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it comes in cycles: ...I try to slip from you back into myself. In… - Moodspring

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November 4th, 2006

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01:29 am
it comes in cycles:

...I try to slip from you back into myself. In order not to be ripped apart, I must maintain an image of my ego intact. Here you cannot participate, and yet, I keep you with me like a prolonged torture. Why do I relive the breakup of two blind soulmates everyday? But it is not everyday. The lies that are committed in the name of drama. I have lost the ability to live separately from you. Poor you - how little space that leaves you. No wonder you run - but you don't see it and you don't say it. When will I hear the words, "No Diane. Go away." Words that shatter a glass home. 'Til then, I watch the cracks, scarcely able to breathe (like the interminable moment between the fall and the actual shatter). So I must gather my chains and offer them up to the sea. It will be a long slow journey, past the outstretched arms of near strangers. Out of this loneliness I will be reborn into someone you might recognize again at last. So many men on my path and when I look at them, all I see is the myth of Sisyphus - I want no part - I want you.

.... I am doomed to feel obscured by those I love and to feel illuminated by those I don't. The few fleeting moments of intimacy I manage to steal fails to keep me grounded. I drift in and out of people's lives like a thief trying to discover what it means to know a person, trying to discover what people reveal to each other in the quiet hours when the test of years is everything that separates them from me. That is why Lisa and I have clung to each other. We perform the necessary rituals but when the time comes for the masks to be shed and a true exchange of raw emotion to take place - we are left desolate and empty, like satellites, forever circling at a distance the relationships of others. What is it that keeps us on the outside? Perhaps there was a test we had to pass when we were younger and we failed. Perhaps at some point in my childhood, I passed my would-be anchor in the hallway and now I can do nothing but float over these exchanges of intimacy among friends, screaming away that my heart should dare to live on without a familiar shore. Does anyone know? Does anyone really know that I have no one? NO ONE. Not even LIsa. How could we. We circle each other. We know no other way to be - but we try, like children. But the homes have already been made and the doors have all been shut. We can do nothing but stare like madmen in through the windows, hoping for a key, or the secret of human interactions to be revealed.

....A thousand tiny nerves in me are burning and I cannot think to think except see. see you. eyes but not eyes. passion. that is your soul you're showing me. there is no kind of feeling except waves rushing back and forth through me- slowly, quickly eating me up. I cannot think. just feel. eyes so soft and warm. warming into me. knowing me. there you waited. hair i run into and stop shaking.

.... You sleep, quiet like a child, arms folded around the world you lost. In the cradle of the moonlight, your dreams cannot be touched.

.... Your shadow - it is not behind you like those of others. It surrounds you. You call to it like a lover. You believe it is death but it holds not the same stillness. It is not a relief; it moves with you - holding everything else back. People drift in and out of your life and it is your shadow that tells you they are not real. Only it is real.

....So many troubles stem from the need to possess a moment. The few times in which I manage to realize this, I awaken as a baby in a world full of wonder.

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Date:November 4th, 2006 07:22 pm (UTC)
What a strange and heart-breaking thing to see a sentiment I sympathize with so wholly. Then again, I've never known the distinctive agony of having had someone and feeling them gone from me, trying to keep the idea about me when everything about it has obviously passed. And your friend, how could she know you? If you are each the other's moon then neither one can see the other's far side. Locked in a homemade glass prison... the phrase gilded cage comes to mind. And why not destroy these things, lift your chains and lash out at the house that constricts you? I'm reminded of a quote: "the line that separates love and hate cuts through the heart of every man; and who would destroy a piece of his own heart?" Not claiming that there is hate involved so much as I fear that your cage is built of your heart. How undesirable to fragment and attempt to rebuild something so precious and fragile. I think I understand your plight, but I can't claim to know. I don't know you. I know how to suffer as you seem to, but that's no consolation and it certainly isn't enough to lend anything of meaning to your plight. And when we try to weave our ways into the hearts of others, as mysterious strangers, it's as though we're freezing in outer space, looking for fire. To steal it, as Prometheus did, but not to give to the people; who could be so selfless? Really, when two people try to share their subjectivity it's an energy exchange; we hope for something better to result from the exertion, a synergistic result. I believe in synergy, but I have only an idea of it. To dream of something objective... the joy of human folly.

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