05/01/2022

He gives me a tragic focus- a face to see instead of my own in the mirror. When all the black crowds in, and the echoes sound like screams, again- his tone and resonance comes to my rescue, killing with kindness, again and again. He is like the girl I was, years and years ago in some other world. I think the spiral of the music took my ahead of myself, at some point and so I knew the pain that was coming. I tried to cut it out then, I tried to make amends for something which hadn’t happened yet. And yet I know that this is all conjecture- I’m trying to make sense of something insensible. When all the stupid things I’ve done, ever cut and every line, and snort, smoke, fuck, fall- every stupid thing I’ve done, they all come in together sometimes, sometimes it’s like they’ve all crammed together into this one punch of black, and when that happens he comes into try and take the brunt of it. Except he can’t take it, just like I can’t, he doesn’t take it and instead the love turns, the love fades out into something paler.

He takes all the tragedy and tries to swallow it but he can’t. I don’t know if this is just because I don’t respect him enough. I see too much of myself in him, but myself from years and years ago. He reminds me of myself at age 17- trying desperately to fit in and maintaining at all times this kind of dogged, stoic sense of the positive. I hate him, I hate him on some level. Yet why don’t I just cut contact completely. All I feel for him now is a tragic, nostalgic sense of regret and heartache. I want to erase the last line because I don’t hate him- but the part of me which says i don’t hate him is the part of me which is trying to put a positive on things. I feel like he used me to progress and took all the positive I’d managed to accumulate and sucked it out of me. He took my innocence and adopted it himself. I feel as though I should feel grateful that he “loved me.” I feel like this is something I’ve absorbed from the voices, from my sense of alienation. I don’t feel grateful.

When I hated before I felt it, this time it’s like it’s niggling about somehow. Some part of me is resisting it- but I think that’s because I analyse it too much now. When I hated before I knew I had issues with myself but I hated her anyway, I hated her because of the way she made me feel. I hated her because I felt like she used me and moved on. I do feel the same about him now, except that he was so much more insidious- he was like the opposite of her, as said like me back then. But I don’t think he is like me really, I don’t know about him. He’s so young- so innocent- he feels things, it seems to me that he feels things like they’re not real. When I was young I wrote about things I didn’t fully understand yet- but at the time i didn’t realise that. That’s what he’s like. Now I can’t believe how naive I was.

Now it’s like I can feel something at my heart. Something kinda niggling. It’s really weird.