tryst

I don't remember how many times I cheated on Andrew. I don't remember overpracticed minor seventh harmonies from the night before.

I can't remember how to love without hating. Hating a telephone voice, a way of doting that leaves me unimpressed, his chapped lips, or tiresome stories about heartbreak, or taste in eggs....anything. It is pure. It is love. It is always gorgeous...until you open your mouth. Or open the car door. Or open your eyes to look at me as I sleep, closed in countless ways, awake in my dreams, and only there. (Get out, get out...) It is always love, and only love, and endless love, until you open your heart....until you open your fucking heart and ruin my fantasy...because love, afterall, for me, is only fantasy. My creation. You, the subject, are uninvolved. And when you raise your hand to speak, it is hate. I will hate you. And I will be sorry. Or rather, I will indulge in a fantasy where I feel great remorse for having toyed with your emotions (unknowingly, naturally), but truly...I will be unphased, and seldom as affected as I seem. You are already mislead, I see. Oh, you are.

I can't remember how to kiss without zoning. When you are a quarter inch away, in comes the heat, and the hope, and all of the heart I can muster. When you come in close...it is the last leg of a race. It is close to killing time...it is an ending, never a beginning. Lips touch. I am done. I will spend two hours kissing you with a heart that no longer beats, lips numb and a burning desire to turn on Sex and the City, and eat raw hotdogs. I do not love you. I am not moved. I am bored. Irritated. Unchanged. I feel as though I should be paid for the position when I see the stupid stars in your eyes, and realize that they have been open the entire time mine have been tightly shut...

I can't remember how to fuck without fighting. My mother worried about the bruises. I wanted to be thrown around like a ragdoll. I wanted to be taken over, to lose my breath, to be held down, to be told all of life's secrets, and warned that there would be no debate. I wanted power play. To be knocked off the bed, and have the opportunity to return the favor. I wanted to fight. I wanted to fuck and fight and come and feel love and life and pleasure and pain. Or perhaps I wanted to make it known that no matter who you were, I was going to hate you....

My brave contradiction -- I long for the day it doesn't hurt so much to feel such indifference. I long to truly feel remorse. And to feel hate that doesn't spring from the leaves of the love you offered...and you, and you, and you...........

And oh my fucking god, off the subject, but courtney love just posted her first journal entry recently, and it's fucking insane. go check it out. Courtney