the wanting.

When I look at myself on that day, our day, I see the joy and excitement and the happiness and the love.  I see it all.  And I feel it still, somewhere in my heart.  Sometimes, the heart has memories the mind has lost.  And so it is with me.  Because when I think of everything lately, our life, our "problems," all the brokenness I feel, my heart still feels comfortably tied to yours, safe and whole and bound.  It is a good feeling.

But it makes it very, very hard, too.  Because then there's all the other things, the hurt and the weary words and the tears that I hate.

It would be easier to just fly away.  It would easier to want and have and possess and consume all that wish to now, so starved and deprived.  But from the love comes the guilt of the wanting.  It's like the song - I want you, but I want you to want me, too.  And I don't feel that, and haven't in a long time.  I think I could, again.  I want to try.  I'm afraid of what will happen if you don't.

trapped.

I am stuck.  I can't move forward.  I can't do this anymore, but I don't know what it is I'm supposed to do.  He won't listen.  He won't understand.  He says he will try harder, that he is trying harder, but he's been saying that for months and months now, and I don't believe him anymore.

I want to be adored.  I want to be desired and wanted.  I want I want I want.  It's the theme of my life lately.  I am starving for attention and love.  His attention and love.  He says he is trying but he is not.  Does trying mean reading the newspaper as we eat lunch together?  Is trying saying no more than 10 words to me at a time?  I have no idea how it got to this point.   I am hurting too much to talk to him anymore, to go to him anymore.  I don't know what's wrong with him, what's behind the wall he has up all the time.  I am hurting too much and too apathetic now to see.  I think I want more than he can possible give.

But I can't fathom breaking up this life we've created.  How do I even begin?  What will happen? 

memory lane.

I was visiting one of my other places here, where I had not been in years; a dark place, full of secrets and the past and of delicious things I don't speak of because they were so long ago.  I can still remember.  

I came across the story I wrote of you and me, and it took me across the void of time to that day, when you kissed me, your hand in my hair.  It was insistent and violently urgent and it was everything.  It was like a dream.  It was like everything I ever wanted but I was too stupid and young and blind and sad to realize it.  Now,  I feel unwanted [though not unloved, precisely] most of the time, and I want to cry when I remember your heat.  That passion, as if I was the only thing in your world that you burned for without ceasing.  My God, I want to feel that again.  I don't know that I ever will.

I know you will find this here and I say to you now - I have never forgotten.