write/ older entries/ / miss miranda/ burningtheletters.net

2002-11-23 - 9:22 p.m. sometimes i miss him so much, miss his hands, miss his family, miss waking up next to him. miss even when it was cold and distant between us. i have the journals, i have my memories, i have the documentation. i know how awful it was to feel like i was 40 when i was 19, to feel like an old over-made up whore in a pink nightgown and high heels just trying to win back a bit of his attention, his affection. yet i still miss him. i remember that year we went downtown to see billy bragg. it was early december, i think 1998. we walked around downtown seattle forever, holding hands, looking at this stuffed penguin in the bon window that i really wanted. i remember that dread i always get when the sun goes down, feeling that at exactly the same moment that we walked into the theatre. some sort of convergence, connection, pain-- some sort of birth happened right then. but it wasn't a joyous one. it was dead as it came out, bleeding, weeping. we sat waiting for the concert to start, in the front row of the first balcony, talking about the ornate ceiling, about how someday we'd have a home where i could have the things i wanted (a darkroom, a garden, an art room, a puppy). ( i knew it would never be true)-- we made plans for the future but they seemed hollow. my nail polish was chipping and i had on the dullest clothes, as if a day of dirty boring drizzle had made its way onto my body and stayed. you told me you had something in mind for me for christmas. i was hoping it was that penguin. but it was probably another pair of underwear i'd never wear. i remember all this, how i loved billy bragg more than you right then, how the walk back to the car was so refreshing, so light, so dark, so contradictory. how the city lights looked so late as we drove back up I-5. how you walked me to my door but you wouldn't stay, even though i asked and asked. i remember all this, remember a thousand nights like these... remember almost five years of this. remember cutting myself to get your attention, remember trying to be more "normal," be skinnier, be less intellectual, wear less clothing, be like your friends' girlfriends, all so you would love me, would give me what i wanted, would stop holding it at arms length, taunting me, forcing me into the premature tantalus role. i hate him. yet... i still miss him sometimes. and probably always will. ( 0 tell me?)