with the couple’s openness, and tells them that she sees no problem with the companionship.
However, the friendship becomes strained when the gay couple’s suspicions are aroused (no pun intended, of course); they are afraid that the boy is stealing from their home. Things continue to turn up missing, and
they invest in a NannyCam, hoping that they can catch the boy themselves and teach him a lesson (don’t you just love double entendre?). In any event, when reviewing the tapes taken of the boy in their basement, the couple makes an unsettling discovery.
No, the boy is not a thief.
He is, however, having sex with their female golden retriever.
Embarrassed but thoroughly shaken, the couple takes the tape to the police, asking for advice...and are promptly arrested for possession of child pornography.
Yes, this really happened. Isn’t that just the sickest thing you’ve ever heard? ::shudder:: Yuck.
Remember this one?
It frightens me to be so constantly impressed by someone. Granted, I’ve just started engaging you in daily conversation, so new truths are bound to surface, but, seriously—cut it out—quit impressing me. Why does it bother me? Not jealousy. I’m not jealous very often of anybody. It’s just that I pride myself on my perception, so if I’m impressed, that means my perception was fucked. I’m not going to blow this out of proportion, since it’s just the one case, but if I can’t rely on what I pride myself in, what will I do?
I found a glitch in the system. I like windows to the past, especially when the past they display is secret, is supposed to be locked away forever. I found it, and found myself remembering. Since then, you’ve been ruined. I’d hope that there is still some insusceptible part of you, but it seems unlikely. I’ve been told you’re doing well, and I’m certain you think you are. I have no place in you anymore. Very few do. Once, I had a precarious foothold. The point of this entry? I miss you a lot (but sadly, you’ll probably never know).
We talked today about New York. When I'm modeling and you're acting this year, we decided we'd get an apartment together. I am absolutely certain that you and I would have a blast. Despite what the rest of the senior trip group thought, there is no tension of *that* sort between us. Au contraire – there is absolute comfort in the trust we share.
Do you love me?
you asked. Of course I love you. You're the best there is, darlin'. What's the line from that movie? You're good people. You're really good people. Screw all those who tell me otherwise.
How long will it take me to misunderstand you? How long ‘til you crumble alone at my feet? How long do I have until the waiting is over? How long will it be until you cry for me? How long will you wish that things could have been different? How long will you wait for your life to turn round? How soon do you need me to pick up your pieces? How hard will you try to find some bland rebound? How long must I pray that you'll walk through my door? How long, how much, why now, what for?
A warning sign
I missed the good part then I realized
I started looking and the bubble burst
I started looking for excuses
Come on in, I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign
When the truth is
I miss you
A warning sign
You came back to haunt me and I realized
That you were an island...I passed you by
You were an island to discover
I should not have let you go
I crawl back into your open arms
The Tip Jar