can't wait till I see burn.

I don't care much for Januaries. I disliked them very much and try not to hate them very much. Nothing happens in January except for bad news in the past few years.

Jan 07- learned my grandma's cancer was back. Has it really been 3 years? Years. Weeks. Days. I still miss her.

Jan 08- Learned my dad had a hernia and had to undergo surgery. As well learned that my grandma was not expected to make it through the spring. She made it to the summer of that year. At least we got that.

Jan 09- ... Who knew? & I still haven't recovered from it. Mostly maybe, but until I have another guy to kiss beyond lust, I won't know.

Now I'm just waiting to see if this January will break that curse and I hope. I hope that I will wake up and find these overcasts days as romantic instead of damn depressing.

Brightside

I bought a new journal today. It's beautiful. I love it. Does it mean I should stop posting here? One part of me does because who really reads this? I can hardly imagine even my best friend to go through this muck and take a look at every post. I doubt, I know he loves me, but he doesn't have to love me that much. I think what I'm going to do is print out (nearly) all of my posts paste them into my journal. That sounds like a good idea and then once I paste them, I delete on here. Because more than anything, this was my journal, till I got something concrete, something that I can write in. And it's bittersweet because of what happened to my last diary which I wrote in for nearly two years. Two years of writing gone, along with my booklist that I've been compiling since 2003. Gone in less that a week, a day, gone to me because of that trust, that relationship that ended. Gone along with other books, and my music. My CD's. Everything just gone, along with my heart. It hurts me still, and it's been a year and I start breaking down and I just write because if I don't, I won't know my place in the world anymore and just hurt. I need to write because it gives me hope and buying a diary just makes me move on because I bought it for myself and like CP says, I have a responsibility to the reader, to me, to take care of myself in this case, and it is hard, but so what, I have to move on.

It feeds my soul.

I write. That's not secret anymore.

What is a secret is my state of being when I write. What people don't know is when I'm writing, I give all of me, no holding back, and it's the reason I do it at night with my door lock. I tend to get as emotional as my characters are when they are going through situations.

& I thought my second book was hard to write. This one is proving to be a trip, making me listen to those songs I shouldn't be listening for my own good. Songs that bring back heart ache, bring me back to a place of pain, a place of where I should be getting over from. & I take that hurt and I try to put in my writing. But once I stop typing, it's still there.

& I just hear the lyrics over and over again.
Do you even know how much it hurts?

You gave up on me to be with her.

Lyrics that haunt me. Burn through me as I write.

& what really makes me just want to die, just die, is that he didn't even say he was sorry. Didn't say any of that. What he did say was that he found the love of his life, and that he was getting married, and it wasn't going to be to me, and she was right there listening to him, break up with me, over the phone. Listening because I was on speakerphone and he said those same exact words to me. To me, he told me I was the love of his life. He and I talked about our children, names, about how after I got my B.A. we were just going to get the hell out of town, both of us, and start anew, with me in school, and him working. It was beautiful, and it still hurts, and it's been a year and it explains why I'm so fuck up.

& why I cling, desperately hold onto every inside joke, every word, every speech, every little dorky geeky little reference that my dream guy makes. Because every time I hear him giggle, actually giggle like a little boy, and say wow, and then reference this armor racing snail arms dealers that his sister wrote about him, about him, I forget. I forget and I laugh and I smile, and I think there's hope for me yet. There's still hope. & it's a stupid dream really, but I dream it because if I don't, I don't want to know, I really don't.

I just hope that my books are enough to get to a place where I could make my dreams a reality.

I hope with a broken heart.

...

Never feels more at peace than when lost in her own world, writing, while daydreaming away of him, tugging at the edges of her heart of hearts. Her dreams. Hoping he is more than one.

& I found that love was more than just holding hands.

I'm dreaming of him again.

& it makes me happy. He makes me smile. I just wonder how long will I dream this time, and whether I will ever be able to make them come true.

& I hope so much that it's heartbreaking to think of him sometimes. It just hurts, not knowing. Always wondering and being almost powerless to change it.

& it's silly, loving him like this, but the way I smile when thinking of him, I just can't deny myself the chance, the what if. & I work towards it. hoping. always hoping and waiting.

Looks away.

Sometimes I amazed myself at how well I can play the part.

Meh

Just another verbal vomit entry. I feel so unwanted. I want to hope. I like him more than I thought I did and it's so hard to admit to myself that it means nothing. It's just emailing back and forth. and that's it.

I'm trying to keep my spirits up and I'm on this up and down trek of emotions, having a really great time with my family visiting and being out playing tourist at nearly all hours, discovering new views of my city and all it has to offer (clubs, eateries, slots) and people watching, seeing all the hotties come out to play from all over the world, and yet when I'm done playing tourist, and I get a little time to myself, why is it that I just want to shut myself up and sleep and not be aware. Not be aware of anything being wrong but I feel it. The melancholy taking me in, and I just don't know.

Le sigh.

I'm hoping despite knowing it'll take a miracle of miracle, and the more guys I burn through, the more guys I get to know, I get to meet, to fuck, to play with, to just flirt with, to dance with, the more convince I get that the dork is just for me. & I know he is just a dream but sometimes his geeky speeches with their fantasy, sci-fi overload references are the only thing that makes me smile.

:(