I’m gonna break their hearts all ’round the world
I don’t know if I can repeat this enough… This was not the way I expected the night to end up. Can’t say I mind it, though.
I’m starting to worry that I’m one of those "only happy when it rains" kind of girls, who wants nothing more than a relationship more complicated than she can handle and a breakup too hard for her to get over. More, I’m finding that I miss the adrenaline of the cat and mouse games, and I’m wondering if that means I ought not to even try… Rationally, probably.
Rationality never did stop me, though.
I keep telling myself to hold on to these moments as they pass, and I keep feeling that they’re not so urgent as to be recorded. Maybe it’s a sign that I’ll take things slower, be less headstrong this time… maybe it’s a sign that I’m just not feeling it. I spend all my time, now, wishing I could feel more or less. Contentment is hard to find.
How odd of me to spend my morning in early morning light waiting for the poetry to come to my mind that I would have to lay quiet and wait, repeating it again and again, until I could sneak away and write all down. No words came, no grinning surprised moments of "I must write this down." I tell myself it’s just the recency, but deep down I believe that I’ll never find it the way I had it again. As much as I wanted it to be in, I kept my head out of it…
In the event that I don’t come by here tomorrow, an early birthday to darling Patrick… Ellison calls Juneteenth "the celebration of a gaudy illusion." I try to consider it more along the lines of a celebration of a glam existential phenomenon.