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I'm a pusher.
I'm glad that sometimes I still feel the need to come here and get shit out. While I am, of course, still keeping a daily with my pen this is different this is faster and immediate and hypothetically public. As always, I have no idea what I am doing. I am questioning my ability to love, my understanding of love. Are my defense mechanisms so powerful that they can truly obliterate the feeling(for a time at least) or must it never have been love at all? How can I know when he is not here? Surely a true sign that it was never love is that I no longer feel his absence? Or is the weight of his absence what sends me to hide in my cabin alone under cover sometimes reading mostly sleeping craving the rest deserving of an ancient sentient being just come from creating seven universes in a month, who's only desire of the earth is that she and all of her inhabitants might drop away, trying to find him in a world that has forgotten he was here? Is that love? Or am I just tired of waiting. Right? You're far away ok so the fuck what, you know how you feel, you know what the future holds for us either way... Apart. Separate. Uncertain time distance proximity. We have no control. We can control the promises we might make to one another. So the fact that you're still talking to me and you're still saying, "I love you" leads me to believe that you feel at least one of us won't be able to live up to any sort of promise. I'm not offended, believe me, I understand. But... blah blah blah. I have no argument. I want to know whether or not we belong to one another. I think that love and that finding your love are the most important part of this existence. What does anything matter if you've no one to give everything you have to? Everything that you are? Will your dreams really mean so much to you alone and old with only stories of the women you've had, or do you still hope to meet another love greater than I? With a similar personality but a smaller dose of insanity who plays an instrument, has a tighter pussy and washes her hair more than once a week.

I've been trying to let you go... I've been trying to forget you because I think you'll eventually forget me. I hate that this is all I write about, but I'm afraid it's the only thing in this fucked up place that I can make right. I also feel that once I've sorted this out, with whoever he may be, then the two of us together might be able to change our surroundings and find ways to make differences.

I'm sure this won't work out, I'm sure you'll get sick or find her and forget me... So I push. What happens when we see each other and it's gone. I know, I've done this too many times, I've believed in the impossible and sought after and was destroyed and I can't say that I came out stronger and I can't say that I came out the same. But I did love you. Whoever you are. Whenever you are.

“I don't want to live, I want to love first and live incidentally.”
Zelda Fitzgerald


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