**this is pretty old, but I thought I would publish it here anyway.


i think about him
but not just him, i think about all of them. for some reason i cling to all those sentimental attatchments, with this overhwelming fear of letting go. i feel like it is constructive to reminiss and think about what was good, and desolve all the bad into nothing.

downplay it.

so i fumble with reflections, and even without being entangled in a relationship, i am still so focused and filled with the thoughts of them. seemingly, i have no desire for a new one. just holding on to old ones, old feelings, old memories.

i thought about the times i truly felt exceptional love, that silly storybook kind of love. There are vivid moments in my mind that i can replay in exact picture.




he walks beside me, walking
walking
walking
walking
the sky is so blue it beats down on you
the ocean at our side, rocks piled high and with meaning
blue
blue
blue
he picks a flower from off a vine on the rockside, he hands it to me. he looks into my eyes, i see his
blue
blue
blue
i put it behind my ear and we walk.




standing in line behind his mother at the grocery store. she takes out her wallet to pay for the few items for dinner. she asked us to come.
she told us we couldn’t just stay in bed all weekend.
sometimes i would stay for 3 days, only leaving the room to use the washroom, shower, sneak limeade.
we don’t care who sees, we’re constantly pressed up against each other, unable to not be in each others arms. he keeps kissing me, i keep kissing him

the cashier smiles, tells us we’re cute.
i look at him, and i know i’m happy.






months of the worst job imagineable. i would cry each day after work, screaming for him to tell me it would be okay to quit. find another job. escape misery. there is no support in that sense, he just holds me close and let’s me keep going back.

I am making no money, horrible wage. horrible job. worlds most monstrous boss, with a lazy eye and horrid teeth. everytime she looks atme i cringe but i am afraid of her. everytime she looks at me i expect to her her curled lips growl my name… i have to find a way out.

I finally decide to tell her i am leaving. i will leave at the end of August. i will leave and i will go to nova scotia to see my dad.
i don’t plan to go to nova scotia, i don’t plan to see my dad… i just can’t bare to be honest. if i was honest i would tell her i want to quit because the job is unbareable, that she is the most horrid woman i had ever encountered and i hated the blazer, the stockings, the HEELS, the filing, the endless cutting of boxes.

August ends, September begins and it comes as a blessing. i have no money, i have a new job starting soon… but even though the timing is terrible and the money is scarce, and the situation is poor, we leave, we celebrate, we escape.

one year.

Victoria is like heaven, the weather greets us in and the city seems like endless adventure. the coffee shop has a little boy with some disorder which makes him really friendly and talkative. we fall in love with the city, fall in love with each other all over again. we go to a park, we go to museums, movies, shops, hotels, the parliament. we go to the best restaurant, we have the best meal… but there is not enough money to have wine with dinner so we drink water and soda.

fall in love all over again.








we’re at the airport.
again.
i try and say goodbye with strength and dignity. i fall apart instead.
again.
I sob hysterically over a whopper at the airport, just like every other time. he stays calm, he looks at me trying to understand, trying to force emotion, but he is stoic. he can’t be upset, he does not cry, he will not cry for me.

i leave security.
walk the endless walk to my gate, each step feels heavy and forced. Every inch i move i feel my body pulling backwards, i want to turn around. I want to run. I don’t want vancouver. I don’t want vancouver.
i want you
i want this
i want love
i want what i know
i want what was
i want you

i feel my body, wanting wanting. always wanting.
i feel the hot tears streamind down my face. people walking past sitting at their gates waiting to leave just look up and stare, but i do not hide my face, my tears, the red and puffy eyes. I try to muffle a sob. i swallow it hard.

i’m addicted to this feeling.

I sit down at my gate, i pull out my wallet. he left a photo inside of him as a child with his favourite cat wrapped up, curled together.
I bawl.






there is a limo outside my house.
i’ve never been in one before.
‘we can go anywhere you like, even pick up kate if you want’

we pick up kate, we drink champagne, we drive through stanley park. go to a beach. we have dinner at one of my favourite restaurants, right on the ocean, right where we walked that first day with the flower behind my ear. the sun goes down and we watch while we eat and exchange glances.

i feel special.

I am addicted to this feeling.







that’s all it is.
i love love love love love love love, chase it, catch it, use it, chase it, want it, make it, crave it, suffer, cry, bleed, chase it, scream, chase it, love, love, love, love, high, love, lose my mind, lose focus, lose, lose, lose, lose.
high.
low.
HIGH
LOW
low
lower


i haven’t slept right for days, i have been up at two in the morning, three in the morning, thinking about how to get it all back, have it in my hand again. it’s not having someone to do everything for me, it’s not having someone to make it easier, i am wondering how to make them fall in love with me again. mourning the loss of being loved. losing my addiction.

i’m heaving in heavy withdrawal.
but i feel like i am seeing more clearly now, more clearly than in a long time.
i am choking on thoughts and words, coming out of me, endless streaming images. the ones i forced down my throat, forced down somewhere dark and vacant.




he calls me stupid in the stairwell infront of a friend of mine. the look in his eyes. he means it.



she calls him Nathan, she wants to know when i won’t be home.



i cry, my grandmother has passed away, i lost my wallet, i feel in shambles, my mom is away. he makes me.




he calls me names. he shouts them at me. he screams them into me, brands them into who i am.
yells them down from the living room window, tells the streets.

bitch
slut
whore
cunt
stupid



so much more i can’t even bare to think about. muy compromised self esteem, my compromised self image, my compromised persona. They all tell me they don’t understand my dissatisfaction with myself, stare in disbelief when my honesty about my confidence trickles from me, in tears and sobs and confession… then shortly after, they cheat, they call names, they tear it down.

high
low
HIGH
low
low
lower

in the clarity, i remember it, i can feel it again.
i will stop pursuing some sort of peace, some sort of fractured piece of that addiction, that feeling i once had. that thing that i chase, that high, that sobbing endless need, the puffy eyes and dependance on someones love.

they are not what i want.

so i will stop trying.