I am a sensitive woman by nature, prone to sensing in full the mishaps of even a fair-weather fly, whose purpose extends for naught more than half a month’s clock. On the day which that Mancunian fellow found a strength extraneous to our realm, it came to me that I should amend such fragilities in myself, lest I not take happiness in any of the drawing days. However, it be not my wishes tonight, nor shall the cock’s crow have it, to be of any other disposition than said. I suppose then, that my stories bear relevance to this frailness of demeanor and to them I would stand guard to suffer as Dr. Seward and Van Helsing once did. It is then, my dear friends, laden onto you to simply deal with the rest, having not the power to change me, or the moronity to request it further.
I wish I knew what to say to this. I wish that I gave answers, as much as I ask for them. But most importantly, I wish answers were obsolete and generally undesirable in matters of your heart and mine.
Some days I wonder if there are only a handful of love stories out there; the same several scenarios which we each encounter in different orders and quantities with slightly different details of our own. Some days, I feel like I’ve lived them all. I never like it when someone tells me, “I know how you feel,” because I can’t imagine them knowing or even possibly feeling close to what I feel like at any given, dire moment. But there is some truth in that statement, in fact, because all I can tell you is that as ridiculous as it may sound- I’m working through the same lovely scenario right now.
He said the same things to me; that we were meant to be, that it was fate bringing us together time and time again. And so I’m wondering the same things as you; I wonder if I am special, or if I’m worth nothing to him. If I’m worth anything at all. I wonder if between his assurances the promise really speaks, “you’re my back-up, so wait for me.” I’m real good at taking second place, but I deserve better than that. And so do you.
Whether he truly intends to or not, I don’t think this boy is ever coming back for me. I love him, and so I choose to believe that he believes in what he tells me; that he isn’t trying to hurt anyone and simply wishes the timing was right. This boy and I- or your boy and you- perhaps we weredestined to meet, just maybe we’ve already affected each other in the all the ways we were supposed to. I don’t believe stories last forever…they do, just as long as they need to.
My friends say, “don’t waste your time,” and “he didn’t love you then, he doesn’t love you now.” Friends stand behind you and they will try to save you from heartbreak if they can. Take what they say with a grain of garlic salt and trust it’s you who ultimately knows what’s best for you. Or in the least, what you are strong enough to endure at any given, dire moment. As for relying on social networks and text messaging… my most favorite people are scattered across an entire curious countryside, so I can’t condemn communication in any form. Distance is an illusion. Keep to beautiful souls how you can.
Now…Streetlighters know well enough that I have the terrible habit of falling in love with the same 2-3 boys over and over again, every other year if not every other party. I rotate. But I’m trying to remind myself that while love will take its tolls and triumphs, I am still always in a relationship with me. Do not neglect the love you have for just being you. Believe it or not, some days it is enough. Keep your memories, but do not forget to make new ones.
Fate didn’t bring me back to Long Island, and it didn’t bring me to this boy- who is so similar to yours. It didn’t force me to lose my loves that are lost, and it’s not guiding me to love left to be had. We are writers, you and I. We can make up the answers as we go.
PS- Lunacy in love is a gift. Do not waste it as Romeo and Juliet did. They were emo kids.
Yesterday, Radio asked if I was inspired by this boy I know- if me wanting to spend time with him was really in the best interest of my art. Today, I came across a pile of photographs which held all the faces he and I have had in the time span of us, and I felt like the answer was simple enough: If he’s around, my best interests become interesting at best, and I usually ignore whatever project I’m supposed to be working on to chase him down the street. I’ll try to hold his hand and convince him to run away with me, he’ll say he can’t and he’ll stop calling for a while. This sequence has happened half a dozen times since we met, and the aftermath is always the same…
From the vantage point of an open window I will reason that since this boy won’t run with me, I’ll have to ask him to fly. Then I’ll spend two months learning to defy gravity. Boys can be so uninspirational.
it’s Mr. Toro’s birthday.
If you were doing something you knew was wrong and wanted to break the habit, would you do it one last time? Like, smoking a whole pack of cigarettes right before you quit. Or would you be strong enough to just stop, cold turkey? Say goodbye and walk away, get on with your life. Does giving finale to things really make a difference and do people really crave conclusion, or are we just selfish, and cowardly? Swearing that you will only commit your error one last time doesn’t make it right. But it doesn’t make it any more wrong than it has been all along, does it? I believe I was supposed to be telling a story here, however, anecdotes don’t much help an addict. Plus, this one doesn’t end the way I usually like them too. Would you drive yourself crazy makeshifting a happy ending, if you knew it wasn’t yours to have? And is clarity worth the aftermath, if you already know what needs to be done. I always make my decisions in the name of love. Maybe this time I should make one in spite of it.
Ohio says good morning to New York who says good afternoon.
In a lineup of interests, we are completely contrasting, except for that one band which I kinda like on rainy days and which turns you from the inside out. Still, you are the only thing about me that I don’t question at all.
Yellowcard…<3 If you miss, seek.
If you can’t sleep, but are afraid to wake up in the morning. If you get all dressed up just to feel ugly. If you’ve ever said, “I hate you” to the bathroom mirror. If your family doesn’t get it. If you can’t find a true friend to save your life. If you’ve ever punched your boyfriend after learning he didn’t consider himself your boyfriend to begin with and never wanted you, not really. If no one wants you. If you think maybe, everyone would be better off…if you know I wouldn’t be, and need you here to read this. If there was ever a band who picked you up every single fucking time and you had no way to repay them but to keep running. If you’re part of the MCRmy. If you’re not. If you want to be. You already are. If you read this blog because you love me. Because you love the same boys I love. If you love yourself. If you love yourself even though you can’t sleep, feel ugly, and suck at throwing a punch. If that’s you, I know what I want this second book to tell you, what I want to make sure you know by the time you’ve closed its bindings. I’m just not there yet. Learn patience with me, learn that anger is like clay and that being punk means more than getting trendy haircuts and buying Clash vinyls. My plan? To wake up every morning and feel ugly, to hate the memories until they’ve been molded into something useful, something lasting, something that someone can count on. I didn’t watch the iTunes festival yesterday, but I felt stronger during those hours just knowing that everyone was together. So if you have no idea who to trust, don’t have a home to go back to, or feel beautiful just seeing Lady B grow… hang on. We’re gonna make it.
Illinois says good morning to New York who says goodnight.