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home from... Saturday, Apr. 19, 2003 i've calmed down. somehow made it to Polo, where Amy was waiting. For me. Alone. Thankfully, she wasn't too much for me, and conversation, though screamed over gay-boy techno, was decent. She offered to drive me around and smoke, but i wasn't so much up to it. I'm sober. The thought of Ash now just makes me tired, when i think of it, i feel resigned. I just can't find a way to be happy in the end of this one, except the kind of happiness that years down the line gives you like a consolation prize- well, at least you're removed from it in terms of time. I did mean to mention, in my previous tirade, that i don't want to fuck this up for her sake. What i may come to want very much doesn't mean anything, because she needs to go. And i don't want her to even consider for a second not going. That aside. I fear the thought of this scenario will make me sick, as i get when i think too much about anything... Though a song we danced to last night that she loves came on tonight and i couldn't help but raise my head and then lower it to the thought of her dancing in front of me. See, she's a dance instructor, and that's the song she's teaching her kids to dance to. Hip-hop. She teaches kids and teenagers a kind of choreographed hip-hop. Okay, so maybe i'm not so much done, but it occurred to me tonight on the drive over that the end of August is fucking four months away. I have FOUR months to live like this? I can't live like this for four months. In all honesty, in all reality, knowing myself as well as i can in a romantic situation (which is foreign to me in a way, since it's been so, so long since it's been heartfelt and sure), i will break. I will have her meet me for coffee (hot chocolate in her case), and i will bluntly, almost in a surrendering way, admit that i can't hold my breath anymore, and i'm so sorry if it means that shit's going to either get more difficult or, as i know it to be possible, we should be stretching our muscles as we speed up for the crash. I just can't lie. I can't do this. I won't have the energy to be thinking of her the way i do, as often as i do, and not put it out there. I won't be able to breathe, eventually... And though there really is no happy ending, at least i'll be proud of myself five years down the line, for being honest about how i feel. it still seems like it's happened so fast... i guess it has.
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