cut_off jezabel you have me silly as a school girl. i blush enough to burn and bury my face in my shoulder, giggling, aghast at mischief's misfire, not a minute left, but thirty seconds worth of words lopped neatly at the end. in memory's distortion i am boorish brute, not kissed with emotion, imagination, or lust because of the "thinking of..." that never had a chance to form on lips and pour, parting gift, the quick caress so you would know what lovelies lurked. i would gladly self-immolate over this breach of Being but for your smile when you see sheepish grin, giggling apologies; even though my essence was amputated, i trust you to understand. 060501 ... ferna And so it is just like you said it would be Life goes easy on me Most of the time I finally did it, I cut him off. I deleted him from my phone, from my lists, from my life. I told him to tell me if he'll be back next year, because if so I won't be. I need my soul again, oh god, I need to heal. I miss my mother so much. A friend of mine wrote tonight that she feels empty in a way that money can't fill. And I feel empty too, but a timeworn empty. Because in talking to James last night I heard him say things that were sick. And it was all so expected, the same sucking leeching feeling. The feeling of invasion, of erosion. The slow wear of a long-burning ache. And I wanted to be invaded for so long, I wanted that feeling of being cracked open by him, a slim hard tool, a lock pick. But the desire might be gone, it might not be there anymore. I feel so closed to him now. And it's sad, sad to lose that feeling of openness. Of vulnerability. I loved trusting him, even though he betrayed me at every turn. "She is so good for me." ~and then~ "When you wear your hair up, all I can think of his how much I want to kiss your neck." And I heard it, how sick he is. It's as though a mechanism is broken. A click should happen, a guard should be up, a failsafe between him and me that is never ever there. And I do hope he will leave me alone. I do hope that he will just leave me be. Please leave me be, you fucking freak of an asshole. You broken, sick thing. I finally realized, that while I have bruises from unnamed sharp corners, and open wounds from the fiercest of battles, I am not broken. I love too much. 070321 what's it to you? who go blather from