cluttering the net since 2001


Sunday, Aug. 25, 2002

You might just be the only person I seriously never sat down and wrote a letter to. Perhaps I am always at a loss for words when it comes to you. I barely remember how we met or why we got close or even a time before there was a Josh. I know it was a diaryland thing, I know I read your words and I was moved. I wanted to know the man behind such a prolific string of thoughts. Even with all your knives in my back, I still do not regret walking down that path of choices to know you, find you, and revel in you.

You quickly became the person that I ranted all my frustrations to and I believe I was the ear to your own frustrations plenty of times. Perhaps we used each other for the same purposes. Perhaps you never realized how much I really just liked you. To really like a person for who they are, is rare. You taught me a great deal about the word, ďlikeĒ. Like is probably better than love, because I could love you and still hate you. But I like you and love is just a stronger twin sister to like.

Yes, I have been fortunate at least where the Internet is concerned, to have connected with a varied plethora of personalities. I have been largely encased in a certain world for far too many years. The Internet is a Candyland of characters. Maybe I suck and can only ever be the most childish of players. Maybe I love too easy, maybe I have too much to give and maybe I just wish someone wanted to know that gift. To want to be loved and love in return isnít wrong. Itís the same thing you want from me.

Mostly, I think you know me rather well, and in this knowing me, you know how to cut me to the core. Yes, some of the things you say about me are true. Mostly I see your comments coming from a viewpoint slanted by your emotions for me. I know you have them. If you didnít you wouldnít continue to berate me. When we as people have no feelings for a person we block them right out of our lives. In Candyland, a block is one move of the wrist away, a click of a decision that is easily played out. Itís not a tear filled night full of whys, itís one motion and no repercussions.

Why canít I make that move? Why canít I promise you that Iíll never speak to you again? Because I canít remember a Ďbefore Joshí and I really donít want to. If you want me to have to, youíre going to have to join the ranks of the masses that simply bailed on me. Youíll have to do that without my promises not to try to speak to you, to know that you are alive and ok.

Iíve been through a lot of stuff in a short period of time, and yes I need to let it all go. My knuckles are white from holding on too tight. I know I need to let go. Just as you need to realize that life is a beautiful thing, a gift. Itís a gift if you stop looking at all that you lack, and begin to see all that you have. I think you have a great deal. Even in your hatred thoughts towards me, you are brilliant. Your insults are poetic in themselves. Why do I take them? Because somehow part of what you say, just part not whole, shifts the sugar coated lies I tell myself to get through some of the worst days enough so that I ponder the possibilities of your insults being partly true. The truth does hurt, it hurts to be told that you love too often and that itís sad.

You are highly intelligent, have the sweetest smile I have ever seen, a mind so vast that I could walk through it for a lifetime and never truly begin to understand the beauty that is who you are.

Sometimes it saddens me that I always see you, like all others in my life, bigger than life. Better than maybe reality is. And you, like most others, never seem to see anything good in me. Always something that needs twisted tighter, shined up brighter and made to change. I am a walking mistake in a land full of promise without clue number one how to make it all shift far enough to the left side again so that no one ever comes along and tries to just tweak it a little more to the so called acceptable side of life.

Iím sorry I anger you. Iím sorry I love someone that you feel is a killer of good. Iím sorry you choose to see everything bad, and always miss out on the fact that I really like who you are when you say fuck all to the anger and I can just seeÖjust see Josh, the sweet boy with a thousand lights in his eyes. Sometimes you were the only string of thoughts that could ever wrap me warm and tight.

I wish just once I was good enough, better than mundane, just so you could feel you fixed me. Maybe then we could both find peace and you could just somehow be happy to be my friend. The best things happen when you just let it beÖ

No, you didn't have to walk away for me to say this because its the only way I could. I just know everytime I tell someone that they matter, they bail and I never wanted to give you a reason to go. Looks like just being myself is enough reason for people.

7:50 p.m. ::
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