Sinister: you can only die twice; it's the second time that makes the first time seem so nice.

[miss lou]

hello sinister.

i've grown too fond of chips this weekend. well,
'chips' in america, 'crisps' (i think) in the euro
sectors. either way, i've eaten too many, i think, and
i am starting to fear it is one of those life-long
loves people sometimes develop.

here at 21, i think i am destined to become one of
those old women who always have some sort of chip
crumb permantently affixed to the near-inner upper
thigh of their purple, elastic-waist polyester pants.

at least i'll get to wear comfort shoes, i suppose.

***

i wrote a post about my trip. i don't think it
actually sent, though i distinctly remember the 'your
mail has been sent' screen. 

but now i have had a few days to really digest the
four-day weekend escapade (whilst eating all those
chips). and at the end of another weekend, i have
discovered only this:

i am still very, very sad.

***

it was bound to be bad from the beginning, really. the
whole thing always had been; even when he still lived
here, things were never glorious all the time. and
even after the passing of a year and his final
realization that yes, he was in love with me, things
weren't all wine and roses and sunbeams and thanking
the lord above, etc.

it was hard. and i wonder if those things are suppose
to be hard.

love, after all, is such an easy thing to say. 

it shouldn't be so hard to do, right?

but there i was in southern california, so close to
the ocean that i was walking in a perpetual fog for
four days. and that's probably fitting, really.
because i still don't know if i really know what
happened there, or why. i don't know who i was or who
he was.

i only know that on the last night i ended up crying
into a cup of terrible tea made by a lovely man named
jose. and i cried because i didn't like his tea. or my
tea. or whatever tea i was being offered.

***

i wonder sometimes why, when you realize something has
reached the very tip of its end, it feels as though it
never really happened at all. and you wish it hadn't
really happened at all.

you don't want to suddenly notice you've spent an
enormous amount of time and energy trying to bask in a
half-glory of something that may have never really
existed. but what if that's it? what if that's all you
get? and you throw it away because of something that
should be so trivial as distance?

what happens when you think, in spite of what you know
and what everyone you know tells you, you are all
loved up? 

i said i was going to california to get my heart back.
so i could give it away again, presumably. but i came
back home minus just as much heart as i was missing
when i left. and i tried to get it back. i tried to,
whatever, swallow it all while i was there.

but i ended up choking. 

i spent a lot of time there alone. 

i tried, and am still trying, to believe that i am
happy that he is the one who holds so much of me. and
will. 

i don't know if i can convince myself that i am happy
with that. i don't know if i can convince myself that
i am happy at all.

and this is no cry for attention or need for an
outpouring of love and support in the manner of
"lindsey, of course someone will love you again"
commentary. it's just me wondering why, when a person
just folds around pain, the world does not also do so.

it would make more sense, i think. and what poetic
fodder, too. all that pain at the center, like the
roundest, coldest, hardest pearl you ever touched.



xo.lou.



=====
www.somewhereinbetween.net

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