[backs away slowly]

Holy crap, so I got on this ol' blog to write a thing about Ramon, I'm looking around - just seeing what I wrote in the past on this gorgeous clunker - and found the following in the drafts. I had never posted it. So I read it and was all: "good god I'm glad I didn't publish it." It's furious, selfish, a TINY bit (a-a-n-nd by that I mean 'wildly') self-righteous and so very very far away from how I've been feeling lately. But then my je ne sais quos kicked in and I read it again and my lower brain shouted "FUCK YEAH" (it's right next to the 'what the hell' section) and...what the hell. It's so tempting to only put stuff up that's flattering and well-crafted. This is neither:

7/7/09

Fuck this world today, man. Fuck it. I'm so goddamned tired of being mad, crying, explaining, and most of all, SO FUCKING SICK OF NEVER GETTING TO SAY WHAT'S ON MY MIND. You know that thing, in the world, where you have to watch your tongue, use your words, don't name-call, put yourself in the other person's shoes? All of that? FUCK IT. Everyone has a day (I betcha) when they have to just turn their backs on all that loving, healthy pro-relationship crap and just say what they feel like saying. This is my day.

You know what I love about myself? I say shit. It's not always honest or well thought out or accurate or empirically valid or very nice at all, but Jesus Christ, at least words are coming out of my mouth that I really feel. At the time, I mean.

Hey, everybody has to watch their mouths. I should say, everybody would generally be better served to watch their mouths. Relationships thrive on people NOT vomiting their feelings on each other all the time. Mostly because feelings change, you gain perspective, tempers cool, but you can never unsay words. I get that. It's so true. I know there are people who know me who think I have no frontal lobe, so crazed are my words, but man...if you knew what isn't coming out, all the time. I must be the angriest, most selfish, meanest, most easily wounded motherfucker on the planet, since I'm currently taking inventory of what I'm not saying and that's the content. Pain. Isolation. Bitterness. Loneliness. Hatred. And, last but not least, complete contempt for...those who have currently come under the lava wave that is my wrath.

I've been around people lately, people I can't avoid, who spend a lot of their time not saying things to me. What I mean is, I'm intuitive enough to know that they're keeping words to themselves that they'd probably like to express to me. Withholding information I could really use, both to understand what's going on between us and to...shit, to just have SOMEONE say SOMETHING to me that's real, for the love of god. To have a little courage and connect with me.

Wheeee...

untitled love rant - not for the weak of stomach

Ramon, my Ramon, you will never read this. Nobody's here anymore, and rightly so. I've been too twisted up to write anything these last years. But I was watching you laugh last night, and this popped into my head:

There's an anxiousness that comes along sometimes when I think of how I love you so much. It comes when I revel in your beauty and wonder if I can offer anything like it for your eyes (besides my hair, oh yeah). I wonder at your patience with my stupider bits and hope to god you receive even a fraction of that steadfastness from me. I hope that the ferocity and wonder with which I love you makes up for my thousand physical imperfections. I hope the words and words and WORDS I shower on you make up for my inability to grant you a moment's peace now and then.

Most of this I keep to myself, dearest, because such silly comparisons distress you so much.

They don't mean anything. There's nothing to them but my automatic cranial shutdown every time I contemplate the near-perfection of your love for me. Because you never treat me as anything but the most beautiful creature breathing - in your eyes I must be a queen, a wonder, a model of human generosity and kindness. I know you, and it's that sort of person who would make your eyes brighten as much as they do when you look at me. I keep looking at myself for reasons why you could dig me so evidently (human insecurity knows no bounds) when I could be watching YOU watching me. You're like a...a... you're really good lighting and a fan in my Photobooth of Life. And I never truly fear, not really.

Because since that day I saw you across the classroom I've craved you beyond the telling of it. And since that day my heart asks, every day, "Are you mine? Are you? Can I have you reallyreallyreally, for the rest of my life?" And never has your response wavered. To my every unspoken Question you have always, always answered with an unspoken, but deafening, "Yes."

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.