after silentbob my stomach hurt. so i moved away. and when i came back it was all still there in living color. 020630 ... josie he woke, he felt the overwhleming urge to let me know how it felt... having my wet finger in his ear, having my tongue flicking his aorta, having my love randomly pumping out subconcious lyrics in an attempt to bear my soul. Lie awake and still before you do what you do so well... because after... after that i am left with that feeling again. But maybe the point is that he doesn't care. Maybe the point is that he hates me so much more than I care to remember at times. Maybe i'll go put my fingers in my own ears next time. 020701 ... josie after i proof-read that, my head began spinning. I lost my centre of gravity and nearly fell off my chair. Didn't think i'd ever find someone who'd have that effect on me.. 020701 ... angie I felt nothing. I felt relieved Excited Guilty New After that night... 020705 ... distorted tendencies I don't know and who cares. 020922 ... once again and they say there is now. And they say this is the moment. And the one that comes after? After there is silence, or are there voices raised... in anger or joy? And after we've said these words, will they be forgotten or lost or dissolve into a cliched platitude? And after we've done these things will they become routine and dull... or simlpy another song on repeat? "all that was before must soon come after..." 040802 ... belly fire after lingers a taste... a tremor... and regret. 080626 ... tender square after i told him i was in love with somebody else, he left our apartment and went for a long drive, called his parents. i went to our couple’s therapy session alone, told our counselor what had happened, felt her judging me the whole time. “why even come to these sessions if you knew what you wanted?” she asked. because i thought i could stop it. neither of us ate that night. we were planning to make gyozas and rice before i broke the news. he was smiling when he came home with the grocery bags, his mood upbeat. later, he asked me if i wanted him to fight for me and i said no. i grabbed my pillows and slept in the spare room across the hall. i debated locking the door, not sure if i could trust this man anymore after betraying him. my mom had warned me to stay safe. “are you going to hurt me?” i asked him. incredulous, he said no. then turned around and asked me the same question, even though we both knew the answer. the next day neither of us went to work; we woke in our separate beds, quiet, wondering if the previous day had actually happened. at one point i heard him start up “celeste and jesse forever,” and i came into our room and lay with him on my side of the bed, watching too. we cried the whole time. i don’t remember much of our last weeks together, save an awkward dinner where he made gnocchi for us and played marvin gaye’s “here, my dear” as we ate it. i gave him all my bowie records, and a picture of a huge grey crashing wave my grandmother painted that hung in our kitchen. i left him most of the furniture, just took a couple of shelves for my books, my cds, my records. i didn’t think i had the right to ask for anything more after all that i had taken. 210831 what's it to you? who go blather from