And for just once… I was hoping I’d be home after him. I’m so, so delusional.
John tonight said, “I was just putting him before myself, and that’s not love.”
I think I’m doing this whole thing wrong. Why am I so raggedly confused?
It is… upsetting… I’m not really sure what to do. Is this a temporary feeling, tonight?
Is every woman a sea of feelings? An ocean of overwhelming misery and elation that washes away the sand of logic? I’m just wondering what I’m looking for. Or maybe I shouldn’t be looking for anything. I’m just tired..
Sometimes I write about the forest girl. I’ve written her beginning and some in between things.. and I’ve written her death on the operating table. I’ve just thought about how, if I were to write a full story, I’d want it all to end. And I wanted to note this idea somewhere, just in case.
The reason that she was in the OR in the first place, I’ve decided, is because Music (the man she finds herself in love with) drove drunk. I think it will be one of the climaxes in the book. Where things finally seem perfect, where she gives in and drinks with him… And it obviously doesn’t go well.
In the end of the book, Music doesn’t drink anymore. He still indulges in the occasional cigarette. Now Music grows things. He lives among his many gardens, filled with squash, pumpkins, hydrangeas, roses, and peppers to name a few.. and wishes he could bring back the forest girl he killed.
Maybe in the end, she really does come back in the forest, mysteriously reborn again as she was before. Loved by the seasons and the sea surf, clothed in marvelous vegetation. Maybe she does hear the sound of music again, somewhere on a cool breeze, or high in some storm cloud. But maybe… This time… Before her forest heart can draw her towards the world of men a second time there is hesitation, fear, and some strange sense that it would end badly if she pursued love.
Maybe she leaves the forest again anyway.
You know those headaches where when you inhale through the nose it feels like a tight rubber-band is being constricted around the circumference of your head? ………… Experiencing that at the moment.
I’m positive the cause has something to do with sleep, and my lack of the quality kind at the moment. So why can’t I sleep? I know I’m tired..
It’s a strange thing.. To be in love with someone who doesn’t really use words. The title of this blog is “ink is my blood”. Writing is one of my favorite, and sometimes messily so, forms of expression. Oh, so many nights listening to music that made me feel… Feel elation, drunken bliss, bitterness, anger, energy, and the sweetest kind of sadness.
I’m stupidly lonely. I don’t even want company, really.. I don’t know what I need. It’s been quite a long while since I’ve felt this… Uncertainty. I thought that “living” this summer, the working, drinking, and relaxing would make me happy. I’m not very happy. I’m disappointed in myself. I don’t like the food I eat, I’m sad I don’t go to yoga. I’m upset that I’ve turned so far inward. I’m ashamed that I shy away from most social invitations. And now… I feel a bit. Distressed.
I’m distressed that there are no words for me. That there isn’t more. A friend I hadn’t seen in a very long time said, “I love her, I love everything about this girl!” to some of his friends a while ago. Man that was so nice. I feel so wistful.
And honestly. After what almost happened. I feel afraid to be sad. I feel like somehow, a relationship that I thought was so rock solid, is suddenly made of glass and I’ve been tossing it around with a false sense of security. Where does this leave me?
I feel like my heart is going to crack.
I do know what true love is. And I rest comfortably knowing that no matter how this works out… I will always look back on this time with full confidence in it’s authenticity. It’s warm, pure, reality. Good and bad, this is love. Passionate and blandly comfortable, all of these moments are mine, and the making of a life worth living.
He makes me face my discomforts, my urge to run away from problems. And he is always worth it. Yes, this is love.