Tomorrow is a Long Time

   I'm still in the process of reading old notebooks; it's very on and off, and I have over 30 of them. Seriously, how did I have 3,000 pages worth of things to talk about in 5 years? Is this normal people?! I was out of my damn mind!
   Anyway, I found a few amusing things, although maybe only I will think they're funny. I love the awkward, biting cynicism of adolescence.
    Mr. Fantasy and I first met in June of 2006. So, I guess the four years I give us is a little bit of a stretch, but I'm only two months short, so let's just give that one to me, okay? We went to the same high school, and found out later we had both secretly been checking each other out from a distance for a year before ever speaking, but were introduced in the first weeks of the summer I was 15.
   He was a surprising and welcome distraction from my traumatic relationship with Kid A, which was still the main focus of my life (and can be read about for newcomers here and then here, if you want to be up-to-date and informed) and I was grateful for and excited about that. When summer ended, so did we- really, really badly.  It was ugly enough that we didn't speak for about the next year and a half, though I spent much of that time whining and obsessing about him and us. We started talking again in the middle of senior year and, save brief periods of estrangement, he has been in my life since.
    Here are a few things he inspired that first summer.

7/6/06

pasta & flowers

my pillow for hours

he wants to empower

before he deflowers

before he devours

stop.

stop.

stop.

stop.

stop!

you say you could thrill me

while begging to fill me

you claim that it's still me

say it always will be

at least 'til you kill me

stop.

stop.

stop.

stop.

stop!

7/29/06

there seems to be some sort of a force propelling us towards each other, daring us to touch.
so we do.
and in the sickening heat of the night, i start to shiver.
this feels so different from anything before.
this feels so different from everything before.
i love the way your whispering voice sounds in my ear.
i love the way your hand feels locked in mine,
like this is just where it belongs.
everything is becoming laughter between us,
maybe for the sole reason that we're too nervous to let it be anything else.
what a good place we're in.
everything feels like it's supposed to.
i've never felt so alive.
i've never wanted to feel so alive.
i've never wanted this before.
the night turns to tragedy when we part ways
still trying to resist the pull.


but i guess that's half the fun.

8/2/06

we trade lines like a poorly written, overly high school novel but, then again,
aren't we living one?
aren't we all living one?

   He and I don't address that summer or its aftermath, except in jokes. Some are harmless. "We were so dumb," "Yeah, we were dumb, but we were hot," Some are more misguided. "Like when I used you and then left you!" he interjects with, laughing, but retracting it quickly when he notices I wince and cannot quite laugh convincingly. "Did that... do something to you?" he has asked, in moments of quasi-sincerity, knowing I will roll my eyes and scoff before abruptly changing the subject. 

   We have a lot under the surface; a lot I don't acknowledge, a lot he doesn't accept, a lot we don't confront. Sometimes we try but, between the two of us, it's too raw somehow. It always ends with my pleading for a new conversation, and his reassurance that "the past is in the past." 

   But is it? Is progress possible when we have a time capsule of bitterness buried in the backyard?