Commit to paper the chances I've missed, the girls I've loved, the dogs I've kissed

created by rummage

(thing) by Scout Finch (2 d) (print) ? (I like it!) 1 C! Wed Feb 22 2006 at 23:33:14

I have discovered that if I walk far enough into the woods I will lose all traces of the city. Will become a natural naturalist; will know how to do things I did not know I knew how to do.

It is not the first time that Kate has asked me to go but this is the first time I have accepted. Oh I had forgotten what the woods feel like. What birds sound like, how it feels to have leaves crunching underfoot, what fresh scratches from a thorn bush feel like down the side of my leg. So good.

I am so in love with these trees, this green, green ocean circling over my head. I should have gone a hundred times over, should have not put this off. Hiking and mapping and building. Starting fires? Of course I am.

Jill, a little crazy around the edges but that's alright with me. Wants to lead me in any direction that I will follow. More in love with me than I could hope for. And here I am blowing it, as always. Push and push until she is far enough away so that I am safe. Distance makes for better pining anyway.

Oh but who am I to lead you into thinking that this does not hurt? Into believing that I am okay with this, that I am better off without? Into thinking that I am strong enough to handle my own heart? Should have lifted more weights, should have built up my biceps; such a heavy heart. Who am I to tell you I can move it on my own?

Ryan, like all great romantics, has convinced me that I am much more in love with him than he is with me. That I need him. He is a man much more suited for the roles of the great Hollywood, the Clark Gables or Jimmy Stewarts.

I would love to convince him that this is his calling, acting. Because he is so good at acting in love. I would give him his own oscar if only I could fill the mold.

I had the chance to take a semester or two to study in Paris but am choosing Elliott instead. Oh the beauty of this boy; how can I resist?

Here he is all grown up, so trim and proper. When I think of the future here is what see: plans and rice and babies and forever. What I do not see is being left lonely and bleeding in Idaho. What I do not plan is stuffing the tattered remains of a heart so large in matching luggage and moving myself completely across the country in order to escape him.

Oh truth be told they are all long gone. Both the people and the chances. Past as if it is the present. As if I could be foolish enough to rewrite it; Change it, for the better, or worse. As if I could paint myself bold or brave, a risk-taker, a move-maker.

But I cannot go back, cannot remake choices, cannot write away what has happened or make it any different. Cannot write away those I have left or this new shortness of breath.

As if it did not happen exactly the way it should have the first time.

printable version
chaos

Charlotte, who, like a lot of low-maintenance women, cannot tell a lie, said, Yes.	The echoes as they come	We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection	Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.
Stupid heart. Useless organ.	Why don't you just rip my heart out, it would be quicker and less painful	Because it is bitter and because it is my heart	What peace I get in hectic days
I have pushed many humans I have shoved many more	a constant, low wind trembles through him, catching his words and sending them out into the world	if it breaks, you get to keep both pieces	I will not, for anything, repeat the past
How do you articulate the in between stages where you feel you're left hanging?	In this place, in this room, in this moment	The difference between us is cruelty	etouffee
I never ventured in the woods and got drunk and slept	I thought paper cuts were like lightning	Here's your heart, usually I don't like dead things as gifts.	I want to hear you slap your thighs together
Ever seen two people talking to each other in their sleep?	I miss you, damn you for being so damn amazing	svaha	The feeling you get when you hold someone's hand

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