me_again Anna_Began I'm beginning to think I need a supersize latte with skim milk or a cigarette or something to dislodge the creative log jammed right below my throat. It's restricting my breath and it takes all my will to remind myself that the coffee gives me headaches and I only smoke when I'm totally shitfaced. I waver back and forth between him and the other him and one is my muse and one is my inspiration and I can't for the life of me see anything past 3:30 tomorrow or the end of April and I want nothing more than to dig out of the horniness, the apathy, the desperation and see where my meaning is going to land. This is it? This is February already and all I have to show for it is an obsession with pickles and several cancelled plans? No. I know that's not the truth. The truth is: I have a baseball ticket sitting on my bedside table, unbent and blissful; sunshine and springtime and kimono's over and a pathway back home. I have a concise phone bill each month that does not list numbers dialed but oh what it would speak if it did. I have meaning in new words; heart and tea and slave. These plans, these are the ones that I dreamt of when the leaves were changing colors, while death shivered through the room at the back of the house, during the breadth and promise of a new year. These were the foggy, misunderstood promises of the past and they shed light upon every choice I've made since forever paused. Constant. Opportunity. Knocks. It shouts, "You want to do this, here it is." I am creating a world; I am creating my world. And met with the irony, of the window, the music, the weather, I breathed in the reality that my life can work with these people here in it. That searching more often than not yields answers. Complexities are found when the blood stops flowing through your body. You turn it into first a gelatinous mistake, corroding your veins, slowly pumping toward your heart, barely moving, growing more frigid each hour with the lack of inertia. It crusts over and as a scab you barely recognize it and you build new, meaningless realities where things make sense to everyone but you. You die. You stop feeling, you stop hearing, you stop seeing. And in your stillness, when everything has stopped moving you realize you no longer recognize what you've deteriorated to. The walls that you've built around you that truth screams to break apart keeps you from seeing the sunshine, the sunsets, the sunbursts that only appear in late July right out there where the sun will slip slowly behind that wall. You may call them shadows but I never did. My heart began beating again the day you broke through my wall. You said my name and we muddled through disconnections and I heard it quietly at first, "thump, thump," and suddenly again it was beating passion and identity, "THUMP, THUMP." And somewhere between thumps another entered and I realized dualities, non-comparisons, completeness. I entered an entire room of mirrors all shouting about beauty and once again I fell in love with everything that crossed my path. I find myself in a state where I cannot squeeze a breath past my heart. Blue-white bolts of lightning are flashing through my veins now, my soul is in constant motion. And nearly everynight I lay my head on a pillow of absolute stillness. Words and wishes calm me as much as hope and truth. I am finding something here. Today, this moment, now, I stand between a miracle and a neverending field of flowers and butterflies. Turning to my left I smile; my eyes are bright, I nearly tear up. I see my home. And to my right? I smile; my eyes are bright; it makes me want to sing. I see you. My choice is easy. I will just lay down, stretching my arms into both for as long as I can. 030224 ... frAnk all the real girls... very well said, this soul inside out. 030225 ... Anna_Began mr. frAnk, are these words directed at me? If so, thank you very much, if not, forgive me for assuming ;-) 030226 ... frAnk absolutely. "stretching my arms into both as long as i can." i loved that and the way your thoughts wove themselves into an understanding. you face life, instead of turning away, or not believing in yourself. that's being real. keep us posted. and i now make an assumption of my own...anna began? derivative from the adam duritz song "anna begins?" "sullivan street" is still my all time favourite song. actually, august and everything after is one of the best records of all time ... 030226 ... Anna_Began Anna Begins is my favorite song of all time. And I will definitely keep you posted. Thanks! 030227 ... Anna_Began How far away can you get from someone before you finally reach a point where you'll never reach them again? In the past I'd lose people. I'd literally misplace them under a bed or in a closet and forget them. Nowadays, I can feel myself having boarded this rickety, makeshift, driftwood boat and I squint toward each tiny island as it drifts out of my vision. And I'm trying to flesh out these thoughts and feelings between the two of you and I keep getting interrupted and realizing I am floating in only one direction anymore. There is only one person calling my name and I am not the type to not listen to anyone but myself. All of my convictions have gone from knowing to thinking to doubting. I fear my foolishness may once again keep me from my fate. But then I realize I question too damn much. The problem is, when you're living in the here and now, you fall in love with what is smiling at you in the here and now. The other side of the globe is too far away and maybe you already were too, before you even left. I play your voice mail over and over to remind me of the way my ears would drink you in. But I get sad when you're just saying the same thing over and over again now. Every man in my life is losing me to some some derivation of a man named Dave. How can a soul that I was so sure of when the leaves were crunching beneath all of my regrets lose me to a heart so beautiful? I'm doing it again. I'm rushing all of my decisions like I said I wouldn't. It's just hard for me to say "God doesn't work in temporary ways" because I know he does. Telling you to be patient and telling him to take it all in while he can just doesn't seem right. I will never learn. 030305 ... Anna_Began My, oh my, what I appear to be creating at this point. And all of the "sensible" voices are screaming "Find that boy a home!" "Grieve and suffer and pay off his lies!" and yet, I just acquired a confirmation number. I just walked into the other room and grabbed an atlas. So many things come running at me so fast. March. April. All within just weeks of eachother. Him, then you, then him again, and probably you in between. I mean really, I need this insanity right now. This "sure to backfire, hand-wringing, hair-twirling, dance-around" insanity. It makes me giggle. It's supposed to be 65 degrees tomorrow. That has to mean something. That has to mean that you will not be on the other side of the earth for much longer. Sometimes when the emotions get too thick, when they pour down upon you so syrupy and fast, it all blends together into a sugary-chrystalline mess. And I have heaps upon heaps of sweetness right now coursing through my blood. I am an emotional diabetic. Because it is all suddenly now. By now I mean in two weeks, but still. Look how frighteningly quick six months passed. Two weeks will end in a blink. Checking my inbox makes me smile so wide. And when you're home I'm going to share each of these miracles with you. I never believed being torn could feel so fulfilling. You have never uttered the word "faith" to me. But God, do I know you understand it. You've dropped vague, plausible hints as to the depth of you feelings. I've flat out told you the depth of mine. Well, at least veiled in double entendree and allusion to our one true love and my true love. I have a reason right now for not wanting to accept my fate. That is something that has to be questionable in the eyes of any deity. I could break this boy in half for you. But with each hour that passes I want to a little less. Sometimes I'm so confused because all the things you wanted me to do in October I'm doing here, now, but with him. Ok, not "all" the things. But these places, these plans... what will come of any of this? Why am I even bothering at this point? Why am I acting out my fantasies of you with him when certainly, I could do it with you if I were just patient. I crawled out of a hole just to scream a bunch of smack about destiny and the like and then I go running in the opposite direction? What a fucking piece of lunacy I am. But this time, it tingles. Tingling has to stand for something. Did you ever think that maybe a "to do" list isn't just something man has created as a means of organizing and/or showing off? Maybe somewhere everyone has a great big lifetime to do list where each thing we ultimately do checks off another box until we just die. I suppose that isn't an original thought. But it does offer me a damn fine excuse for going to Chicago. 030311 ... Anna_Began The color of my nightmares is apparently September. This is news to me. And I can and will avoid this, but what you pointed out to me tonight made me laugh and shudder at the same time. All of the holes he was filling, the ones that you walked away from because I wasn't letting you fill any of my other holes (this is not dirty, though it would have been) you are now offering to fill too. My dementia carries me from second to second and being in love with both of you at the exact same time for differing reasons and similar reasons is sinking into my existance. How will I ever balance this? If one day I love one of you more than the other, shouldn't that be the one I set free? I am not "good for" anyone. I can't be. If I were I'd be settled into something. There's my irony. I was settled, I did settle and it was dead inside and here I am alive and never, ever, ever looking to settle again and you flew to Hawaii today and that means the next place you're flying is home. Suddenly you express a desire to care for me and treat me like a princess and all along he's been treating me like a princess and I realize treating me like a whore was never really your plan, it was your armour. I seem to be a tender baby bunny to the both of you and each of you embraces me with gentle hands and promise me the world and everyone knows what wild, abandoned animals do at the first inkling of human contact. So frantic and unaware I scurry. I've forgotten my reasons for believing you are the love of my life. Funny thing is, all I have to do is glance at a calendar and I see when I'll be reminded. Here is a list of the discrepencies in thought that mangle my belief each day: Am I just being used for sex? Will my body betray me? Are these things really not possible? Is just one side of it not possible? (making things far simpler, yet no less complicated) Will the nightmare fairy pinch me and I'll awaken and realize I'm still stuck with the boy that is nearly dead inside? Is God ashamed of me? Is shame even worth thinking about anymore? Will the world just end? Will choices bigger than my existance be made and, like not so long ago, will everything revolve around rubble and 24-hour news? The coffee is bleeding through me and I have more of your attention than I've had since I'd given into you, at least as far as I know. You are so transparent. I know what the hints and glibs of truth mean. I know how hearts behave, particularly ones such as yours. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I know you're at my beck and call. I'm so full of shit. Stretching my arms into "both" was a lovely and idealistic lie. Wonderwall, wonderwall, why do you come when I call? If I slam my head against something solid enough until it bruises and explodes I just won't have to think about this anymore. I asked for this. No I didn't. Yes, I did. This doesn't hurt. At least not me. And not either of you, yet. This is having a delicious slice of pecan pie on a beautiful plate in front of you; sugary-crust coated toasted pecans, gooey warm filling, milky melted french vanilla ice-cream, with spoon, poised and ready to taste. And you glance up and there before you stands an offering in a goblet filled with cookie dough and peanut butter sauce and thick, tongue-smush whipped cream. And the waitress says, "Here honey, try this one first. Your pie will stay warm." Holy shit I'm hungry. 030313 ... Anna_Began Everynight this week I have tried to drift off to sleepy images of laying next to him in a strange bed in a somewhat strange city. I picture my head on my pillow from home because the hotel pillows could never be fluffy enough. I picture his pants because they're one of the few things I know of that he wears to sleep in. I picture his hair and eyes and skin, which he insists I will not want to kiss and he is wrong. I imagine just how it will feel to kiss him, to hold his hand, to move on in his direction. And consistently, sharp and menacing sometimes, sweet and slow and right others, you slip into these fantasies. They just melt into you and before I know it I'm laying there falling asleep and thinking about you and tickets and sunsets and this unbelievable incredible thing that it will be. Why do I choose to not let myself be free of you for the time being? You are asking me for promises that I cannot keep. Distance right now, from both of you, is my only safety net. I belong to me right now. I belong to me. I belong to me right now. The two of you are going to be the death of me. The sweet, intoxicating death brought about by springtime and creamy dollops of marshmallow atop egg custard snoballs and freshly bloomed hyacinth. Prior to this week I had control of definite. I said "this is now" and "that will be then" and it all made glorious sense. And then there you were, kidding probably, but making me realize I am yours anytime you want me. You would laugh at this and never believe this. You are under the impression that I have the will of a fortress. This is an excellent strategy. But it isn't honest. So I tell you things like "I'm already in love with you," "Come home right now," and I allow you to penetrate my fantasies on a nightly basis. Damn you. Damn you and your everything and your songs about it and your fitting so neatly in what I've devised as Heaven. I will walk into any corn you ever plow under. I will await your homecoming. And I will reluctantly give in. 030324 ... Anna_Began And now it's Thursday, and all I've done is drift off to sleep, and wake, and walk through every ounce of my day picturing images of laying next to him, on top of him, under him, in a strange bed (familiar by Sunday) in a strange city (unseen all weekend). It was, in fact, his head that lay upon my pillow from home and when he laid those pants out on the bed I smiled because it was proof it was him and I was me and this was reality. His hair and skin were beautiful; his eyes pierced me more than I could have even imagined. Kissing him, holding his hand, made me run in his direction, faster than what may be right for either of us. And he closed his teeth off to me by Sunday and that was the most beautiful thing a person could have ever done. Resistance, restraint, response, rejuvination. Distance is tearing me up again and he is hiding in it and you are further away from me then I have ever allowed you to become since I first saw your eyes. Suddenly what I want now is tearing me up as much as what I'll want then and my world is upside down and inside out and I am in love. He wrapped his arms around me as tight as 48,000 pairs of arms have held me and time nearly, nearly stopped in his presence. You know I'm walking away from you and I am now scared that his newly erected walls will force me in your direction too early and I am not ready for that. But after this weekend I cannot say that I am ready for anything. Can something that feels so good, so safe, so nearly-pure not be meant for right now? Can I even make it through April now because April has never been a month I have doubted. When I start to question him unfairly, like I've done to you all along, I know I've fallen completely into him. And if that means waiting forever to feel something that leaves even me at a loss for a metaphor, than I will promise him forever too. Instead. Too. I am tangled up in him and that gives me power over you and I don't know if I want that. I don't want him lost in what I swallowed and I don't want to feel the constant creep of insecurity filling my head. Suddenly, again, my head is screaming and my heart is hiding or crumbling or both and wondering and wandering have never been in such opposition to one another before. For now, in lieu of stretching into different directions, I yearn to simply burrow under the ground and watch it all work out without me. But also, I'd like to kiss him again. 030403 ... Anna_Began Six months and someone is actually able to stifle an inkling of my euphoria. God, I jumped on the bed and threw my legs up and wow, that sounds sexual, but unlike last weekend, this will truly be bliss by Sunday. Right now, I hate him a little bit for blueing my heart while the next 48 hours will be amazing. Perhaps the only way I can handle this is to inject a bit of melancholy... a bit of my own depressive drama. But you, to hear your voice, to hear that you'll be home and home will now include me, is indescribable. You don't want me to "rush into anything," either, and that makes me laugh because with April rushing down my throat now, all of this sanctimonious coercion, all of this trifling and troublesome weary warning, it's you that still pierces my heart like a miracle. I say "I miss him, I'm sorry it is probably ending," because I cannot possibly grasp totality, the completeness of what the first Sunday in April will bring. And you speak of torn carpet and lost tickets and ask me what's the point in doing this in such a hurry if it is missing and I laugh and think "Don't you know?" Than I wonder if him, off in his usual foreign land, creating these fears and more than likely, excuses, realizes what he just pushed away. What a waste of his winter if that is the case. I can only apologize and say that when I walked away from emptiness I promised it was now my way in my time and no one could undo that. So he tried. He tried to steal my heart away and push me into what could only be labeled as dementia and so frighteningly quick, you saved me. I pictured the timing different, though the kisses just as sweet and suddenly my heart begins to create a new subplot. This evening, when I sat in front of Anais and nearly shed tears because I could feel the romance and ramifications of it slipping away, I thought I'd be here tonight musing of false hope, growing distance, losing something I was just last week willing to want for my own. It's hard to focus, and I'm still holding out hope that tonight, maybe for one last time, I will fall asleep to the sound of his beautiful breathing. But again, this Sunday, I will be coming home. 030404 ... Anna_Began What the fuck am I doing? And you take particular pleasure in the irony of this and suddenly YOU'RE betting me and YOU'RE saying "I'm not going anywhere," and I've wanted to hear that, from you, for so long, and now because of him, I'm not sure if I believe it yet. I think it's less wanting what I can't have than it is wanting what I thought I did have and lost. So you're here now, thirty minutes away, my lunch date tomorrow and your words are the only thing keeping me afloat right now. And I thought this: "I miss when you were the only boy deep enough in my heart to make me squirm." Then I shatter in a million pieces because you never made me squirm this much... and I don't know if that's because you never tried or because you weren't as deep as this. That makes me fucking suck. More than before. More than when I tried to create balance and I laid there hearing him moan my name wishing it were you. Suddenly, YOU'RE the simple one. Why can something I don't want permanently cause me so many tears? I didn't realize how many songs I'd given away to him and now, I almost, almost regret it. NO, NO... all of this, it was supposed to be MY way! I want to rail against this because this is not how I pictured it. I pictured breaking his heart for you. I pictured gaining something, and artistic memories and my own Henry Miller, and his nearly unrequited love and here I am a Sunday later, barely hanging on. The beauty, although it ceases to reach me in my numb state, the beauty is in the irony of what I am hanging on to. Tomorrow, I think I'll probably have a salad for lunch, depending on where we go. He'll be back. And I'll still be yours. 030406 ... Anna_Began My mind is so absolutely blown right now I think little bits of it are oozing out of my ears. I can't speak. I need some time to think through the next thing I'm going to write. I need to return to Earth before I can say another word. 030407 ... Anna_Began I noticed the rain around 5:15. Sitting in the place in my driveway, now, where I pause each time I drive up, I noticed each minute pass when my eyes weren't closed with my head pressed against your chest. Since 2:10 am, when I slid the bolt just as the fan wound at its thirty second interval pushed the garage button twice once to open once to close circled my car paced noticed the motion sensor waited for someone to notice I'd snuck out made my way further down the driveway listened for your horn that I only heard through the phone finished the directions told you the story of the boy my dad nearly shot saw your approaching headlights just over the hill until you drew to a stop I hit end on the phone and opened the door climbed in and the next thing I remember you asked me "left? right?" Your three years my six months earned me a bottle of water and a bite of your Butterfinger. So much, so much, so much to remember. You asked "See my new haircut?" as if I'd seen every haircut you'd ever had and I took it as an invitation to feel the length on top and it must have been because you then told me to feel the sides as well. "Have you ever had a horse bite?" something I remember my dad doing from childhood or maybe to his sister but I see right through you and that marked the first time you touched me. Using you to escape Lent I played the only cd I'd ever wanted to listen to with you and you can't tell me that truth or dare at 3 am isn't going to turn down the exact path we were both hoping we'd turn from the first time we spoke. Here, Tuesday, I can still smell you on me. When hope and expectation and desire and insecurity and exhaustion combine, it's hard to really be surprised about anything so when you pulled over I didn't nearly explode. But I rubbed my head as you pulled back onto the road and you asked if I was ok and really there are no words to describe what it was I was at that very moment. Body parts touched tally: Knee, thigh, neck, shoulders, lips, chin. At the next stop sign, on my next dare, you tasted of chocolate. This was the best game of truth or dare I have ever played. The world continued to spin for another hour and a half and we tried the golf course and really when you said "It's time to take you home," I thought, "Don't think you're getting away that easy," and I knew that getting away was the last thing you wanted anyway because you wouldn't have put the car into park when we reached my driveway if that were the case. I want to record every syllable, every motion, every expression and yet I want to keep them all locked inside my mind, secret, to gaze at every three minutes like I have since I walked into my kitchen at 5:45 am Monday morning. I am unwilling to acknowledge that the words that were tied up in your head, the "other 2/3's" of it all had anything to do with loving and me because that's just setting myself up for something that I don't want to begin yet. You tapped with four fingers on each hand on the sides of your head and said "You blow my mind," and then raised your defenses and hid it behind what was happening in your lap. "I am playing with David's belly" was more a reminder to me that I was hurting him than anything else and yet I still leaned down and kissed it and ignored the rest of your pleading. Smiling at eachother was like coming home. The top of my head has been kissed more in the last week and a half than it has since my soft-spot sealed over and yet I feel just as vulnerable. Proof you were there: my aching side from leaning over the arm rest, a sore hip from your hand, the flashing image of your eyes when I said "God you're beautiful." Floating around in whatever bliss it is I'm currently residing in I realize holding hands breathing air tangling tongues with your soul is what will persist in my evolution. If the only thing I ever were to taste again was your tongue I would not starve. I wish I could believe in anything right now because if I could, it would be you. The rain hasn't stopped and you won't be home until Saturday and we'll creep just a bit closer to completely. 030408 ... Anna_Began "He blew it." Exact thought that screamed through my head after spending an afternoon surrounded by plans, books, and something fruity and sadly, sans caffeine. Not, "he's blowing it," or, "he's going to blow it," but, "he blew it." You are seeing your opening and God bless you for it, you're taking it slow, but acting on it and scooping me up into your cupped hands like an injured baby bird. I can't explain this. I can't explain why I'm hanging on to him when ultimately you are what I want to hold forever. He says he's confused... oh Lord if he only, only knew. Confusion has set up permanent residence inside my skull. And from day to day each of you sort of switches and sometimes you're in sync with your sweet, gentle, courting and other times you're both assholes at exactly the same hour. I have so many specific basis of comparison. Each of your lips, the feel of your tongues, the slap on my ass I received, deservedly, from each of you, although his did not leave a mark. I haven't had you, yet, long enough to draw out a full and lethal comparison, but one day soon... I just don't know. He makes me work and you make me think of the future and I just do not know. Nicole said she would choose completely, and there's that word again, and I do know that I agree. But he's beautiful too, and spiritual and direct, and hiding his once visible vulnerability. He's walking slightly away and you're running at me with bells and whistles and that nearly-blinding smile where your eyes crinkle just a bit around the edges and I know I have you by your heart. He is teaching me every lesson I need to love you properly, completely, like a man like you deserves to be loved. To get through this week, I will breathe the in and out, I will wish for an invitation to Milwaukee to lay beside him again in his arms, knowing that returning home will mean returning to you. 030413 ... Anna_Began I'm avoiding both of you, and apparently that means calling you on the phone, but actually avoiding him. All in all though, it was a simple, pleasant conversation and after where I'd been I couldn't help but call. You understood. And the further I get away from him, the more I understand. I question whether any more than my ego will break if he never returns or I never return to him. All of his promises seem so empty right now and make me roll my eyes. So right now, I'm little more than bored and irritated but I think that puts me closer to an emotional breakdown than I've been since it all turned crisp and cold. If he doesn't provide anything more, and it is time to come home, what do I pack for this trip? Surely, even Altoids wouldn't be enough. Most of my clothes are too big now and my shoes are tattered and torn. Last week, buying new underwear was enough. This week, the ticket just makes me jealous because even though she'll never kiss you again (ignore pang of doubt), at least she's with you right now. I guess he's right... I would really be better off if I learned to be patient. I don't know what's aching more for you right now; my heart or my body. 030417 ... Anna_Began I really must stop basing my literary releases upon my overpessimistic assumptions. Up and down, up and down... from dark and depressed to light and euphoric in under two weeks. Admittedly, nothing is perfect. But tomorrow may be damn near close. Sunshine and blow-pops and bottle water close. Close. Tears in my eyes, entering Heaven close. And he's coming around, and I still care a little, so I guess it's worth some sort of wait. Our parallels at the moment are numerous, and that's work conveniently in our favor. Because I can say to you, "I don't want only you. Yet." and you may even be able to say it back, makes this better. So tomorrow, walking over the cobblestones, toward the gate, again witnessing what is so familiar to me; what is branded on the core of my heart, I know what grabbing your hand will symbolize. And while October really isn't so long ago, and a calendar will confirm my destinies, this may be just as life altering as half a lifetime ago. 030418 ... Anna_Began I though too much today. And I usually think too much, but this goes to show that under any circumstances, I think too much. Other facts learned today: when standing smack dab in the center of perfection, there literally is nothing to say. Thoughts of course continue racing in my brain, but no words form. When my senses are so enamored with memorizing each tiny detail, it leaves no ability to speak. I hope you sensed this at least a little. When looking forward to something to this elevated point, where the night before is every Christmas Eve of your existance rolled into one pleasant evening spent in the verbal company of each of you, the let-down is equal to the torn paper, surprises past, it's all over till next year feeling of December 26th. Squinting alternately at a scene that could only be likened to something Monet, Picasso and Rembrandt could have created if all handed a brush and placed in front of a three dimensional canvas, and you, leaves my head hurting so intensely I want to smash it open. That would also give me the opportunity to glue each and ever detail of today into a scrapbook, just as I'll do with my ticket later. Yours I'll just hold onto until the next time I see you. I'm faltering because part of me wants to overanalyze the startled way in which you looked at me when I directly invited your attention but part of me just wants to scream "Shutup! For the sweet love of Christ enjoy this! " There isn't the milky-thick intoxication of what goes on at 2 am but in its place is the realization that this can be comfortable. You stared at the temporarily crouching man and stated "I'm glad he came home" and I thought "I'm glad I did too." You reminded me of so many people today and wove it into the fabric that became you and it's something that I want next to me always and inside of me sooner than I'd like to admit. When faced with a moment so defining, I did what I always do. I noted the cobblestone, I berated myself for not having the courage to grab your hand, I ran my fingers slowly over the concrete, I tried to stop time, I thought about everything I wanted to say to you in glubbering , maniacal surrender and then tried to store it away verbatim to whisper to you one day later. Maybe I should have let this settle in me, twis its way into my identity as your kisses and his kisses and everything that spring has done so far, until it is just me and me but I had to consider the consequences. When you've spent an entire day allowing God to know that if he took you right then and there, you'd willingly go with a contented smile upon your lip, you start to wonder if he just might take you literally. 030419 ... Anna_Began This isn't ending the way I thought it would. And looking back, sinking in it as I have done since the weekend began, I see all the signs in crisp black and white. I realize now that the me that I am searching for is exactly the person I am when I am with him and your magic spell over me is limited to just that; just one instance of controlling magic that I have given up my heart too. You led me back, and for that I owe you thanks. But I am here now and I can love it without you. I knew his kisses were sweeter from the moment I was able to compare them to yours. And the ebb and flow, the stillness, the warmness that he wraps around me is something that I want to grow into like never before. I wish that I could say God does not work in temporary ways, but he in fact does. When you have learned your lesson, it is time to move on. His lessons continually make me a better person. There is a difference between taking from me and allowing me to give. Know this: my life is NOT a game. It is a song, a sonnet, a single canvas that I lay my brush to and create without judgement or regret. I am not your territory to play with, command or MARK. I am sorry that I misjudged. But my world is upside down and he is the only thing patient, amazing, transcendent enough to remind me to breathe. I am his spoon, I am his HeroinGirl, I am his Anna. And in that, and in me, and beyond this, that is all I have ever wanted. 030421 ... Anna_Began Or, not fucking finished yet... God, I don't know... I'm blowing up my entire life and my eyes look dead in the mirror and here comes you're fucking message, and how 'bout this, I'd have used YOU tonight and then you disappear and I don't know if that makes you a gentlemen or an assohole.... See, I se fucking clearly now, but I was in the mood to just let it go and you backed off and I'm not sure if that means you're anything or nothing.. I so won't proof this b/cI"m drunk... I'm ruining a perfectly (finished) good piece with this shit, but I thought it was just necessary to acknowledge that what I thought was the end, of course was not... I won't fucking hurt him for you, drunk or not. 030425 what's it to you? who go blather from