gnoll's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ---------- "for kj�rlighet kan ikke skrives When I think about him lately it's just in small flashes, and luckily I have the dicipline to stop myself before it goes wrong. Of the things that I do to myself that are bad, this is the one thing I manage to stop, so at least that's something. But on nights like the other night, when they casually mention running into him, watching for my reaction, I still get that same lump in my stomach and it won't go away until I eventually see him again and get it over with. 7 years of my life and no closure. Sometimes they aren't even bitter thoughts, but just these little things. Flashbacks of lying spread on the floor in front of the stereo where he would play me his favourite opera yet still claim I was the nerdy musician. Getting amazed when discovering new passions in him. The way his upper lip felt when I let my finger lightly slide over it. And we'd lie quiet and far apart just looking at eachother, and it was at times like that it didn't really matter that we were too different, that we had commited too young and that we knew, as we watched eachother grow in separate directions, that we were never meant to last. In moments such as those, our future wasn't that much of an absurd thought after all. So today everything's been radiating of him, and I went to lie where my old couch from the flat is placed now, to bury my head in it, wondering if it would smell of him after all this time. And I know this is only because I'm hearing about him, where he is, what he's doing, and because I'm alone or lonely, worrying and wondering. I'm more distanced to him than ever, more over him than ever, but never rid of this need to remember what it felt like to be part of someone else. It seems unreal that was even my life once. Maybe I should have seen the warning signs when he woke me in the middle of night and asked me "why did you do that, why?" and I had no answer. And this was a while after, this was maybe years after. And I asked him to never talk about it again, but it lurked underneath everything we did. His guilt, my shame, my guilt, his shame. Even towards the end, when we were living in the flat and putting together new furniture on saturday afternoons, going out to dinner to celebrate our 5year anniversary, running back giggling to have a quick fuck on the couch before meeting our friends at the bar, it was always just temporary happiness. All plans were overshadowed by the notion that it would end any second. And I'm starting to understand why in a whole different way now. (that he actually might have been right.) But that night before my move to the US when he called me from a sailboat asking me to stay for him and asking me to forgive him, it took all the strenght I had to still get on that plane. Never did I think then I'd be back here on some night in 2002, wondering if I actually made the wrong choice. brokenrecord" ---------- 12:48 a.m. - 2002-01-09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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