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Our bodies lay intertwined, connected in the biblical sense. And in sixteen days you will be gone. Does it get much better than this? I shouldnít think so. Iíll carry your sweet memory throughout life for it allows me to see that I am worthy. I was once desired in the most passionate of ways. Never will I forget what you have done for me as a person. For once I am truly better for having known someone. And Iíll keep your scent forever if only as a reminder of the sweetness you possess. Coveted sweetness divulged only for me.
Tragedy strikes again. I often fear that I am reaching a point in life where death will become more and more prevalent. I was fairly protected from it thus far with the one exception. And now one by one we get picked off. We get beaten and scared. Robbed and tortured. Blind. And paralyzed. One minute Iím at work, content, the next minute Iím hurrying to the hospital where a ten year old boy is having a plate removed from his skull in order to drain his brain. This is the universe, created from one random event forever wreaking havoc.
I thought I had moved on and was over it. No, seriously, I thought I did and I was. Iíve been talking to people. I fucked someone else. And Iím interested, finally, in another. There is so much commotion and I had suddenly found myself Not Even Thinking About her. For real. But then this, during the thick of it all. I felt internal pain to the point of a near nose bleed. It felt like I fell on my ass, that feeling you get up your spine and into your head, eyes and nose. You know the one. Literally.
This one wonít be about her because here is an entire month devoted almost entirely to her. That isnít to say that this one shouldnít be about her, because technically this day marks a day that one wants to remember. But because I write this so far into the future I know what the month holds and as such I will carry on with non-girl related topics. Like the weather? Or, um, Christmas? Oh, Dad? We donít hear about him quite as much these days. He makes his loud and unannounced appearances and then quietly slips away into back recesses.
On the way to work I get to see the beginnings of the most spectacular sunrises. Awe inspiring to the point of jaws unwittingly dropping. Itís all you can do to keep from driving your car into a highway guardrail. Then thereís the ride home where Iím callously reminded that big business steals our truest intentions. Iím sickened by the fact that a certain coffee chain can so blatantly advertise without putting there brand name out there. The color of their business steals our attentions away from the colors of what should be a beautiful sunset after a long day.
Because she owns 14 other animals I will disregard the fact that her favorite cat is named Peanut. My favorite of the cats is partially Siamese (and I suspect that it knows what I have done). I will never say Pea-nuT. But the girl? The girl is fucking Per-fecT. And the mother? She thinks I am ďabsolutely adorable.Ē This is a spectacular situation. A wonderful predicament. Finally a chance fully worth taking. Whatís sudden? Suddenly no longer caring about whatís her name. Thinking about and caring about are completely separated. I only wish I could tell her the news myself.
They were six minutes unmatched by any others adding up to more or the same. I crawled back into bed with her and the moment she sleepily moved to put her arm around me was the precise moment I realized that any time I am with her is a time in which I can be sure that I am exactly where I want to be. She is perfection unequaled to any or all including the one beginning with the letter L and ending in an A. The five lettered one whom I cease to think about as I twice did.
The river has run completely dry. I am void of words to write, sentences to form. There is nothing left. Writing prompts pique my interest but no continuing words follow. I have lost my talent that was so innate for those moments in time of which I shall never forget or take for granted. I will always have the words already written. Maybe my book will even be published someday. Maybe my short stories will sell themselves. Some of my shit is at least worth reading. I personally enjoy rereading them. But thatís just me and my bias opinion. Bah.
I get the craziest tingles from you and from the mere thought of you desiring me to sleep in your bed, to wake up with you in the morning before work, to pick you up after work,
to sleep with you.
Oh, curse the weather and my bad vibes about icy conditions. Curse your insistence on bringing me to you. Love your beautiful face and
. Protect my heart. God bless the fates of heaven that dictate our destined paths to cross or not cross certain bridges valleys and mountains. Besides, weíd probably both be falling asleep by now.
Iím making a conscious effort not to fall and I swear that Iím doing a damn good job. I know exactly where my head is at. I know where we stand and how to proceed. If this were an actual game Iíd be winning. For once. Iím not gonna mess this one up. The last one taught me a lot and proved to not be comparable to Linda. But the current is proving to be above and beyond all past experiences. Iíve never been so anxious to play all my cards right. To beat the house at its own game.
This right here is by far the epitome of great me-time. There is a certain guarantee of utter solitude without interruptions. And nobody truly knows where I could be or what I may be doing. The phone rings and rings while I laugh at the numbers. I do not care therefore I could not possibly care any less. HaHa. Suckers. Iíll rejoice in the over abundant reverie of silence. And then Iíll take the time to see the one I adore. The one that keeps me alive despite such inner protests. A babyís priceless love is nothing to scoff at.
I fear Iíll never give up on these one hundred words a day because I know that in theory it is really quite simple. There is no reason I should miss a day. I need to learn to write no matter what. Every Single Day. Itís not that hard. I used to be a writer. And writers sure do write. But Iím not a writer. So just write and who the hell cares if itís awful or incoherent. Eventually, because of the odds of random universe occurrences, something good, something
will come along and the world will make sense.
Iíve had heartburn all day and only just now thought of dad. Instead I thought of her all day. I thought of her despite the splendid evening spent with The Girl last night. Itís true she only hates me because Iím not lying and she oh so badly wants for me to be telling falsehoods. But Iím sorry, sometimes these things just happen. I understand this and only question why she remains in the forefront of my mind. I have another, someone better, and donít need the other. I donít want her but yet I miss her; I miss
Gosh. Seriously though, I canít believe that a girl of that stature could possibly like
soo much. Might she wake up from whatever alcohol induced stupor and realize that she can get way hotter girls? How is it possible that a girl as gorgeous as her could find
hott? Fuck. From the beginning I am destined to ruin this one simply because Iíll never feel that I measure up. And all along maybe all Iíve wanted was for someone else to feel this way toward me? But as for this one, Iíd simply like to keep her, please.
She isnít your typical girl. Correction: She isnít
typical girl. There is no figuring this one out. Is she out of my league? I knew she was different when I realized she isnít the type that I fall for immediately. Although, just the same, I do want her around, all the time. I donít wanna let go. But for maybe the first time, I have no desire to spew forth any fast fowardness. I got time? Or something. Or sheís worth waiting for? Or itís really real and so Iím finally taking it slow as
say you should.
Iím about ready to throw in the towel on these hundred words. Maybe I just canít do it anymore. Maybe thereís a lot of things that I am simply unable to continue doing. Playing catch up this month is an overwhelming nightmare. And oh God. I Still havenít registered for classes for the spring! Iíll wait til Tuesday and tell my superman about it to see what she has to say. In the meantime watch as I give up and quit where warranted. This is what I do, this is my thing. Shit, is this another three month quitting thing?
A warm body next to me. Someone to roll over to, wrapping myself comfortably into them as we enter deeper states of sleep. Waking up and realizing that sheís still there. Falling asleep knowing sheíll remain there. Listening to her breathing, so steady and rhythmicÖ soothing. The stance of a completely relaxed being. If morning had never come, I wouldnít have complained. I swear that I absolutely melt every time she calls me
These moments would last forever in a perfect world. An ideal state of tranquility where the main thought is
I just canít wait to see you.
My water sits across the room, mocking me. Iím too tired (lazy?) to get it. Thirst twists my tongue into agonizing knots. Dehydration rests at the bottom of my stomach. These blue (purple?) boxes of missing days taunt me endlessly, unceasingly. Re-tor-i-cal. I want to take a nap but Iím waiting for my hair to dry. 9 hours of sleep plus an hour and a half nap and I am still plum exhausted. Rest. I need rest, badly. And my period, I wish it would hurry up and arrive. The anticipation kills me and everyone I come into contact with.
Sometimes you just need a break. You reach a point where the idea of going forward is simply killing you. Maybe itís just my upcoming period making the entire world seem so very wrong in every imaginable aspect. I use the word
a lot and I think Iím gonna start cutting it out each time I do it from now on. So many words are wasteful. And I throw them around like poisonous darts shooting necessities in the back. I could be like
for another two weeks. If ever Iíve hated being a stupid girlÖ well you know.
I avoid these words like the bubonic plague. The avoidance swells like the number of missing entries. But I will I will finish this month. Ultimately, I am sure to begin again next month as well. I all too thoroughly enjoy the entire idea of one hundred words every single day. I am at this laptop Every Single Day. There is no need, no need at all for me to skip any words. Iíll keep trying, of this we can be sure. I doubt Iíll ever fully fail. It will always come down to the days of major catch up.
Fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck impossible girls fuck you fuck her fuck it fuck her and her fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck her fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck her fuck her fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck this fuck that fuck everything fuck it fuck you fuck her fuck fuck fuck.
I try to get over you. I really do. But I keep going back to remembering that long span of time in which I talked incessantly to you and to everyone around me. I remember when I was meyou and I liked it. I was a better me when I had you attached. Remember when all we did was giggle all night? Fuck man. I never had what we had as good as we had it. The entire world was jealous for that short period of time in which we were both ecstatically happy to have finally found each other.
Seriously though, nobody knows that my entire world can be summed up into one small data memory stick. If lost the heartache that would ensue could be comparable only to death. The death of a loved one. The death of a vital organ needed to sustain even the smallest bit of life. I am, as a person, equivalent to this tiny stick of information. You could, theoretically, carry me in your pocket wherever you go. But if anybody knew this then we can be assured that the world, as we currently know it, would never be the same. Seriously though.
It felt like talking to a postcard. Part of me half expected the words to get lost in transit. And I hate the idea of my words on display, so I edit myself. Imagine an answering machine where youíre leaving a message while really hoping that someone will pick up the phone already. But in reality you know that they are away on vacation, and you are only leaving a message due to necessity. There is no other way to reach them. Who knows where youíll be when they finally return home. They may not even be the same people.
At work this morning some lady checked out and asked for paper and an envelope. She wrote a quick note and folded twenty dollars into it while talking about this woman she talked to over breakfast. She only knew that she's staying on the second floor with three kids and she drives from Syracuse to see her daughter in a hospital who is also staying here, in a wheel chair. I assured her that I would find the lady.
Someoneís going to heaven.
On the way home I spent ten minutes looking for a lost dog I had driven by.
I was thinking about how funny looking and ugly I sometimes am. I have tons of flaws. And I've noticed that most the rest of the world does too. The girls I end up with always have major flaws as well and so I am able to look over my lesser in comparison flaws. I am often the sexxy/hott one. I am perfectly comfortable with simply being the cute one too. Then I meet this girl. How can I like someone who is sooo perfect? I've never experienced this kind of perfection. Well rounded perfection. I am shabby in comparison.
Today I fight my first urge to spew that dreaded L word. It started the other night. The way we cuddled. The way the evening progressed sweetly. I felt comfortable and knew that I was where I wanted to be. Where I belonged. And I swear my heart melts when she calls me
So at what point do I start thanking/praising God, the heavens, fate, for helping me find this girl? She is sickeningly perfect. Iím trying to find something wrong, some hidden flaw, but I come up with nothing. And to think she actually likes me Ė itís unfathomable.
A new one enters into my line of fire and I am taken aback, stunned at the adorableness working before my very eyes. To know her name and hear her speak my own, I start to question my own standings. Will my heart ever relent and fall for the current attraction, or will I remain dangling in mid-air free to drop where I see fit. While waiting for the girl currently stealing my affections, maybe I can play my hand at the new one. Consider it practice, a bedpost notch, or one last fling before entering into a committed relationship.
Hotel smells amaze me. Weeks after the English guy has left our hotel, the country, the room he occupied for weeks upon weeks still reeks of his sweet scent Ė a certain inexplicable tangy aroma. Tangy, sweet and masculine. Next door in 209 was a mother and daughter for again many many weeks. Their smell remains in the curtains, the carpet, the dust hidden under the bed and above picture frames hung high. Greasy hair gel; nappy hair smell. Then, 216, the man who always brought his trash to the front desk and hung the privacy sign everyday Ė lingering bad breath.
Me the dog and the girl sleeping in my twin sized bed. Cute much? Foí sure. Maybe after this month of December I will stop gushing over her. Every girl gets their month in the ongoing saga of my plight to a million words.
I think what makes me most human is my inability to control most emotional onsets. The things I feel are felt because of outside sources or stimuli. My perception of them alters little because I know that my reality is the only reality that I know therefore the only reality that exists. I am not insane.
I hope that you donít think that Iím trying to rush the whole relationship thing. Itís been a month and people are starting to ask questions. I feel that Iíve given you ample amounts of time to decide what you would like to do. You still come around here, so I must be winning. Honestly, I could wait forever for you, but the thing is that I know exactly what I want now. I know that I do not want to be with any one else, and I know that I would like for you to be with only me.
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