the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
insomnia ~ October 5, 2001 - 12:28 a.m. restless, tonight. I don't know why. spending too much time with the tv because I know that I will not be able to sleep if I go to bed. not yet. I will lie there, awake and with too much in my head, while the warm boy next to me snores. loudly. it's when I'm lying in darkness that I rewind and replay old conversations, saying the things I wish I'd said then. or I initiate conversations that never have been, the kind of conversations I can never seem to decide whether or not to have. you hurt me, I want to say, but then I rewind, revise-- I was hurt when-- I was hurt when I reached out to you from the depths of darkness deeper and thicker than I'd known for a long time and you weren't there. when I felt all alone in the world and stranded in a horrible city and I wanted you to give me refuge, if only for a day or two, or even an hour, or just the space of a long, soft sigh... love, I wanted you to say, I'm here. but you weren't here, you were there, and too wrapped up in your world to reach in to mine and if I said I didn't understand I'd be lying. I've just gotten spoiled, see, because you'd been too good to me, too kind, too loving, too sensitive-- too knowing-what-I-need. I'd gotten spoiled, see, 'cause no one ever seems to know too much about what I need except me and I've only recently gotten used to asking. and I would have asked, tried to ask-- I left a note on your kitchen table and two or three messages on your machine, and even one on the machine of your new girlfriend, your first real, true, deeper-than-anything love, and when I tried to reach you there, I thought you'd know. thought you'd know anyway, by the heavy sound of my voice on those machines, by the inflection I used when I said "I really want to talk to you... I think I sent an e-mail too, but maybe that was later, maybe I didn't send it until my psyche had started to invent fatal accidents for you and your true love to explain your absence when I needed you so much. and it's not that I don't understand love, and I am so happy for you both, and I love her too and I think you two together are almost too beautiful to look at... there is no particle of jealousy in my soul for you, and I don't want you to mishear what I'm saying which is why we are having this conversation in my head and not on the phone or across your kitchen table... and finally we did get to talk, after the nightmares had passed, after the dark clouds had lifted, I was three thousand miles away by then, but finally you were there, you picked up the phone and gave an end to emptiness. so I don't even know why this is one of the conversations I still have at night, when the darkness crowds my head and sleep stays just out of reach. I guess the scared and lonely part of myself that still feels abandoned, that pours all this onto a computer screen long after I thought the hurts had healed, wants to reach out through the silence, wants to say you know it hurt me when... hoping (wishing) for an answer.
(((rings))) |