i_want_you_back . It wouldn't matter if I hadn't loved you so, and it would matter even less if I were more certain about that past tense, but darling, I've forbidden myself subconsciously all this time from thinking those words, let alone speaking them, let alone typing them. Now I have said them, and I feel like a dam of almost four months of holding my disembodied self together with small sharp tacks and cement putty and kindergarten glue has been broken. The tides runneth over. I've come unspooled all over the kitchen floor, while you sit in the bathroom of a house across the continent, bending another woman over the bathtub and tantalizing her ear. I absorb the carpet slowly and crave your unworthy presence. Oh no, now I've let another secret go, something up in my attic - the superego, the ego, or the id - has gotten out of control and is fighting off my defense mechanisms! Because there's another embarrassing truth sitting smugly in the rubble of that tidy little projection I just made: I don't feel good enough. It wouldn't matter if I hadn't loved you so, and it would matter even less if I were more certain about that past tense. I can't discern between missing-your-love, and missing-your-voice-your-thoughts-your dreams, everything about you so everpresent that year, and so remarkably and utterly absent now. It's an escapist way of getting over someone, you know; never speaking again. I think now, in hindsight, it's a bad idea, and that perhaps it's just too hard for the human heart to take; having a person so firmly entrenched in your life and then...gone. It wouldn't matter if I hadn't loved you so. It would matter even less if I were more certain about that past tense. But what can I do? How can I possibly be so irrevocably broken? How can I need you, without hurting my pride? Without admitting that I'm not very strong, not even a little strong, not strong at all? How can I want you back when you've forgotten all about me and don't love me anymore? 050118 ... jane anything i want, i mostly have now. most things, though not regretful, i do not want back. 070724 what's it to you? who go blather from