Unregistered
May 31st, 2005, 04:29 PM
Pain is part of the human condition. You can try to dull it with cheap forties. You can try to ignore it by playing video games. You can try to remove it by refusing to care. But you will not succeed. This is not some fucking moving where you can just erase your memories of us. But I have to hand it you for trying. You deserve a fucking Oscar. I should be angry with you. I should be pissed. I should want to smash in those cheesy (yet somehow sexy) rose-tinted sunglasses with your fucking guitar.
The pathetic truth is that I am not any of those things; I am just sad. Sad and lonely because I miss you. I can't stop thinking about you, about all those dirty habits of yours that I found so endearing, about your cut-off pajamas and your black socks. I can still picture your smile. I can remember that pre-dawn Olympian sky and the smell of whiskey on your breath. I remember but not for much longer. Because distance in space, in time, in communication is beginning to work its magic and I am starting to forget.
But God DAMN it, I don't want to. I know you are out there, probably drunk, probably smoking, playing your guitar or watching movies in the rat's nest that is your roommate's bedroom, and you are relieved. You feel the slow decay in your heart and you think you are happy. Well you aren't. Pain is part of the human condition but so is happiness and you can't excise one without also killing the other.
Maybe you were right. Maybe I am a manipulative cunt and this is only the latest installment of my self-obsessed plot to feed my ego at the expense of lesser men. After all, if I really loved you, wouldn?t I just let you deal with things in your own way? Wouldn't I let you forget? I'll confess to at least this: I am a cunt. But that doesn't change the way I feel about you. I don't want to forget you and it kills me that you refuse to remember me. You can call this last plea for reconciliation selfish, desperate, or just plain pathetic. I call it a compromise.
The pathetic truth is that I am not any of those things; I am just sad. Sad and lonely because I miss you. I can't stop thinking about you, about all those dirty habits of yours that I found so endearing, about your cut-off pajamas and your black socks. I can still picture your smile. I can remember that pre-dawn Olympian sky and the smell of whiskey on your breath. I remember but not for much longer. Because distance in space, in time, in communication is beginning to work its magic and I am starting to forget.
But God DAMN it, I don't want to. I know you are out there, probably drunk, probably smoking, playing your guitar or watching movies in the rat's nest that is your roommate's bedroom, and you are relieved. You feel the slow decay in your heart and you think you are happy. Well you aren't. Pain is part of the human condition but so is happiness and you can't excise one without also killing the other.
Maybe you were right. Maybe I am a manipulative cunt and this is only the latest installment of my self-obsessed plot to feed my ego at the expense of lesser men. After all, if I really loved you, wouldn?t I just let you deal with things in your own way? Wouldn't I let you forget? I'll confess to at least this: I am a cunt. But that doesn't change the way I feel about you. I don't want to forget you and it kills me that you refuse to remember me. You can call this last plea for reconciliation selfish, desperate, or just plain pathetic. I call it a compromise.