Monday, May 10, 2004
packed, ready.
I know it seems as though you're all I think about, but this is a lie. You're simply 65% of what i write about, and that's not terribly impressive considering I only write about things that bring me considerable stress and which I don't like to think about at unspecified times. Not to take that away from you.
I didn't realize how little you cross my mind anymore until today. I don't know how or when or why but my brain has changed a function or formula. Neurons are fighting against you. I wouldnt know what to say if you were here, or on the line or online messaging me with that underlying layer of unease. I’m not who or what I was when we last spoke, when I saw you walk out of the hotel room with a trash bag full of gummy bears and into the arms of ice cold California. I don't know who I've become, but I wouldn't know what to say if you did in fact decide to communicate with me. I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I'm different. Things are different. You're a distant person, eons away and I'm something else all the way over here.
All I did was ignore the problem and delete you out of my phone, out of my room, out of my routine. Out of my life? I thought that maybe it would fix itself and I'd forget you all together or learn to hate you or see you as someone worse or at least unworthy of any kind of respect or care. As the months pass I realize that there is no finite end to any of this. Just you fading further and further away, supassing the 3000 miles and becoming buried in the end of an era in my life. I'll progress through college, ambitious and tough, unfaultering, because that's who I am. I'll love my family and trade and leave and find friends and boys and life. You'll probably stay in California and be an electrician, marrying some white trash girl with a killer body who likes guns and the way a revving engine sounds. Am I supposed to send you Christmas cards, or tell you when I move, or enquire about your life? I realize you won't do these things but I'm different than you. I wont evade my obligations to you or anyone else. So you will receive these cards and wishes and youll probably feel something, something vague and old. But it'll grow more unfamiliar with each passing holiday, season, year. I used to think the end of this abstract you and I thing was abrupt and certain, but it seems as though it's going to linger and linger.
I fully realize that I will probably never see you again. I don't want to talk to you. I wouldn't go back to it. I won't call you sober. I won't empathize, or email you. I won't initiate conversation. I won't tell you about my accomplishments or failures, or deaths in my life or new phases of me, the girl you knew for 4 years as bri, as anna, as Brianna, short, brunette, cute, fucked up, a liar, inescapable, smart, easy to push aside and turn on and off, a girl who doesn't know what she wants in life, impatient, immature, always playing the part of the victim, over-dramatic, and not worth it. Not worth it by a long shot.
For what it's worth i don't feel much negativity anymore about our span as a you-and-me undefined enigma. i am absolutely in awe of how much i can care about someone that i choose not to speak to. who knows how much of me was made by you, altered and formed and detailed by your prior knowledge and experience.
i'm just sad that i stopped being a kid
when i started talking to you.
I didn't realize how little you cross my mind anymore until today. I don't know how or when or why but my brain has changed a function or formula. Neurons are fighting against you. I wouldnt know what to say if you were here, or on the line or online messaging me with that underlying layer of unease. I’m not who or what I was when we last spoke, when I saw you walk out of the hotel room with a trash bag full of gummy bears and into the arms of ice cold California. I don't know who I've become, but I wouldn't know what to say if you did in fact decide to communicate with me. I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I'm different. Things are different. You're a distant person, eons away and I'm something else all the way over here.
All I did was ignore the problem and delete you out of my phone, out of my room, out of my routine. Out of my life? I thought that maybe it would fix itself and I'd forget you all together or learn to hate you or see you as someone worse or at least unworthy of any kind of respect or care. As the months pass I realize that there is no finite end to any of this. Just you fading further and further away, supassing the 3000 miles and becoming buried in the end of an era in my life. I'll progress through college, ambitious and tough, unfaultering, because that's who I am. I'll love my family and trade and leave and find friends and boys and life. You'll probably stay in California and be an electrician, marrying some white trash girl with a killer body who likes guns and the way a revving engine sounds. Am I supposed to send you Christmas cards, or tell you when I move, or enquire about your life? I realize you won't do these things but I'm different than you. I wont evade my obligations to you or anyone else. So you will receive these cards and wishes and youll probably feel something, something vague and old. But it'll grow more unfamiliar with each passing holiday, season, year. I used to think the end of this abstract you and I thing was abrupt and certain, but it seems as though it's going to linger and linger.
I fully realize that I will probably never see you again. I don't want to talk to you. I wouldn't go back to it. I won't call you sober. I won't empathize, or email you. I won't initiate conversation. I won't tell you about my accomplishments or failures, or deaths in my life or new phases of me, the girl you knew for 4 years as bri, as anna, as Brianna, short, brunette, cute, fucked up, a liar, inescapable, smart, easy to push aside and turn on and off, a girl who doesn't know what she wants in life, impatient, immature, always playing the part of the victim, over-dramatic, and not worth it. Not worth it by a long shot.
For what it's worth i don't feel much negativity anymore about our span as a you-and-me undefined enigma. i am absolutely in awe of how much i can care about someone that i choose not to speak to. who knows how much of me was made by you, altered and formed and detailed by your prior knowledge and experience.
i'm just sad that i stopped being a kid
when i started talking to you.
