mainsqueeze's Diaryland
Diary
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Dear ****, I miss you like crazy. When I say that, I don't mean that there are definable moments; What I mean is that here and there I get that phantom limb ache and then I realize that I still have all of my extremities so it must be something else. It must be you.
My life is changing. You wouldn't recognize this one and call it mine because everything is so very different. I am so very different. I am starting to like-- actually, I think a more appropriate word is respect-- myself. I can't put my finger on when or why or how this happened, but I trust myself now. That is an amazing feeling, and I plan on savoring this for as long as I can before it becomes commonplace and boring. Now, it is new and exciting. I make myself happy, these days.
I have fallen, fallen, fallen madly in love with a beautiful boy and I don't think he loves me back yet. This is okay, really, because being around him makes me feel so fucking lucky and eternal and elevated. You used to make me feel like that. Lucky.
He makes amazing music and writes amazing stories and sometimes, when I share the strange things that bounce around inside my mind, he says he feels it, too.
I took Lise to her first concert last night. Green Day. It was bittersweet, to say the least. She got teary because she was so excited and I got teary because she is turning into a young lady and that means that we're all getting older. The days when shit like that excited me to the point of tears are long gone. No more standing in the front row leaning righteously over the bar and screaming every word to every song and feeling infinite. No more sneaking out of the house to go to some house show on a school night. No more of any of that. We are grown up now. How sad.
The ride home (past the intersection at Maryland and Trop) made me think of you, and stupidly, I said it. I don't even like the person you are these days, but I like to keep you private. I guess you could say I've canonized you, the you at age eighteen, the you who held my hand and took care of me, the you who loved the exact same miniscule moments in the exact same songs. That person, that ****? He is a saint. I want that one just for me, for when I feel so lonely it actually manifests itself as a sharp ache just between my throat and my chest. That is the one I remember. I've cut you off at eighteen, to keep your memory beautiful. Go listen to track 11 of Aeroplane Over the Sea. This song has been making me cry all week. It makes me think of you, of Ethan, of my sister, of all of the things I am waiting for and hoping desperately for.
This letter is so that you know like one girl was dead to you after years of friendship, you are dead to me. But not because I hate you. Because I love you enough to want to keep on loving you forever. I can't, now; I have to call up the night you cut your hair, the way you tried to save me when I was sick, and fuck, fuck, now I'm crying. Phantom limb, Matt. Phantom fucking limb and I will feel it forever and wish like hell I could hit rewind and live it over again. I wish you wished you could live it over again. "And in my dreams you're alive and you're crying
As your mouth moves in mine soft and sweet
Rings of flower round your eyes and I love you
For the rest of your life." Love,
Angela
2:48 a.m. - 2005-10-08
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