Tonight was hard on my heart. I guess I don't know which way's up.
I tore my room apart earlier searching for W2 forms. They were in my closet, but I went through everything before I got there-- shelves and drawers. I threw everything to the floor, socks mixing with pens and mismatched batteries. And then there it was, a picture of me in Mike's arms, the both of us smiling. I lost it. I couldn't help it.
If only he could have let me love him. If only he could have been secure in it. I loved him so fiercely. I drowned.
I still haven't processed that I will never kiss him again. Not really. And I could never let myself again, either. I wanted to call, though. I wanted to hear his voice and tell him I'm raw too. It's just that I repress it under everything else so that it doesn't hurt most of the time.
Why couldn't he fight back? Why did he have to wallow in his misery? Why couldn't he bend down to help me pick up the pieces? Why couldn't he see I was just as scared of losing him?
In the end, I suppose it's not a blame thing. It was just as much my fault as his, the whole snooping thing aside. Why couldn't we fix it? I looked at his smiling face, his adorable pointed ears. I could not stop crying. All of that repressed grief welled to the surface. I've spent so much time telling myself that it's okay, that it doesn't hurt. And usually, it doesn't. I don't let myself think about it. I deal with things in my own way-- in words, piece by piece, over the span of aeons. Bite-sized chunks of grief.
I'm so afraid that I'll never feel anything as powerful as the things I felt those first few years with him. That nothing else will ever core so deep, will tear me open and expose me to the sun. And part of me wonders how much of that is the gauzy remembrance of an enamored seventeen year-old. God, I hope it wasn't that. It might be easier to think it was, though.
And then there's Skyler. I feel so comfortable around him. I could love him, maybe. Someday when I don't hurt so much, when there aren't so many reminders. He's so sweet-- flowers and champagne. Midnight backrubs and ice-cream brownies when I'm stressed out. I am powerfully attracted to him. Magnetic. But there's a wall around me right now, and I can't let it go yet.
He called me his girlfriend last night. I don't know why it shocked me like it did. It doesn't bother me... it's just that I hadn't thought of it. I suppose that's what I am. We've been dating for a month now. But that means I'm not Mike's girlfriend, and well, I'm still dealing with that. Please don't give me advice on this. I'll sort it out in my own time.
Like Mike, like Ariel, and yeah, even Johnny, I knew from the start that Skyler would be important to me. It's the sensation of a gunshot tearing through flesh, it's how I know. It's the same strange heart's alchemy that lets me know if I could love someone simply by pressing my lips to theirs. And so that's something. But still there's that fear-- that nothing else will ever touch me so deeply, will ever change me so irrevocably. It makes me hold him at arms's length, though it's not his fault. I'm not ready to melt yet.
This is all my choice. All things I have brought about, have shaped with my own hands. I know it will be okay, that I have made and will make the best choices for me. It's just that there are times when it hurts to know that some of those choices are irreversible.
I owe the state of Maryland $23. Bastards.
I tore my room apart earlier searching for W2 forms. They were in my closet, but I went through everything before I got there-- shelves and drawers. I threw everything to the floor, socks mixing with pens and mismatched batteries. And then there it was, a picture of me in Mike's arms, the both of us smiling. I lost it. I couldn't help it.
If only he could have let me love him. If only he could have been secure in it. I loved him so fiercely. I drowned.
I still haven't processed that I will never kiss him again. Not really. And I could never let myself again, either. I wanted to call, though. I wanted to hear his voice and tell him I'm raw too. It's just that I repress it under everything else so that it doesn't hurt most of the time.
Why couldn't he fight back? Why did he have to wallow in his misery? Why couldn't he bend down to help me pick up the pieces? Why couldn't he see I was just as scared of losing him?
In the end, I suppose it's not a blame thing. It was just as much my fault as his, the whole snooping thing aside. Why couldn't we fix it? I looked at his smiling face, his adorable pointed ears. I could not stop crying. All of that repressed grief welled to the surface. I've spent so much time telling myself that it's okay, that it doesn't hurt. And usually, it doesn't. I don't let myself think about it. I deal with things in my own way-- in words, piece by piece, over the span of aeons. Bite-sized chunks of grief.
I'm so afraid that I'll never feel anything as powerful as the things I felt those first few years with him. That nothing else will ever core so deep, will tear me open and expose me to the sun. And part of me wonders how much of that is the gauzy remembrance of an enamored seventeen year-old. God, I hope it wasn't that. It might be easier to think it was, though.
And then there's Skyler. I feel so comfortable around him. I could love him, maybe. Someday when I don't hurt so much, when there aren't so many reminders. He's so sweet-- flowers and champagne. Midnight backrubs and ice-cream brownies when I'm stressed out. I am powerfully attracted to him. Magnetic. But there's a wall around me right now, and I can't let it go yet.
He called me his girlfriend last night. I don't know why it shocked me like it did. It doesn't bother me... it's just that I hadn't thought of it. I suppose that's what I am. We've been dating for a month now. But that means I'm not Mike's girlfriend, and well, I'm still dealing with that. Please don't give me advice on this. I'll sort it out in my own time.
Like Mike, like Ariel, and yeah, even Johnny, I knew from the start that Skyler would be important to me. It's the sensation of a gunshot tearing through flesh, it's how I know. It's the same strange heart's alchemy that lets me know if I could love someone simply by pressing my lips to theirs. And so that's something. But still there's that fear-- that nothing else will ever touch me so deeply, will ever change me so irrevocably. It makes me hold him at arms's length, though it's not his fault. I'm not ready to melt yet.
This is all my choice. All things I have brought about, have shaped with my own hands. I know it will be okay, that I have made and will make the best choices for me. It's just that there are times when it hurts to know that some of those choices are irreversible.
I owe the state of Maryland $23. Bastards.
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