d*land

And I fear, my fear, is greater than my faith.

I think everyone reaches a phase where updating a diary becomes more of a chore than a release. When sitting down to type takes more effort than pleasure, and I feel that way about everything online now.

I dread checking my email, and it's increasingly difficult to carry on conversations in a box. I don't want to connect, and the talking computers are just a sign for me to shut my brain off.

So, I'm sorry. I am. I'm really sorry I'm going through this now, and I hope everyone can just be patient while I try to work through it.

. . .

I've never missed someone so much. I've never felt some of these things I've been feeling. The valleys and hills are enough to drive someone crazy, but I'm not afraid of them. It means I'm growing, or trying to. If it was easy I would be worried, nothing easy ever works out.

I ask when, more than I should, because the truth is I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of the next time, because I don't think I'm strong enough to let go again. I don't want to imagine it. I can't.

But I miss you. I miss you all day, every day. All of the small things I forget sometimes come back in the most mundane actions. I catch myself remembering.

Mostly it's the first night, all of the anticipation, your beautiful face lit, your hand reaching back, pulling my hair free, and that instant I let you in.

02.11.03 || 12:07 pm

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