I think I am in love

This is pretty wonderful and awful and awkward and easily and so terribly difficult.

I love you.

In Which I Stop Being Afraid

And start lying in my blog titles.

The truth is, goddesses are lousy in bed.
They will do anything, it’s true.
And the skin is beautifully cared for.
But they have no sense of it. They are
all manner and amazing technique.
I lie with them thinking of your
foolish excess, of your panting
and sweating, and your eyes after.

Jack Gilbert

Read this somewhere, really loved it.

Goodbye

To you and you and you, you, and you.

But mostly you.

Wrong You

When did you become so important? You're a symbol of sadness and young-ness and yearning and lost love. You are a person to understand and to puzzle out. You are nothing that has ever existed except as an idea in my head, one that changes every time I think of you. I don't know you. I shouldn't care that you exist, but guilt and empathy and anger and jealousy have made you significant somehow. You are a small person, but you cast a giant shadow on my mind.

You are some things I wish I were, and many things I am afraid of becoming. You're that secret wish for drama and excitement and significance, even at the cost of happiness. You are many things that I hate. You are a worse and a better person than I give you credit for.

I have my own life. I have sadness and young-ness and yearning and love. The only difference is that my love isn't lost yet. I have more important people to focus on. I don't need you.

Small

And sad. And helpless. And trapped in the knowledge that I'm doing this to myself.

I liked you better when you were broken. At least then I could understand why you were so mean-spirited. Now you're just mean.

Also I liked knowing that someone out there was crazier than me. Hello, rock bottom. We meet again.

I make myself sick with thinking. I read over old secrets and relive old pain and look for reasons to push you away.

I need to turn back before I self-destruct.