A Journal Entry.
11/02/2005 07:13 a.m.
I miss the leaves. I want to stand under a tree and have someone shake it while I wait for golden leaves to fall. I miss that feeling. I miss so many feelings. I wish I didn't know love sometimes. I wish me and him, or her, love, weren't so on the same page.I feel like there are more tears to cry, and more stories. I feel like the air in the room doesn't fill me. I fell like I need arms to hold me from the spinning I experience with this. I feel like everything's wrong and no one makes it right, not me, not anyone, right now. I feel like the only person willing to save me is the only one who can't seem to, and.... I dunno exactly what this is I feel. The english language lacks the word, and I know no other language.

I feel like maybe he doesn't want to save me from anything. Like he wants to be saved, or salvaged, not by me, I... I dunno precisely. I feel like I want to be a part of something bigger. Something better. I'm so afraid. What else can I be? How is it that I can be faithful and afraid. It isn't a "could he", its a "would he?"

It's a scary thing.

Tears choke my throat. I feel so betrayed and so far away from it. Like I've felt so much I can't feel more. Like there is no more betrayal, there are no more lies. I've heard them all and I've felt every stab and now there is silence after tearing roaring thunder. Now there is nothing and maybe it's the feeling that no one will ever want anything to grow there again. That he won't.

There are sonnets that we read today in English about love.

"Let me not to the marriage of true mindes
admit impediments, love is not love
which alters when it alteration findes,
or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever fixed marke
that looks on tempests and is never shaken;
it is the star to every wandering barke,
whose worths unknown, although his higth be taken.
Lov's not times foole, though rosie lips and cheeks
within his bending sickles compasse come,
Love alters not with his breefe houres and weekes,
but beares it out even to the edge of doome:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

It's so easy for shakespeare, and he was betrayed twice. Love is not love which alters when it alteration findes. Love doesn't change when you come across something that could change it. It doesn't bend with what is trying to remove it from your heart, and removes along with it. Love puts up a fight and wins. It is the north star for every wandering barke, every boat. It is the fixed mark, IT never moves. Love is not times whore, though time in the end does cut down the lovers. Love doesn't alter with time, but beares it out over all distances even to the edge of doome, to the end of our worlds, and if THIS is wrong, then shakespeare never wrote a word, and no man or woman has ever been in love. And it's that simple, but fear is a demon that keeps everything safe and boring. This is what I don't get. The excitement isn't in Tasting every dish only once, it isn't in bedding everyone of the opposite (or same) sex, thats the bore. Fear, fear of what would happen if you were to be in love, to really be in love, keeps people from the greatest treasure in the world. What is there more? When there is no love, the world is dark and grey no matter how many men you've had, or women. No matter how much cold gold coin you keep or how many people recognize your face. Mass adoration is nothing compared to mutual singular devotion, when you break them down. The whole world cannot know the whole you and love all of it, though it can love a face, or a name, or a virtue. But a person, one person, can know every texture you possess and love it all with a richness and passion that doesn't compare to mere loins, if you let them.

You can't just love her when you see her. You can't just love the brave parts. The strong, adept parts. You have to love the wrinkles and hate what holds them back, you have to both accept what they are and encourage what they could be. Its like gardening. You don't hate a plant for not being tall, just because it could be and isn't. You love it and give it what it needs. But plants are passive and accept, people can be aggressive when its counter productive and passive when what is needed is action. there's an achievement in finding that you withstand the worst tempest unimaginable and manage to still have love in your heart. It isn't something learned. It's something realized. It is something that is realized. You do not learn how to love. You realize the depths and breadths it extends to. Fear is what makes it so difficult. I am afraid of so many things. He is. They both are. And I know it's terrifying, but its also decieving. So decieving. It's like Eden. Eden in a black hole. It's like the afterlife. Getting there is terrifying. Not that I believe in the afterlife per se. Just an example. I like the Eden one better. It's like great depictions of massive battle scenes done by awesomely talented painters.

But what do we have to fear anymore? There is only truth, and you only find it where you dare to look. there is love hiding behind fear here, and maybe that is what I feel. Love only compromises with love.

"Become the man you want to be.
Call me in the morning."
I am currently O.K.