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The Journal of Trisha De Gracia

See you in 8 days!
12/11/2008 08:06 a.m.
You come home soon and it's exciting because you've been gone for four months and that's pretty much forever when you're not quite sure if everything you've made with your hands and your words will stand on two feet.

That sentence had 39 words, one period, and one capital.

Anyway, you come home in 9 days. In 19 minutes it will be 8 days. Which is one more day than 7 days. Which is a week. Which is soon.

Worry is a cancer of the mind, I know, so here are my malignancies (malignancy being one of the most beautiful sounding words I know, actually):
1. You come back and find me changed not to your liking
2. You come back and you've changed not to my liking
3. You come back and things work for a while but then slowly start to erode and implode on us.
4. You come back and then you leave again, which would be like 3 above, without you falling out of love with me.

Chances of these things happening? Relatively small. You told me the other day to make myself a post-it note that reminded me you love me and to put it on my wall. I'm taking that as a great sign, and I didn't even feel the need to do it, to boot.
What does that expression even mean?

You don't know I write here, or at least I think you don't. I drew you a picture in red ink (as always)and hid this address in tiny writing in it. I don't think you looked THAT close, which I dont blame you for, as most pictures are simply pictures and not pictures with hidden messages.

But I wonder what you would think if you did know. What you would think of the almost 400 pieces of me scattered throughout this site. We don't talk too much about past relationships with other people, not because we're jealous, but because it isn't relevant. I am to him, and he is to me, and that's all. You've never really seen me upset, let alone ravaged by depression, anxiety, and heartsickness. It's all here. Every profound emotional state of me since I was 15 years old has been romanticised and rearranged on these pages into metaphor and alliteration. And the only time you've ever seen me cry was 4 months ago when I woke up beside you and realized that the next morning I would be waking alone. You don't know who I was when I was with Him. Any of the Hims that come up in my writing.

You don't know who the Orange Girl is, or what being a Sabino Girl is, or the dilemma of heeding or not heeding the unspoken rule that all comments must be followed with a thankyou note, lest you receive no more comments. i picture you asking me if i ever keep secrets from you. No, I don't, I don't keep anything from you. Ask and ye shall receive.

The people who know me here know me in ways that people I am intimate with don't, which is an interesting comment. The people here, right now, reading this, have a piece of me that you don't which is odd to me. But the more people who know who I am, the more my freedom closes in around me.

The Orange Girl, by the way, knows me in both worlds. That makes her pretty high up there in my books.

Anyway, the point is love, if ever you happen to ask I'll give you the key, let you look around. I have nothing to loose. You love me, and so, here I am. And if you didn't like what you found, well, then you wouldn't love me. And that could provide me with enough ammo to finally win a member spotlight, put my name in all 10 top poem slots simultaneously, and maybe even get me honourary patron status.

It's a win win situation really.
See you in 8 days, love.

I am currently Lovely

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