I can't reiterate how tired I am, of writing about love.

Of thinking about love.
Of being about love.

I'm tired
of Love.

it gets the worst at night

I sit here on my wooden desk, with a bowl of soup, tea and my Buckley's; things that repair the body, about to get started on repairing my heart. Ignoring the antecedent crumbs that'd fallen in between the missing letters my fingers had memorized on the keys of my keyboard - breathless (the way it was before).
I ring my hands neurotically, sitting, thinking about what happened, and whether or not to actually post this; partly on account of the fact that I'd lectured myself to stop publically documenting my humiliation, and stop hiding behind a subterfuge that would backfire on me later. But I promised, and I need to let it out and come to terms with what happened; to keep a reminder somewhere of the pain I suffered and what not to do in order to avoid this from happening again.
"You know what? I don't want to ever fucking talk to you again. Fuck you. Fuck off." Those were the last words I heard before a click and the silence that followed. I actually stared dumbfounded at my phone, with a look I'm sure I hadn't experienced in the last 9 months. And then I called back.
Once he picked up, we were all ready to begin the scene that we knew had been written for us six months ago.
I don't want to record everything that was said; it isn't necessary. I'm ashamed to say that I got hysterical, wept, clutched my bedsheets, criticized his ingratitude and laid out the inventory of how lucky he was and all I'd done for him. He, as usual, attacked my entire way of life, my temper, my experiences, saying he couldn't be grateful for something he found meaningless and contemptible - among other cruel and pointless things.
And I played the game he wanted me to play with him, but by my rules. I know it's cynical but I have to do it because it's like he doesn't listen, like he's already decided what I should be saying. When things like this happen, I try to tell him that I don't want to talk about it, but like most men, he doesn't hear, and my pleads fall upon deaf ears. He thinks he can find my feelings like an x-ray machine.
It is occasionally possible, just for brief moments, for me to be completly apart from my feelings. This is what made it possible for me to tolerate the conversation. I realize that it was necessary and a part of what I had to do to detach myself from him, in increments, to hate him, until I got to the point where I could hang up.
Needless to say, the sight of myself in the mirror after that conversation was the most painful thing I ever did see.
If we're talking about learnt lessions, I realize now that sometimes words don't count. They fly over people's heads or get trapped in the filters between their ears and brain. I suppose it's that way on account of the fact that words are too easy to ignore, misunderstand.. twist around. Sometimes, you have to act, and sometimes dramatically so that people are stunned, stopped in their tracks. I don't think he tried to escape for one reason, or that it was all revenge but that's exactly what he did.
When I look back on our fights, I sometimes wonder if, had he been a different kind of person, I'd have let my guard down. (Probably not.) And I understand that. This understanding is what makes it possible for me to be with him at all. It is a necessary conceit for our survival. His world is so foreign to me that I can't help but feel that the person who inhabits it is a complete stranger to me. I love when I reach him on the phone and I can hear the music he's listening to in the background (even when I tell him to turn it off and pay attention). That music is the sound of him without me; how he surrounds himself when I'm not there, which is almost never.
And yet even as I stare at him, he still seems as ineffible to me as he did when I'd first seen this model looking man, sitting across from me, wearing his work uniform, staring at me so intensely on the RT. I guess that's what happens in the end, you start thinking about the beginning. And I know that no matter how close I get to him, I will never know exactly who he is. I will never get used to him. And the only reason that I don't run away from this oddball relationship is the certainty that he will never know me either.

It's only after I'd lost everything, that I was free and it was only after I almost got out of the car, and he held me back, and we worked it out, and I could look at him again, did I begin to notice the volume being turned back up all around me, of my life apart from him.
I don't know what came over me yesterday, what caused me to say what I said, what caused me to do what I did, or what caused me to accept that I had to leave who I left. Maybe I just felt like destroying something beautiful. All I know is that it will never happen again. (I'm sorry.)

Nothing lasts forever

It is so easy to see dysfunction between you and me
We must free up these tired souls before the sadness kills us both
I tried and tried to let you know I love you but I'm letting go
It may not last but I don't know
If you don't know then you can't care
and you show up, but you're not there
Ive been waiting, and I want to
Still afraid that I will desert you.
A bed that's warm with memories can heal us temporarily
But misbehaving only makes the ditch between us so damn deep
Built a wall around my heart, never let it fall apart
But strangely I wish secretly, it would fall down while I'm asleep
Though we have not hit the ground doesn't mean we're not still falling
I want so bad to pick you up but you're too reluctant to accept my help
What a shame.. I hope you find somewhere to place the blame
but until then the fact remains..

Everyday with every worthless word we get more far away
the distance between us makes it so hard to stay
But nothing lasts forever so be honest babe
It hurts but it may be the only way

Art of War

It started as our dream
We was a team, no games
til you put me under CREAM,
suddenly, we're both playin
Keepin secrets of my own,
he don't see, I'm not stayin
Whispered nothings on the phone,
So fresh, now decayin.
Countin the grands and hoes,
and there was a lotta those -
doin damage, now we bleedin,
each affair, heavy blows
(c)

Still standing

I remember this one time being on a streetcar downtown around 2 in the morning. It was fairly empty, possibly spring time, and there was just me and two other people riding the transit. One of the two was a girl who seemed about my age. At least I thought she was a girl but I was distracted by her wardrobe. I remember thinking, "What the hell is she wearing?" as it was still moderately cold and she was wearing next to nothing - shorts, fake ugg boots and a hoodie. I remember her two finger gold ring that I've always wanted, her violet contacts, and her(his?) pencil brows. But of course I'm not here to write about a girl(guy?) in 4 degree weather, wearing shorts, fake ugg boots and a hoodie.
The other person on the bus was an average looking man - probably in his thirties. He looked a very comfortable man with his dark suit and shiny shoes. But the most interesting thing about him was his face. It was screwed up in anguish as if he was about to cry in any second. But then a few minutes he'd switch his face and look fine. It was a face of a man in sorrow trying to console himself - and failing miserably. He was biting his lip and tapping his feet - a detail that hasn't faded because I remember how annoyed I was at the sound of the heel that his shiny shoe was making. His eyes were swollen, his lips were pouted and it looked like somebody had just died.
I've never seen someone so sad before, but I think that's probably what I looked like today. I've always been a lucky girl; the priviledged, spoiled socialite. Most people don't even know what love is, and maybe now, I don't either. But every person has a problem. And sometimes our masks slip and everybody gets a glimpse of what's going on inside, even for a second - whether we like it or not.
I've never been this sad before.

Boundaries

So I was at the club with S the other day, up to our usual antics. The routine intoxicants were present, free and just calling us to use in order to wake up the next morning and not remember the night. And it did happen, but I do remember one point of the night when something sobered me up in the form of an old mutual friend of an ex who I hadn't seen since around October.
Some time after we got there, this guy that barely knew me said, "You know you're like a different person. I used to think you reminded me of ****, but now you like dude you with. You even talk like him."
I need a break from this cycle, discover what I look and talk like when I'm not trying to merge with someone.
Moreover, I think I have some kind of boundary issue; or maybe not so much boundaries on account of the fact that I'd need boundaries in order to have a boundary issue. But I guess the real problem with me is that I disappear into the person I love; the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can generally have everything; my time, my money, my ass, my family, my attention, my dog, my dog's money, my dog's time, my fish - everything. If I love you, I carry all your pain, your debts(in every definition of the word), protect you from your insecurities, protect you from my insecurities, enforce all the good qualities that you never see in yourself and I'll buy your whole family Christmas presents, ribbon on top and everything. I'll give you the sun, the moon, and if I can't, I'll get you a raincheque. I'll exhaust myself, deplete myself, and juice out all the love until I recover my energy by falling in love with someone else or you get too tired of my unconditional state.
It almost seems like nobody deserves my love, but I guess nobody deserves the burden of it either.
I'm not relaying this realization on this blog with pride, but this is how it's always been, and my reminder not to make it how it'll always be.

9/9

There was a time when I used to be permissive and tolerate the faults of my relationship; mainly because I'd never seen so much money come and go so easily, been with someone who could provide for me financially, mentally, sexually and still be able to take care of everything I needed - down to cleaning and furnishing our house together all by himself; or building a future with realistic goals. I used to convince myself it was permanent; he filled every empty void in my life with the time and energy I spent on him. It felt good getting caught up in the lifestyle broadcasted through the songs we all hear on the radio.
Nonetheless, after making irreversible mistakes, permanent consequences were left for me to deal with alone; I guess my mistakes reinforced the fact that nothing lasts forever - something I shouldn't have forgotten or hoped for otherwise.
However, these are all used to be's. I've never taken disrespect from a broke motherfucker but no man; no matter how much I think I love him, is ever going to be relevant to me again - at least not in the way I left myself open before. Afterall, I can get it all, all by my damn self. Always have, always will.
I am a product of my environment, but my soul belongs to Me.

Endurance

The finest thing under the sun and moon is the human soul. I marvel at the small miracles of kindness that pass between humans, like the tired teenager straight from school who doesn't know anything about life yet but gets up to let the little old lady take his seat. I marvel at the growth of conscience; of the guilt humans feel and their attempts to correct the consequences. I marvel at the persistance of reason in the face of all fear or despair. I marvel at the strength of the woman coming out of the broken relationship or the parent that has to bury their child; the progress one makes in order to pick up and reconstruct the pieces of their lives. I marvel at human endurance.