crack open the ribcage

fuck this hurts.

i've been largely occupying my free time with a busy social calendar, lots of parties, lots of wine and cocktails, a handful of drugs, dating (sort of) and sex.

...all to keep me from thinking about the unbearable sadness of losing her and a life that was not perfect, but it was OUR life, unduplicated anywhere in the history of humankind.

today, tonight rather... after a day of still more hedonism, i retire to my room, tears streaming down my face.

fuck, i miss her.

i miss her looks. her voice. the pancakes she made every sunday. sharing the comics. the heave of her chest as she breathed...

and a hundred other things i'll never be able to adequately describe to another soul. mostly, i miss the future that never came, and now is stone cold dead.

we were going to do so much.

this wasn't supposed to happen.

but, here i am now, snottynosed and giving myself a good cry for the first time in weeks.

with rickey lee jones making sure i feel all the nuances.



i had a conversation with a friend the other day about the seduction of melancholy, how it draws me in and holds me in those bittersweet and dark arms. comforting me with my past while taunting me with a future that could never happen.

i like to say that i embrace my melancholy, from here i can gauge my joy pure. i am determined to feel the extreme ranges of the human experience.

but now i'm wondering what kind of intellectual jerkoff is that?

i'm fucking sad.

i dont want to be sad anymore.


i am lamenting the death of my old life. the one where i knew where i lived, and what i was doing the next day, and who was going to hold me when i ached and applaud when i succeeded.

but that's dead.

dead.

dead.