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The Journal of Angel J McRae

Fake conversations and pretend smiles
11/30/2006 05:32 a.m.
MY (unspoken) rebuttles:
I dunno, I don't want you to know. And you won't want to know either. And yes, I was right. I hate reading it too, but I find myself emersed in it. As if letting it spill into vague words that can be misread will do the tick of releaving it from me. Why would you say something like that? Have you forgotten what just happened? Because I know I haven't, and you saying something like that only pains me more. It wasn't a hmm it was more of an hmph. But what does that matter. AIM gives me the cloak ( reminder I can't spell and don't feel like it) to hide my face, to chose my words carefully, and to hide my tone, my pain. Yeah, I'd prefer oh I wish that too. But I just think thinking it now causes a floodgate to open and short breaths to retrieve control over myself. These days are endless, and I just don't understand why it is that way. Why those amazing days, although forever with yo, are short lived and gone. But even moments of sadness consume, and devour, and turn nights into months, and the moments are frozen. Just as I ask and wish they were on other days, my wish granted too late and I have to regret it now. This is pointless. Done



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You know if you don't talk about something for long enough it almost seems like it never happened. Like if a tree falls in the woods and no one's around to hear it, it doesn't really fall. So I keep my lips tight, and say just enough to not get questioned, and laugh at the right cues so as to seem just like any other day. But inside is another story...but it's only mine. It's quite contrary to what I tell others: you need to talk about, it helps, it helps to know that you can confide in someone and have them be there for you, if all they can do for you is give you a shoulder, it helps. Soooooo why can't I do it?! I do, most times, most days I'll have no reserve to let my load off onto another, so as long as it's more anger than sadness. Because I've tried that before, and there is no one that knows how to be there for me. Because other than sad movies they could never imagine me crying. And it seems foreign, and they can't react. And I see this, and know that they can't handle me, so I just breeze past it as if it was nothing, or just pretend it never happened because they'll chose to ignore it before really pressing me for answers. Because it's easier to avoid something as foreign as Jenn breaking down. So it stays here, left on little keys with letters, left ambiguous, left to be forgotten; but it never is.
For tonight this is all I have, my head doesn't form many phrases right now.
I am currently Overwhelmed
I am listening to Silence

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