Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
Sixty-third Entry. Stoke the flames.
08-12-2003 | 2:43 p.m.

2:15 AM

The memory of my ex's is like a stagnant breath held in for far too long and waiting to be released into the open. The fact that we were ever together, or ever meant the words "I love you" seems like some sort of myth. It's like an elaborate lie that you share with others freely because you know their in on it, too. It's like me and Alyson decided to write a story together so we sat down over coffee and dispassionately scripted every intimacy, every empty fight, every awkward glance. Recalling the events is like recalling some movie you had seen years before, and you only have these few scenes that stick out vividly in your mind. Everything else is lost in the haze of banality.

When I remember Meghan, its so strange. It was a different time entirely. I was whole, then. She was honest and simple. It was everything a relationship could have been expected to be. Passionate and caring. She said those three words first, and a month later, when I finally realized I meant them, I cried along with her as I whispered them into her ear in the back of her mother's van. It was stereotypical in a manner that made you feel like some cheesy cliche in a sappy romance. Now, I feel like my tongue is twisting words and manipulating connotations into dreadful lies when I talk of her to others. It's as though every truth I speak is a farce so apparent that the listeners look at me incredulously. I wonder if I'm not lying sometimes. If we really didn't mean anything to each other. If every kiss was a mindful fabrication to comfort my own insecurities. I wouldn't be surprised.

Courtney seems real, but only in an idealistic manner. Yes, she exists. Yes, we had a great time together. Yes, we love each other more than anyone ever had, and possibly ever will, love either of us. But no, we are not meant to be. It's a matter of respect and gratitude. You spend your life in a thick clout of fog that makes everything that broad stroke of gray similarity, and then, out of nowhere, you meet someone who is a sunny day with green grass and brightly colored songbirds. They warm your skin and make you feel alive again. Your grateful that your not the only one out there that takes such enjoyment in things..that isn't like anyone else at all...but you know your companionship is just that. Companionship. It's not the type of love or partnership your looking for, and though you think back on those better times often, the separation is a mutual arrangement-not quite an agreement.

Crise seems real, but also in an idealistic manner. All my life I wanted the one person who was unquestioningly honest. Who was loyal and kind. Who cared enough about you even in times of anger to be compassionate. It's impossible to accurately describe, but it's a great relief to have Aphrodite herself lay next to you. It's like living out all those dreams you had in puberty superlatively, but actually attaching great emotion into her. She wasn't just some random body that I managed to carry along with me for a short ride. She was a soul in the open, he eyes bright and filled with her oceans of emotion...emotions so real and powerful that you couldn't help but feel them too. Her very presence screams out the countenance of her passion and vigor. I have never felt so alive. I have never felt so human. But it's not me. I've always wanted emotions that were limitless in their capacity, but like Howard Roark, it only hurts so deep. With me, though, I can only live so deep. I can feel passion and power and ecstasy beyond my own wildest dreams, yes, but almost all other emotions....are sadly bereft of intensity with me. It's horrid at times, I wouldn't dare bring Crise down to that. Or up...whichever way you look at it, she's happy where she's at now.

Which reminds me, today is August 11th. Alyson turns 17 today, lucky her. AND, the Mobile public schools open up for business today. School starts, folks! Why does that affect me, you ask? Aren't I a graduate of last year's crop harvest? Well, Crise is going back to school. Yes, you heard correctly. I am so exorbitantly proud of her. She is going to graduate and become everything I hopes she will...everything she hopes she will. She is not one-in-a-million, not hardly. She is one. It would not matter how many comparisons there are, she is the only one like her that will ever exist. I love her for that more than anything else.

The fires of my life haven't been fires at all. They've been burners on a gas stoves, or a match flame ready to flicker out any second. I've been changing a lot lately, imperceptibly to most people. I've become stronger in my will, my determination of cotton has been reborn in titanium steel alloy, my weak views that change with the winds have hardened and set into the hard stone of granite. Physically I am the same, but underneath, I'm someone I always wanted to be. If only I could relate how happy that makes me...and now with all of this having happened, I'm hoping that I'll finally have a fire. A bonfire burning wildly in the night with it's cackling flames rising 20 feet into the air. A raging wildfire scouring the land and leaving the horizon itself as a dim, red glow of power and lust. My true love, the inferno. The hell. The torrent of flame that engulfs whole worlds and leaves the universe itself in ruins...a supernova couldn't hope to compare.

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Flashes of High School
Summer of Change
No Brass, No ammo
Lost in Translation

Last Five

And that's that.
Referenced #2
To write them.
Heart vs mind.