I need some inconsistency

An amalgamation of content: the aim not to politicise, but exercise. I'll think aloud about politics, technology, current news, as well as being a gay boy and what that really entails.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

I got the message

He sent me an email today and I felt like I'd died. I've been waiting, trying to not contact him, trying to hold myself in, but I'm bursting at the seams, wanting that connection that I can't seem to grasp. So I'm there, writing emails to myself, unsure of whether I'll send them, unsure of what to do, and I feel bad about it.
It's not like I'm trying to artificially create an 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' situation, but I'm trying to not be there too much, trying to not give too much away, so that he feels, so that he understands what it's like to feel locked out and alone.

Of course I know that I'm not locked out, but I feel uninformed and unsure. I write a lot, I empty my head onto the now-electronic page, and perhaps this reveals myself too much, perhaps it fills the space. Filling the space is what I want to do, what I want him to feel is full - connected and together, but by telling all, by giving everything away, but not holding back, the complacency can creep in. I feel like Dave Matthews:

You cannot quit me so quickly
There's no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I got all the time for you, love

The Space Between
The tears we cry
Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more
The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain

But will I hold you again?
These fickle, fuddled words confuse me
Like 'Will it rain today?'
Waste the hours with talking, talking
These twisted games we're playing

I don't know where it is that we get satisfaction from our present state of being, but so frequently I lose the ability to agree with expounded idea that I should be happy, and then create an aura of anxiety. Is it mild panic that goes on within ones head, no hind given on the surface, or is it simply a moment of instability where I lose my footing on the road of my convictions and wish I had someone to take my hand and direct me towards the wisest course. Sometimes I feel like my cloud of convictions, the strengths I rely on to pretend to the world that I'm strong, simply give up on me and fly away:
Every man, wherever he goes, is encompassed by a cloud of comforting convictions, which move with him like flies on a summer day. - Bertrand Russell

Come back to me.


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