The Horses Ran By

I was going to call you but i knew you wouldn't answer. I went through my mental phone book. Empty again.

I just wanted someone. No one important really. Someone to just be with. Talk with. I wanted to go exploring. go find an adeventure. I wanted to stumble upon something beautiful, anything really.

This morning in the sun light i considered going out but mostly as an excuse to dress myself.

I want to do all these wonderful, majestic, breath taking things.

And i don't want to do them alone.

I want someone to be there, through all of it, always. I want someone to make me exist.

Because everything i've ever felt, everything i've done and seen and heard and thought about...

None of it exists if it isn't shared with someone else.

THere's no proof it was only ever just me.

I wanted to write you an email. to tell you that when i was a kid i moved a handful of times and even now, so grown in life, I feel like i'ven't ever made solid relationships. Anyways, as a kid i would lie a lot. I mean, how would they know, right? How could anyone know... Lying is of no consequence if you can't be proven wrong.

Everything i've done and everythign i've said i am could be an absolute and total lie.

And maybe it is.

Maybe i'm only everything that everyone has taught me to be.

I want to exist out side of myself.

I want you to tell me i'm beautiful again because then it could be a sort of truth.

I wantyou here again and so i can love, laugh, hate, and live. And because of you, know that it all realy happened.

I don't feel lost. I don't feel alone. I don't feel empty. But maybe that's not a good thing. Maybe all of those lead to growth.

Because i know where i am: no where. I know who surrounds me: friends and friends i don't realy know. I know what fills me: hatred. anger. but mostly failure.

I am passionless with a passion. I'm mellow. but mostly blue.

berry.

I play too many video games. I watch TV too often. I'm something i don't even like anymore.

I'm on the internet too much but i'm barely on relatively.

I'm just waiting for the first move. just waiting. just waiting.

If you would listen, if anyone would, i'd talk for hours about Kevin. About all my theories and untheories on him. I'd say every feeling i had for him. I would relate every experience we shared and didn't share.

And maybe then i'd be over it. But i know i won't be. I never really am. Over any of them, really.

do you want a list? Here's in order: Jeremy, edmund, weekend, jason, lerch, kevin, adam, milo, casy. All the boys.

but none of them really count.

No one really counts anymore. No one. not anyone. not anymore. nothing nothing nothing. I feel like if i coudl just repeat it enough times in a day they everything would be alright.

nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing.

like therapy. like consolation.

nothing. nothing. nothing.

I think of sound proof rooms with white walls in palo alto. With leaves along teh sidewalk and sunshine, always sunshine. A few windows, a fan. soundproof. scrabble. needy eyes. couches. chairs. papers.

nothing nothing nothing nothing.

A girl with a spongebob shirt. The hallways. The yellow pad of paper where jagged things took form. The songs we listened to. Hearing girls about anorexia. A girl named robin. Or maybe i've pretended her name.

nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothingnothingnothing

in a movie i heard them talk of a medication i used to take. I think it was the pink one.

there was pink and white and more white. more blue. I don't quite remember it was so long ago. I barely think about it now. I don't know why i am now.

nothing nothing nothing nothing

as if i could soothe away something that i'm not even feeling into a sort fo afternoon sleep.

that you'll never disrupt with your call. that you'll never disrupt with your warmth.

Sometimes i fall asleep only hoping i'll wake with you there.

nothign nothing. always the same things. always that same nothing.

I don't even know what i'm talking about anymore. I don't remember when it switched to first person. or if i ever started with third at all. I don't know why i'm talking and i don't know why i have no personal secrets.

Let me tell you now. I have no secrets. None.

there is no darkness inside of me. i have no reason to complain.

Just a want. just a need. just an urge.

Don't fool yourself.

I'm no poet. no writer. no story teller. word weaver.

I'm just a slut with a longing and a kayboard. Just a fuck with too many words left behind. A relationship drawn on far too long.