Layers of Silence...

I can be a story teller, I like to share. To me these things are imperative to building a long lasting connection to someone else. Someone is less likely to hurt you the more you know about them, someone is less likely to want to hurt you when they learn how vulnerable you are. (Cases may vary)

When I was younger, by just a bit, I wasn't much of a teller. I was a watcher. I took things in, took in all that was happening around me. Trying to understand most of it, I guess. Trying to figure out how's and why's. I wasn't open, I didn't tell people what I was feeling, or why, enough. Ever. I thought if I said, "This hurts me because..." they would only do it because I told them it hurt me. It took me awhile to learn that most people don't purposefully try to hurt you.

I am very sharey when it comes to people I find I share some sort of emotional connection with. The words just fly out. It is mostly when I can tell that they are hurt or fragile in some way but still closed off enough to not share. My head wants to make them open up to me, so I begin to talk, and I tell them something personal about me. Maybe too personal, maybe too much sometimes. It makes me look fluffy and non threatening. I'm like an emotional bunny.

When you learn the trick sometimes it is hard to control. Sometimes, with people you are really close to (especially romantically), it is hard not to get sucked into the 'tell too much' vortex. Rambling occurs in this vortex and it sucks you up into it. Nervousness prevents you from stopping, but as long as what you have to say pulls on some heart strings then you're probably going to be okay. People will listen to a long rambling story if the rewards equal the time invested. Meaning, really, that if someone knows that you would listen to their every secret, every ramble, every blurb, and still love them they'll probably listen to every small thing you have to say. (Knowing that if they don't, they may lose their closest and most reliable confidant)

It is funny, how much people love you when you tell them one of your secrets. People thrive on secrets, they thrive on tragic stories, and they love drama. So I've learned to give it to them. I aspire to be confidant to as many people that I meet. There is that moment in a meeting where the silence comes after some words are exchanged. We all know I have enough to fill all the silence.

empty, listless, waiting...

I feel like, in my head at least, I'm battling to keep my life the way it is.
I don't know, I guess... I keep feeling like I'm going to lose Dan. That I already lost him, that he's already gone. I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I can't help the way I'm feeling.

Every time I want to talk to him about it I get scared because I don't want him to think I'm crazy. I just feel so alone, like truly alone inside.

I don't want to be the crazy girlfriend, or the weirdo, there is nothing wrong with me.

I feel like it is normal to feel alone when you have no friends. I mean to be honest, Dan is my only friend here. And I need constant socialization that is just the kind of person that I am. I knew I would not be really happy here when I first moved. I just didn't think it would take this long for me to meet people. I thought, that I'd have a bit more freedom, but I also wanted to bring money - but I didn't have any by the time I left.

I just, I want to go do things, I want to go on long walks, I want to get coffee by myself. I want to walk over to a library, a bookstore, an occult store. I want to talk to someone about something and meet someone on the street. I want to experience things, alone. I want to come back home and tell Dan a story about how I met this really awesome person at this bookstore and how she reminded me of Nicole/Lindsey (or he of Dave) and how I actually feel like I could fit in.

I don't want to be here for years and never have any real friends. :/

Fuck you, Memory.

A blood shot bride of nostalgia,
I picture you as a memory,
fleeting and still full of life.
Believe you can control this,
you give me an image, implant in my brain,
and with each thought, you take away
a piece of the chain that attaches me
to the current reality.
I envy you, your power.
Shape shifting ghost,
appear as a white dove on a grave,
a black cat on my porch.
Arms around my waist, to hold me back.
A splinter image of the past,
an off note within the sheets,
I can still see you,
still hear you.