Pensées folles

I really cant let you drive me insane again. I have to refuse to let the thoughts about you get under my skin. I cant permit your presence to proliferate and overtake my mind.

You: It’s pretty sad to admit you stay in something just because you don’t see a way out. That’s no way to live.

Me: If that’s true, I guess we both have pretty sad lives

The last 2 years of my life have been colored by the rhythmic yet persistent presence of you, and I just cant do it anymore. My friends are tired of hearing about my indecision. My diary has become littered with constant entries, notes and references to you. Are you real? I don’t even know anymore, if I ever have. What I do know is that I can not live the rest of my life with this. It perennially drives me insane, and makes me lose control. As time has gone on, I feel increasingly as if people might have bets on the next time I’ll become besotted by you.

Do I think you feel the same way? It depends upon which day you ask me. I don’t think you would ever make a move, you are too moral for that. I also know that especially since she drove all of your friends away, I am your sole good friend. I doubt you would risk that.  You have read my goddamn letters, and as quiet and challenging I make myself out to be, I could never remain silent. All I have ever heard from you are these open ended statements "you aren’t crazy", "I wouldn’t say that’, "I know how you feel’. I send you music that says what I have been too damned chicken to ever say. We talk about EVERYTHING. You have never been shy about your emotions, but when it comes to me, and how you might feel about me, you have never once been completely straightforward. You were so goddamn hurt when I cancelled plans with you that you nearly didn’t speak to me again, yet you did. Are we merely each other’s distractions? I don’t even know. We talk to each other more than we talk to our partners, and sitting in that theatre with you was madness. I have never felt so hot and uncomfortable, with my entire body touching yours and d at the same time. I sat there, talking to you as often as possible, to put my mouth to your ear.

I watch you and I know what you are going to do, and why. I talk to you and I know what you are going to say. I see something and I know whether you would like it or not and why. You don’t think it is crazy that I know the difference between Helvetica and Arial, and seem quaintly impressed that I know what a letterpress punch is. I wish shit was so different. I wish I had some balls one day, to come to your house and demand an answer. I wish we could fucking disappear for a week in June, somewhere where no one knows who we are, and we could figure out what the hell this is without risking everything. But life doesn’t work that way.

Dammit Jamie, the things I like about you are so much different, I could fill all of my moleskine notebooks with verbiage inspired by them.

I am sitting here at the table, about to color Easter eggs with my kids, and I cant stop thinking about you. Again. Againagainagain.

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