hello stranger, its been a while i think
since i thought about you.
Im sitting here, after Thirst, crying because he is not here, and thinking god how could a journalism student confuse Coarse for Course, and i havent touched my wine yet.
this here, what i have here, didnt start out as a diary, or maybe it did; what I mean is it wasnt intended to be a diary. I wanted to write about movies and books and songs i went through, yet instead something happened in between, in between writing about bob, and invisible monsters and the next post that made this more about things that happened to me, things that i made happen to me. and now it reads like a road map.
a road map of some sort of self finding, self searching, soul searching i dont know.
something happened, I was in like with a girl, then i was in love with a boy. a boy who’d left me for a girl, a girl who’d left him for no other reason than she was lost and wanted to be something she didnt know half of how to be.
and so i was in love with a boy, and then i was out in the streets because i didnt want to be away from the boy, and so he took me in, i lived in a bachelor, all bunched in, all happy, all pasta dinners, and nutella desserts and p&J breakfasts, and falling sleep on the train to work, and being late to work because i wanted to stay sleeping in his arms.
and then it was a 1 bed room, in front of the place of our first date, when i told him things i never told any one before, across from the place he first kissed me and asked me to wait, and i did, and he came back and told me id waited for nothing. and so i waited for another year.
and so im in love with a boy. who keeps me away from here, because im too happy to write, or maybe real life, the real real life, once it hits you, is too real to write about.
except when he’s gone, and then i cannot sleep, and the red wine wont fix it i dont think, so i wont drink it.
I dont know how to sleep tonight that you are not here. come