Friday, August 31, 2012

I feel a bit guilty

that I can't write about good things in here anymore. It's more of an escapist tendency, coming back here. When I have too many negative emotions brimming and I need somewhere for it to spill safely over without staining everything.

I'm unhappy. Why? I don't know. I blame my period.
Something that ticks me off about my conversations with Daniel, is the abrupt end to them that happens too, too often. I can suggest we go to bed, I can prep myself that we're going to part ways, but he'll say, "No, we can finish this game first," "No, I'm not tired yet," "No." But then just as I settle with the idea of talking with him for the rest of the night, we come to a point where he says, "Goodnight, Mona."

I'm not kidding. He's in complete control of the conversation. It's goodbye when he says goodbye, without warning, and I'm not allowed to prepare myself. I guess I'm just supposed to always expect it.
But I feel like if I talk to him every night without letting go of the reality that he's not really with me, and that we can't go to bed together, and that I'll have to say goodbye, then talking to him at all wouldn't be worth it. It would be fake, a formality.

So I like to let myself forget. It makes it easier to talk to him. I look forward to it every day.

So when he just cuts it off like that, it drops reality like an anvil or a grand piano in an ol' Acme cartoon.

Good Night, Mona. I have to go to sleep. I have to get my 10 hours of sleep, and wake up in the morning and go about my usual life. You have to get some sleep, I know you think you don't have to, but you do, so you can wake up in the morning and go about your life. And every morning you wake up, is another morning closer to when we'll be together again, right? So Have A Great Night, Mona. I Love You.

I know. I know. I know. I know. The only response I have is a nod, a gulp, "Goodnight, love you, too."

Sweet Dreams.

"You, too."

Dammit. I can usually get by. It bothers me, yes, every single time. It's just a let down, every single time. It hurts, every time. But I can handle it.

Just, tonight it's killing me. I spent too much time during the conversation being frustrated with the game we were playing that I was obviously, obviously losing. We played for almost an hour. I lost. Then we switched to that dumbass game of Connect Four, that I won three times in a row. Shit, it only took a few minutes. It didn't make me feel any better about myself, if that was his plan. And then he says goodnight.

I'm not blaming him for anything, he's not doing anything wrong. If anything, he's the sweetest thing. And he's damn right. Thinking of him helps me sleep at night, knowing I'm one night closer to him.
But tonight, I kind of just wish he'd stay up with me, or we could fall asleep together, and pretend again that he was here.

I guess I'm just bitching.

I really do blame the PMS. It's in that later stage where my emotions kick in and I get pissed at everything.

I miss him so fucking much.
Tonight's gonna be a bitch.

I thought it'd be easier when I got home.
But I think I've found a new definition of home,
and it's not here, not now.
Not until he comes back.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

And I'm selfish

because the first post I make in over a month, after everything in my life really started moving--my boyfriend, most of my friends, I finished up at work, I'm working out my classes, etc.--is about an old flame.

In my defense, it's the only thought that came, sudden and heavy, without any other outlet presented.
Maybe I'll talk to Kaylee about it tomorrow.
Daniel doesn't know.
I've been able to talk to Daniel, Kaylee, Rachel, about everything else, which is why I haven't felt the pressure to write here.
But I had to get it out, this feeling, idea, memory. I couldn't house it anymore, because God forbid, it would take root.

I'll tell him soon enough.
I'll tell him everything.
I don't want to have to escape to my blog.
I don't want to have to run away or feel like I have to drop unwanted feelings in this public dump of words meant for someone to know, but not necessarily someone I know or trust.
I just want to trust him,
and tell him everything.

And I will.

Having the self-control

to not tell that boy how you watched a movie today that made you think of him the entire time.
And how the one character you found mildly attractive became more attractive the more he resembled that boy.
And the way he leveled his face with whomever he was talking to
and the way his gaze was steady, unblinking, the way his was with yours
and the way his mouth was always just open, and the curve of his lips reminded you of the curve of his soft lips
and that afternoon when he stumbled into you by the door on the far side of the school, by the parking lot, pulled you close and asked, he asked, just for one kiss.

I'm not interested. And I'm not in denial. I'm incredibly happy with who I'm with, and seriously see a future with Daniel.
But that boy will always creep into my mind.

And while it's hard for impulsive, blabbermouth, flirtatious me to keep it from him
I can't bring myself to bring it up.
And when he texts me song lyrics tinged with desperation,
I can't reply.
Because I already told him it's not going to happen
and I've already fucked enough people up, haven't I?