And Aubrey Was Her Name

 I'm sorry. I'm sorry all of the time. I know that my apologizing is tedious. A post of the same shows that I know that I'm tedious. I know, you may tell me my brain is lying to me.

I want tho thank everyone that reads this, and everyone who has reached out. I really appreciate it. I am thankful for you.

I've been missing my friend Stephen a lot, lately. He was always there. I honestly knew to my core that he loved me, and believed me to be exceptional. He was always there with a hug. And he's gone. And I need him. When he told me he was dying, I hit him. I raged at him. The only promise he ever broke was not to die like his mother. Who drank herself to death. He drank himself to death. Leaving kids. Just like his mom. He used to do the farm report for the ag department every morning. He did it the day he died. He told me he was going to die and I screamed at him and hit him. He made me promise, when we were young, not to ever get my septum pierced, because that's what they do to hogs that  acted up and wouldn't stop rooting. Bad pigs. He promised me he wouldn't drink himself to death. Maybe I'll go get my septum pierced. Spite piercing. I'm still mad at him. I miss him everyday.

I'm not getting better. It's not getting easier. I feel crushed anew, every day, and there's nothing I can do. The one I love doesn't love me. I can't make him love me. I can't make him come back. I can't make him miss me. I can't make him want to try. I can't make him choose me. I can't make him talk to me. All I can do is miss. A hundred times a day. He would be my friend. But I can't right now. All i see is how I'm not enough. After a year and a half, he chose not me. He chooses not me every day. I've never felt like this. I've been in love. I've had break ups. I've never missed someone so much. Not even Stephen, It's not his fault he doesn't love me. But. He always told me we had time when I asked. And he took that away from me. I beleieved him. Not Stephen. James. I love him. 

I don't want things that aren't freely given. I don't want things out of obligation or guilt. I have always aspired to love so that my love makes others feel free, not like they are trapped. I wish I could say that I hope he's happy with someone else. I can't right now. He told me he was going to be single for a while. But he told me we had time. And that we were fine. And that he wasn't giving up on me. And yet. I can't be angry. I just...miss. And I hate that I'm so easy to walk away from, so easy to shut out, so easy to not choose. I'm ashamed for how I'm handling this. Ashamed and embarrassed. I worry I'm acting crazy. Therapist says if I'm worried about it, I'm not acting crazy. I love words, but I can't make them say what I actually feel. 

I feel like, more than ever before, I've ripped my beating heart out of my chest, been open, and honest, and vulnerable, and asked questions. And i'm not enough. My heart was weighed against the feather. I don't understand. 

I'm tired of crying. I cry all of the time. 

I see pictures of people I love, seeing each other, carefully. And no one wants to see me.

I need a hug. I need several hugs. I need support. I wish I didn't. 

I still want James. I still choose him. Every day. Unconsciously, then consciously, and I can't do anything. I can't do anything. I can't make myself lovable. I can't make myself worth being chosen. 

I can't listen to music. It hurts. I fucking lost it hearing Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House on the radio the other day, one of my favorite songs. Because it's over. And there's nothing I can do. Turns out, I didn't have time. We didn't have time.

And every time I do this, I probably push him farther away. But I don't know how to say the things I need to say. And it doesn't matter anyway. I can't do anything. I'm not the right thing. He is for me. But I can't be.

Because something is wrong with me. Insert Wrong by Depeche Mode here. It would make me cry.

I've been off of social media, because it hurts. The fear of it hurts.

On a completely random note, I love giant stuffed animals. I have finally acquired one to big to snuggle with while sleeping. 

I am adding a song here. It's where my name came from.

In case you haven't heard it.

And Aubrey was her name,
A not so very ordinary girl or name
But who's to blame?
For a love that wouldn't bloom
For the hearts that never played in tune
Like a lovely melody that everyone can sing,
Take away the words that rhyme it doesn't mean a thing

And Aubrey was her name
We tripped the light and danced together to the moon,
But where was June
No it never came around
If it did it never made a sound,
Maybe I was absent or was listening to fast,
Catching all the words, but then the meaning going past,

But God I miss the girl,
And I'd go a thousand times around the world just to be
Closer to her than to me

And Aubrey was her name,
I never knew her, but I loved her just the same,
I loved her name
Wish that I had found the way
And the reasons that would make her stay
I have learned to lead a life apart from all the rest
If I can't have the one I want, I'll do without the best

But how I miss the girl
And I'd go a million times around the world just to say
She had been mine for a day

So here we are

 It's been a month since the text message that ended my relationship. A week longer than that since I've seen him. I've talked to him on the phone once, trying to act normal. I'm not. I'm not okay. This is going to be a ramble.

When someone commits suicide, people always say, I wish I had known they were hurting so much. I wish they had reached out. I was here, why didn't they reach out? I can tell you why. I feel like everyone is sick of me, and that it wouldn't matter if I was gone. At all. You want to know? I'm suicidal. I'm under medical supervision. I'm in therapy. What am I supposed to do, message people I haven't spoken to in months and say hey, how are you, it's been a while, oh, by the way, I want everything to stop. I want the pain to stop. No, it's not about a boy. It's me. I'm defective and I hurt and I find comfort in nothing and there's a pandemic, so the things I have found comforting in the pat aren't possible. Here, let me dump unwelcome emotional labor on you. You who is probably also suffering. Reasons I haven't: I don't want anyone to have to find me, I fuck everything up, Mom would be crushed. I spend a lot of effort trying to keep Mom okay. My dog. My cats and the other dog would be fine, but Ziggy wouldn't. My brain keeps saying that no one cares.  

I've had my heart broken. Not like this. I knew Edward would break my heart from the day we met. I didn't think it would be as bad as it was. But I always knew. This time, this time I felt safe for the first time ever. I spent the first month safe in the knowledge that it was my anxiety. I went through something traumatic, I did't handle it well, and it drove him away. Now I know he just didn't love me like I love him. He loves me. Like a friend. So, I guess I was a friend with benefits that thought I was in a relationship that was different. Even though I've always been open about how I feel. Good enough to sleep with, not lovable. I understand. I can't make someone love me in that way. A year and a half is enough time to know. I guess it was okay, until there was someone else.

I feel like broken glass inside. Like no one will ever choose me. Be cause I'm so fucking broken that the best man I've ever known can't love  me. Not just him. It keeps happening. Edward cheated on me repeatedly, in a poly relationship. Promised me a lot of things. And chose someone else. This one didn't realize how anxious I made him until he started hanging out with someone who didn't. I always felt he was ashamed of me. I'm not a pretty girl. I'm never going to be a pretty girl. In a year and a half, I met one of his friends that I didn't already know. I'm still not using his name, because I still feel that he wasn't proud.  We have a lot of mutual friends that I think don't know we weere together. Still not a single picture of us, that isn't from far away or behind. I assumed it was because I'm not pretty. I guess he maybe never wanted those memories because I wasn't what I believed I was. This isn't like any heart break I've ever survived, this is like drowning. I feel like nothing will ever be okay. Because I'm just horrible and undeserving of love and I just hurt people and make them uncomfortable. Sometimes I wish I knew if I had made people happy, or made a difference. Or if anyone would even know if I was gone. This is a level of hurt that is indescribable and unfathomable and I've been battling depression for 30 years. I've never just wanted it to all stop so consistently, and for so long. I'm easy to forget. Easy to walk away from. easy to ignore. I'm alone. I drive people away and don't add anything positive to anyone's life. And I'm completely in love with someone who doesn't love me. Not like I love him. It's not a crush. I spent a year and a half building this love. Tending to it. For nothing. In vain. Like I've never loved anyone before. Like my friend said, one of the two who have borne the brunt of my anguish, because She understands, I feel like I love him with a completely different body part than I've ever loved anyone. More fully. More unreservedly. The best man I know. I understand, though. Why he doesn't love me. I'm unlovable. And broken. I wish I though time could change it. I wish I could see a light. But I will always be me, and I'm broken. And walking a tight rope. People who say they are suicidal are often put down, said that they are melodramatic, and seeking attention. I mean, I'd love to know that someone cares. I cry all the time. Ugly crying, snotty sobbing. I have no where to go for comfort, because I drive people away.

I know he's not perfect. I have moments of anger. There were things I was unsatisfied with, wanted more, but I though I had time. Every time I asked, we were fine. And it tore my heart out to ask. I'm not good at asking for things. Maybe he didn't realize he didn't love me like that, until her. I don't know. 

I have a job, doing something I love. Another reason I guess I'm hanging on fight now. It gives me something to do, to distract me for a few minutes at a time from the hurt. This doesn't even express how I feel very well. I'm getting a new tattoo. The appointment is a bit out, for reasons.

I don't know how to make the pain stop. I just want it to stop.

I walked out of his house on October 6, like normal. Ish. I knew something was wrong. But i didn't think I'd never see him again. I have no closure. I know what I need for it. I need him, oddly. Trust me, I really fucking understand that we won't be together romantically. Ever. But I want him to hold me while I cry. I need physical contact, so that the last time we touched wasn't the last time. But I make him uncomfortable. And I suppose he's moved on. But I got a message and couldn't look into his face. I'm really weird about people touching me. But never him. He made me feel safe. Ironic, I know. I'm shredded and shatttered and I don't even sparkle like broken glass. I'm raw and broken and screaming, and me? I want him. We were friends once. Apparently, that's all we've ever been, I just didn't know. I couldn't have done anything different, because I'm just, me. And that's not good enough at anything and for anybody. I'm so sorry if I ever hurt you, or caused you pain. If you are reading this, you either care about me or are reveling in my downfall.

I want to believe that I'm worthy of love. That I deserve it. I don't want platitudes. I don't want to hear that I'll find someone else. I'm still in love. I want him to be happy, because I love him. I know someday he'll have a beautiful life, I know he'll be the sun in someone else's sky, but why, why can;t it be mine? Yes, I had a Pearl Jam moment. I think he's probably already got a beautiful life, might even be a sun already in someone else's sky. 

I know I talked about him a lot, but trust me, I understand that it's not him, it's me.

And now you know. I think about suicide, about just not being, a lot. I know it's the season, but I don't think I've had any George Bailey effects on anyone's life. I wish I just, never was. 

I'm hanging on. Therapist says I should reach out. This is the best I can do.

I wasn't originally going to put a song here, but...

I grasp at lifes fading light
I need you tonight
I need to be heard
Your acts speak louder than words
Ignored by you all
I stumble and fall
I suddenly knew
My life meant nothing at all
In shreds
I stare down at the street
Yearning for sleep
That blissful escape
But when it comes it's always too late
The whore in my bed
The noise in my head
A hole in my pride
It's coming and there's nowhere to hide
It seems to me
To be so contradictory
It seems to me
You count your blessings while they're there
Ignored by you all
I stumble and fall
I suddenly knew
My life meant nothing at all
The whore in my bed
The noise in my head
A hole in my pride
It's coming and there's nowhere to hide
It seems to me
To be so contradictory
It seems to me
You count your blessings while they're there
You count your blessings while they're there
You count your blessings while they're there
It seems to me
To be so contradictory
It seems to me
You've become a part of the machinery
You've become a part of the machinery
Machinery
Machinery

In Shreds- The Chameleons

Storm Witch (A Fiction, kind of)

 She'd always been at home in storms. The wind and rain made her feel clean and new. Even when things twisted and broke, and wet leaves stuck in places they don't normally go. The sea is like a storm, crashing, moving, surging, changing. The beach you walked on once does not exist after the next tide, the grains of sand having been changed, down the way, out to sea. Shells and glass grinding down, shiny in the moon light. A night time storm by the sea...

She walked along the edge, small waves slapping at her feet, no gentle lapping here. A pull into deeper waves. The wind tangling her hair, salt on her skin, electricity in the air. And she remembered....

An early summer night, an uncharacteristic wind, standing outside with the very air tearing at her. Leaning into him, a port she never thought she'd find. Gentle kisses in a hard wind. A shelter. Warmth. Strength. The night she knew that this was magic, that he was magic. Every one has poetry inside of them. Some have words, some have music, some can draw poetry with ink and paint and graphite. His poetry was stillness. Languidity like a summer evening sunset. He was fireflies and freshly cut grass. The warm smell of stone after a rain shower, stone strewn with jasmine petals and street light reflections. Starry evening swirls in the heavens. He was calmness and heat at the same time.  The breath before the storm. Distant thunder. Lightning flashing on the horizon. She wanted that moment back. To tell him he was magic. To feel that warmth. She was the storm, wishing for her port.

Her feet left momentary prints in the sand. Temporary, barely a dent left seconds after the flesh was gone. The water slightly warmer than the air. She imagined the magic she had lost, not her own, but it made her feel stronger. His lighthouse flash no longer on the horizon. The tears wouldn't stop. Great, indelicate sobs. Undainty. Unseemly. She hadn't expected this much pain. She had her own magic. A thousand times a day she thought of his smile, his eyes, his hands. The feeling of being sheltered in his warmth. She almost reached out. Sharing a message to picture his smile. But his turning away was absolute, it seems. No more smiles in her direction.

Lost without a map, only the edge of the sea and land as a marker, and even that moving as she watched, each wave pulling slightly further away, the tide yearning for the moon. Every time she thought it might be okay, the sobs ripped from her again and again and again. She screamed into the wind until blood flecked her lips. She looked at the moon and wished it closer. The storm within and the storm without raged.

Alone, she clutched in her hand a list of names, those gone to the moon before her. Those whose loss still haunted her. Those who she missed, like she missed the wind. Those she missed like she missed her port. Those she still hadn't learned to live without. She said their names, one by one, like a prayer. Please. Please help me. She faced the silence. The raging white noise silence of the storm.

The ocean called. The moon called. The wind called. The people, they were silent.

Wind, rain, salt, the pull of waves at her hem. Tear stained. 

{I know it's melodramatic. None of the words are right. I really do feel like everyone is overtired of me and I've overstayed my welcome. I can't reach out. I wish I could. Say hello, I will answer. Tell me something you like about me, maybe. A memory that makes you smile. Yes, I'm getting professional help, but I could still use a friend or two. It's not getting easier. Please tell me there's something worthwhile about me. This isn't anyone's fault but mine. Mine alone. This is a hard enough ask.}

Tedious

 I'm tired beyond belief. I can't sleep. The world is fucked up. I'm looking for a job. So are a lot of people. I got turned down for the only thing I'm actually qualified to do. Because of who I am. 

I know it's tedious. I'm tedious. I have driven away everyone who has loved me. It's no ones fault but my own. I'm defective. I wish I was the kind of person that people smiled when they thought of, but I'm not. I wish I could see people. I wish I could go on a road trip. I miss adventure days. My dreams are torturous if I do get to sleep.

I realize that this could be a symptom of restarting psychiatric meds. I don't have a doctor to call about it, they were given to me at the ER. Yeah, I have another hospital bill. I already owe someone I love an ungodly amount of money. I'm not asking for help. That doesn't usually work for me. It's okay. I understand.

I can't imagine it ever getting any better any more. I know, lots of people feel this way. My pain is not unique. My distress is not unique. My feeling forgotten and useless and powerless isn't unique. I wish I could reach out and ask for reassurance, but I'm not positive people care anymore. I'm always in crisis, right? I make shitty choices. I take responsibility. I have fucked everything up. Well, I didn't cause a pandemic. 

I spend most of my energy acting okay around my Mom. For god's sake, don't worry her if you know her. She feels helpless when I'm a mess. Which is always. I get it. It's tedious.

I got approved by a place that offers healthcare, I'm just trying to get an appointment now. 

I want to run, but there's nowhere to go.

If I have ever hurt you in anyway, caused you any pain, or let you down, I am so sorry. I really do want you to think of me and smile.

I wish I was part of something. A community. But I'm the wrong shaped puzzle piece. I get it. I don't even know what that would feel like. 

There's such pretty things in my head, but I can't put them out in the world. I feel like I'm screaming, silently in a room full of people, and no one notices.

Lots of people feel this way. I'm not unique, or important.

This isn't anyone's fault but mine. Defective brain. According to politics, I'm not producing anything or adding anything, so I'm disposable. 

I have some possible job leads, still really insecure about how I talk. I just can't work general retail anymore. I just need out of my house. But I'm so tired. Because I'm defective.

Other people are tired and unemployed and upset. It's not unique. It's not special. And me bitching about it is tedious.

This isn't about anyone but me. Defective. It's not manipulation. It's not guilt. It's not seeking attention. I don't want anyone to think it is, it's just how I feel. It's not your fault. I'm defective.

I know. Trust me, I understand. I'm too much. Too defective. I want you to be happy. I'm not conducive to that.

A key, a bee, a sword. But sometimes, there's just no happy ending.

Winter, a reflection/Pretty in Pink (Partially music)

 Have you ever considered the lyrics to Pretty in Pink? Here they are if you haven't.

Caroline laughs, and it's raining all day
Loves to be one of the girls
She lives in the place in the side of our lives
Where nothing is ever put straight

She turns herself 'round
And she smiles and she says
"This is it, that's the end of the joke"
And loses herself in her
Dreaming and sleep, and her
Lovers walk through in their coats

Pretty in pink, isn't she?
Pretty in pink, isn't she?

All of her lovers all
Talk of her notes and the
Flowers that they never sent
And wasn't she easy
Isn't she pretty in pink?

The one who insists he was
First in the line is the
Last to remember her name
He's walking around in this
Dress that she wore
She is gone, but the
Joke's the same

Pretty in pink, isn't she?
Pretty in pink, isn't she?

Caroline talks to you
Softly sometimes, she says,
"I love you" and "Too much"
She doesn't have anything
You want to steal
Well, nothing you can touch

She waves
She buttons your shirt
The traffic is waiting outside
She hands you this coat
She give you her clothes
These cars collide

Pretty in pink, isn't she?
Pretty in pink, isn't she?

I feel this. I've always felt easy to leave. I've always felt like I live just to the side of other people's lives, not really a part of anything. I know I can be seen as cold and distant, but I love too easily, so I stay away. I'm not sure anyone really knows me, which is my fault. The people who knew me best are gone, and I don't meet new people easily. The person who knows me best, currently, the most attached I am to anyone, is...complicated, to say the least. I've lost quite a few people throughout the quarantine, most have walked away. I get it. It's fine, mostly. I do care. I just don't know how to change it. A couple have died. A friend from Atlanta left this world. Maybe friend is too strong of a word? I helped move a washing machine for her once. She was friends with my ex for many years. She always smiled and hugged me. She used to grab my face and look into my eyes and tell me I was beautiful. I was warned about her when I first moved there. Drama, constant drama, she lies, she's untrustworthy, she just wants attention, attention, attention. She'll never "have it together." Many people doubted how sick she was before she died. I hadn't talked to her in a while, the last time I saw her she was neither sober nor exactly...clean. I hugged her just the same. She looked in my eyes, holding my face, and told me I was beautiful, and kissed me on the lips. Once upon a time, she organized events in Atlanta. Love her or hate her, almost everyone knew her, in certain scenes. She never caused me any drama, but her passing has made me think, very hard, about how I'll be remembered, and it makes me very sad. I think I'll mostly be remembered as whining about a broken heart or stumbling drunk in a dark bar. I don't even drink often. Only in bars. Makes me hurt (physically) less so I can dance more. But I know that's how people see me. I'm more than that, I promise. I wish I could say I've had a positive impact on anyone, but I don't think I have. I'm not particularly good at anything useful. I like making things, but they are generally mediocre at best. I live in the space at the side of your life, where nothing is ever put straight.

I wish I had kept in touch with her better. I know she found some happiness in the last few years. I wish I could tell her that I smile when I picture her face, so much closer to mine than I usually let people get. 

I hope you smile when you think of me. I hope I made you feel beautiful, even for a moment. 

* This isn't a goodbye, it's a reflection. I don't know how I feel right now. Re starting or starting psychiatric meds, there's always and adjustment period when you sometimes get worse, before the benefits start. Going through an emotional time while two weeks in is confusing. I don't know what feelings are real. I'm not sure that I am real. I'm a mostly rational crazy person. 

End of the night dancing with her memory song. Not a memory unique to me, by any means. 

Little conversations

 I know, I know, I can be inconsistent. The thing is, I know all of the reasons that I'm unlovable. I'm awkward and weird. I can be contradictory. 

I've spent today working on some things to occupy my mind. There's a few things I want to say to the one that I lost, but I can't. Or won't. Or whatever. I have a project that was going to be a gift, that I've put about 100 hours of work in. I just look at it and cry. I put it away. I'll never finish it. It was very specifically for him. It basically is him. I've been working n it for months, between other things. I wish I had one more night. Not to try to undo the undoing. Just for closure. A few things I wish I'd experienced. I would give almost anything. Just a little comfort. 

The two songs I've always most identified with in life are Alice by Sisters of Mercy and Pretty in Pink by The Psychedelic Furs. I'll put the lyrics at the end of this post. If I don't, you can always google them. Maybe I'll make another post.

I need adventure. I need friends. I need a fucking hug. I'm going to try to start writing more again. I used to make up stories about my favorite photographs that I've taken. Maybe I'll start posting those here. 

I'm researching the best ways to sell things online, Etsy and other options. I have no idea what I'm doing, and Etsy takes a lot of fees.

A relationship is choices. Every morning, every day, you choose someone. You can be attracted to other people, it's only human, but you choose how far to let that go. When put to that choice, historically I come up short. I think about him so many times a day, something I want him to see, something I want to share with him. A thought, a meme, a spicy doughnut. He's my first thought in the morning, still. I know it's been less than a week. I want to scream. But, I understand. That's the thing. I understand. I hate it, but I do. I drive people away. I inspire no loyalty, I'm not worth that choice. I've known it for a long time. I know that I'm overwhelmingly sad. I'll be okay.

A few months ago, I asked him for help with something that was too much. I knew it was too much. He never came back to where I live after that. I got it taken care of a while back, but I couldn't say anything, because I knew I had asked too much, but I also couldn't seem like I was upset at nothing happening. I wasn't. It was too much.

I still want to fight. But, choices. I have to respect that, right? 

Just crying into a void.

I'm aware it makes people uncomfortable. Imagine what it's like to live it.

I'm not looking for sympathy. I certainly don't want pity.

I'm looking for a non customer service job. I'm working on things.

I've changed my mind. You get a different song for this one. From the most influential album of my life.

Little Conversation-Concrete Blonde

The little conversation
Is over very soon
And I watch in admiration
From my corner of the room.
They shine on you with starry eyes
They rain a friendly storm.
Like kids around a Christmas tree
And then you smile all nice and warm

The little conversations
If I tried my very best
You know I never could say anything
In twenty words or less.
Somewhere, sometime, down the line
Someday I may confess,
And spill it all. that's all

The little conversations
On me are very rough
They leave me all in pieces
You know there's never time enough
Like a book with missing pages
Like a story incomplete
Like a painting left unfinished
It feels like not enough to eat.
Starvin'

These little conversations
Well for me they'll never do
Now what am I supposed to do with
Broken sentences of you?
I'll stay in my corner 'cause
That's all that I can do
And let the others speak for me.
Little conversations
Are we.

https://youtu.be/9E8sA_g0BcY

Mint Chocolate Chip?

 I'm not serial killer obsessed, but I do know a lot about Charles Manson, oddly. Who was never convicted of killing anyone. I don't know what his favorite ice cream was, though.

This could be long.

I lost something this week. A relationship. I am so unhappy about it. I love him so much.

In September, I fell. I'm clumsy. I did some damage to my face, I lost my bottom front teeth. There's not a gap, I have an appliance. I am extremely insecure about how I speak, now. I avoid it even more than usual. This process has been far more psychologically devastating than I can properly explain. It hurts. It's uncomfortable. I hate everything about it. If I'm not wearing it, there is a huge space. I can't talk like that, either.  My anxiety has been through the roof. I understand that I haven't handled it well.

Neopolitan, maybe? A classic choice for a man who grew up poor. 

I don't want this relationship to end. Let me tell you about him. He is warm where I am cold. He is a sunflower in a filed of daisies. I love his laugh. I love how his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I love how his mind works, he is methodical and considered. I truly love watching his face when he figures through something. He makes me feel safe, which I never really have before. He is like the sun, steady and hot, where I am mercurial and sometimes hidden in the dark, like the moon. He has all of the physical traits that I have said aren't really my thing, yet he is to me radiant and glorious. I have never felt so blissfully lost, physically, in another person. Was it love at first sight? Not by an extremely long shot. He was the partner to a friend for a long time. I don't think that way, poly past or not. I lost her, too, during this process. No conversation or anything. She just, walked away. I never meant to hurt her. 

He was a friend. He made me the best cookies I've ever had for my birthday once, a few years ago. He is everything. Of course I know he's not perfect. But he is amazing. It's not rose colored glasses. He is the sun.

Maybe plain vanilla? Or chocolate. I don't think there was cookies and cream when Charles Manson grew up. Maybe homemade strawberry, or peach.

I was always insecure about how glorious he is, and how... me I am.

Fudge ripple? Pistachio? I really liked Spumoni as a kid. There's pistachio ice cream in that, right?

Let me tell you how I failed. SO many things I did not say. He can be seen as arrogant, but he doesn't take compliments well. I hate that the last time we were together went like it did, but I think he had already made up his mind. I wish I had asked to take walks with him. Be outside. Held hands in the woods. I wish I had pushed "doing things" a bit more. We never watched a movie together. There isn't a single picture of us. There is no trace on social media. I get the impression he didn't really tell anyone about us, I think we have a bunch of mutual friends who don't realize we were together. Maybe I wish I had said more. Maybe I wanted to be something to be proud of. I don't know. I wish I had talked more, about us. He is quieter than me, and that is saying something. I love his stillness. I could have made more plans, but I fell into an unsatisfying routine. I wish I had instigated adventure. 

Maybe it was sherbet. 

I want to fight for this, but I don't know how. I know he thought it through, and decided I fell more to the cost side than benefit. I want to scream how much I love him, and how I know I fucked up. But how can you argue with someone you know has thought it through? He isn't impulsive or irrational. I can't change how he feels now. I wish I knew how he did, before.  I want to fight, but I don't know how. How do i fight for this? 

I think peanut butter and chocolate is my favorite, specifically Baskin Robins. I don't know if Mr. Manson ever tried it. The peanut butter swirl is extra salty. Oddly, I don't like salted caramel and chocolate.

For 524 days, I sent him a good morning message, if I didn't say it in person. I wake up, and smile, and reach for the phone to send him good morning. I still reach for the phone before it comes back. He is the reason I smile in the morning. He's still out there. Now I get tears, because I want to touch him.

Peppermint ice cream? Did Mr. Manson have holiday spirit?

I ended up in the emergency room a couple of weeks ago. I thought I was having another heart attack. I find it strangely comforting that they test for heart attack by blood, now. Your heart sheds dying cells that can be measured. I also now know, by numbers, how close I came to death the first heart attack. The ER doctor gave me my medecine for a month. I feel so much better. I just have to figure out, in two weeks, how to gwt new prescriptions, without insurance. I can't go back to always feeling like I do without it, being afraid to go to sleep because I'm sure I won't wake up, because of the chest pain. I have had chest pain since my heart attack in February 2018. Dressler's syndrome, apparently. The heart medecine takes that away, which takes away a lot of my constant anxiety. I am demonstrably, medically, better.

Butter pecan? Praline?

This song has been in my head since Tuesday.

How do I fight for this? Please?

I bet it was vanilla.

All the world just stopped now
So you say you don't want to stay together anymore
Let me take a deep breath babe
If you need me, me and Neil'll be hangin' out with the dream king

Neil says hi by the way
I don't believe you're leaving cause me and Charles Manson like the same ice cream
I think it's that girl and I think there're pieces of me you've never seen
Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen well

All the world is
All I am
The black of the blackest ocean
And that tear in your hand
All the world is danglin', danglin', danglin' for me darlin'
You don't know the power that you have
With that tear in your hand
That tear in your hand

Maybe I ain't used to maybes
Smashing in a cold room cutting my hands up
Every time I touch you
Maybe maybe it's time to wave goodbye now
Time to wave goodbye now

Caught a ride with the moon
I know I know you well well better than I used to
Haze all clouded up my mind
In the daze of the why it could've never been
So you say and I say you know you're full of wish
And your baby ,baby, baby ,babies
I tell you there are pieces of me you've never seen
Maybe she's just pieces of me you've never seen well

All the world is
All I am
The black of the blackest ocean
And that tear in your hand
All the world is danglin', danglin', danglin' for me darlin'
You don't know the power that you have
With that tear in your hand
That tear in your hand

With that tear in your hand