memoirs and memories

It still hurts and it still stings. She doesn’t need me. I wish I could care less, love less, be less alive. Then maybe none of this would hurt so much. But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t want me. Someone I truly trusted yet again doesn’t want me there. I never thought losing a girlfriend would be as bad as losing a boyfriend. And I was right. Its much worse. I’m living because I can’t die. I’m breathing cause of a survival instinct older than time. Each cigarette shortens my life 7 minutes. I wonder why I have no desire to quit anymore. I don’t place any blame on her. If my words are empty maybe I shouldn’t talk. Cut my tongue out and destroy my vocal cords. I just want my sister back. I miss talking and laughing with her. New friends can help and make me laugh, but not one of them really understands. They are all children who haven’t grown up one bit. Pregnacy and suicide, life and death has made me older than the 20 years proclaimed on my birthday cards. The same has made her much older too. I’ll regret and take back everything I said if I thought I could just talk to her. God, I sound like a lovesick lesbian. But a friendship like ours has nothing to do with stuff like that. Its deeper than that. Friendship is so much more than relationship. And there are few who understand that. I’m lost, a wraith wandering through life. I’ll clap my hands till they are bloody and broken if it brings the fairy girl, covered in glitter back. But we sit in our corners nursing our wounds and keeping the pain fresh. But maybe this all happens for a reason. My music is returning. That part of my soul is being reawakened. So maybe the time for friendship is over. I’m convinced I’m only allowed to be a third of the person I once was. Music, friends and God. Music and God abandoned me long ago. But my friends kept me breathing. Now friends fade and music steps back into my life to keep the blood flowing and the energy high. Will I lose that again as well? And return to the church that burned me so many times? Honestly, I don’t know what I want anymore. My life revolves around a quote from Michigan. “I want what I can’t have, and I have what I can’t want.” I think I found the theme of the story of my life. The underlying idea behind the script and set. “He is just a plot point in the movie of your life.” Is that all she was? I hope not, but maybe it is true.
So I sit in a room, surrounded by memoirs of people’s lives and memories of my own.