I could spend the rest of my life with my girlfriend and it scares me. I fear I’ll stay even though I’ll always want and maybe always have something on the side. I lose myself in her and that is why sometimes, like this morning, I need her to be gone. She could be with me no longer; it had been long enough. I was done. I’m a different person until I start to unravel myself and remember who I was, and still am, without her. The scary part is that I never need anything more from her. She’s enough.

Three years has always been a modest extent of time. It seems even longer when you mash other functions into the equation. I lost something three years ago and I’ve been searching for it ever since. The act of hunting for something non-existent is a tedious duty that makes the time drag on. I no longer dream of him and that only makes everything worse. Part of moving on is letting go – or vice versa. Some days I’m sure I am cured of grief; other days I feel hopelessly trapped in a cyclical version of twisted unease coupled with forgetting.

I have a paper to write for my honors class and so we can be sure that my room and the house are spotlessly clean. I might even have alphabetized my books and dvds. Who knows, really. Procrastination can be a very productive time in ones life. But what make this one worse is that I hate the class. I hate the class because I talk too much, I say too much and I don’t always know when to shut up. You can be assured that I say all the things that normal people would not say aloud. Awkward expectations.

No, I’ll reconsider this, probably again and again. Time does not heal all wounds; it does not make them any easier. Nope, sorry. It’s the same wound that, with time, often scabs over. But, but, my friends, in an instant, in any single instant it can reopen to the freshest of wounds. The scab can even, with time, turn to a regular scar that fades. Time serves many purposes in this, yes. But healing is not one. I wouldn’t call the temporary scar healed – not when it can still be fresh, in any random instant. Death is so fucking selfish.

Linda is engaged to the girl she was with after me. They met while we were together. I always told her that her friend is very gay but she denied it because her friend denied it. They were best friends immediately. It was cute. Then after we broke up I found out that they were together. I honestly couldn't imagine it. Linda always said that I was the first and last girl she'd be with. I naively believed her. In reality I didn't want her to be with anybody, ever.

I hate the way this feels after all these years.

Until MJ, L was my only long-term relationship. I still love and miss her. I thought a lot about her after I broke up with MJ because I knew that how I felt/still feel is exactly how MJ felt/would feel. It's sad to know that I am capable of hurting someone like that – of causing a lifetime of missing someone. L knows I'll always love her and I'm positive she believes it. I also believe that she'll always have a small spot for me in her heart. I'm sure she even thinks of me sometimes. I was her first love.

L’s fiance will be her last. They're getting married in two years. I saw pictures of them. She looks happy and beautiful. Gorgeous. I'll never be over her, I know. But at least I'm able to move on and able to love again. I just feel so bad about getting back together with MJ. I should have let her go. But then again, wasn't I the happiest I had ever been after me and Linda got back together? Is that what I wanted to give MJ? I felt a great deal of guilt and remorse when I broke her heart.

I knew how bad it hurt. I wanted to take it away, and I did. Possibly at the expense of my freedom. But maybe this is good. I'm not alone and she still has me while I'm available. And I do love her as much as I say I do. She is an amazing person and most of the time I am very aware of how much I need her. She takes care of me, coddling me and my anxieties. She accepts all my faults and oddities. L never accepted me fully. I miss her but sometimes I wonder why.

There is a whole subculture to college that I am just now learning about and getting thrown into full force. The whole social aspect of it. Social relations befuddle me and will probably continue to do so. But in the same instance that I am hating it I am finding myself kind of liking it. But what happens when we take the girlfriend out of the equation. Would I still want to be friends with Any of these people? Not likely. Sometimes it feels like forced socializing. But other times I feel like I could be doing so much more.

On any given night when all is quiet enough it is easily possible to hear the train, a distance away, rumbling across the city streets shaking houses along its tracks. And in these still moments the realities of death are never far. Trading silence for the retrieval of dead relatives. On these nights, when the crickets seem to sing to only you, life can stop for you and for a moment, just a moment, it can all make sense. The reason we’re here; the reason you’re not. It either makes sense, or, it just doesn’t matter. I’m okay with either.

If MJ weren't there today I totally would have talked to the library girl. MJ thinks it's cute that I have a little crush on her. There are so many girls everywhere. There are so many that prominently announce their gayness. I love the different groups of people and the mixtures of people. I love the hundreds of different personalities I've seen displayed all around me. I feel comfortable in the quad. I never thought I'd enjoy an actual quad. They sound so daunting. But it's really just a melting pot of people all coming together for a common purpose.

I found a short story I wrote in 8th grade. The writing wasn't stilted, it had purpose. I liked it and it made me smile. Then I got to the ending and thought seriously? That's how it ends? So I read the teachers comment about enjoying this ending more than the previous violent end. A vague memory surfaced and I almost remember writing it and the violent ending, sure it was a great and logical ending. I remember being upset needing to change it and so I made the current crappy ending.
I wish I had saved the first ending.

I played a game of chess and experienced a highly inspirational moment of creativity. My mind rushed with words of what my eyes were witnessing the pieces do. They had a life of their own and I was in need of telling their story. Maybe it was the weed we had been smoking for when I got home there were no more words, no inspiration, nothing. A void of words plagues me whenever I have the implements needed to write. It’s as though my muse teases me, reminding me of what I was once capable of doing maybe never again.

Sometimes I hardly remember sex at all. I’m fairly certain that we occasionally go a week or more without sex and I haven’t the slightest idea. But she counts down the days. She reminds me each time I forget even though I immediately forget again. Sometimes I do it out of pity, other times just to fulfill a need – mostly her need. Sometimes I worry that it’s her and not me. Other times I wonder how she doesn’t leave me. Why will she never leave? I don’t know how she tolerates me in my many faceted moods. She is divine.

I never thought I’d ever be a skateboarder. I always knew that those people made it look a lot easier than it actually is. It’s impossible to step on a skateboard and not fall on your ass. Or at least that’s the way it feels when you’re a skateboarding outsider. In life everyone has tried. But it’s really not possible the first time. Even the second. You have to really want it. And I wanted it sooo badly. So I kept at it. And I succeeded in learning – without falling too! I’m in awe, even when I did eventually fall.

Sometimes I don't want to do it. I'm not ready. I'm just a little girl clinging to every fiber of what was once my unloving father. You can't hate someone your entire life and then be happy when they finally leave you, forever. Instead you feel the cold sting of rejection. I failed as a daughter. I had him wrapped around my finger until I learned to talk. Being daddy's little girl is a psychological condition that he fits into perfectly.

I can't hold onto everything. I've been fine for far too long. I don't want to further let go.

This is the month in which my life changed. This is the month of death. Your death month. The entire month is laced with wicked memories. Remembrances of how I didn’t go to see you nearly all month. The first and only I love you. You’re not fair. You are cruel, actually. Sometimes I want for you to have never existed. I regret that I ever thought I loved you. I regret ever knowing when I didn’t. This month marks huge changes in my world. You have been my biggest altercation. I would wish you death but you’re already gone.

I’m doing this for her. For no particular reason. Other than maybe because I feel obligated to do something for her on account of her still being so willing, even happy, to come to the cemetery with me on the death day. It means a lot to me and I need her to know that. A year of separation and she still cares. Her brand of beauty is rare. To find it: rarer. Naturally a person would not be so willing to let that go and so her friendship is cherished. I’m that kind of sentimental person. I care too.

My girlfriend and I have been having a dispute about the use of fragment sentences in writing. I personally have always found them useful and sometimes beautiful when executed properly. She thinks they are wrong, just plain wrong, all of the time. It seems as though my honors English professor agrees. The professor even went so far as to instruct me about what sentences consist of. Seriously? I thought to myself. I had told her I wrote a fucking book and she tells me how to construct a sentence. I feel that she has no right being the teacher here.

I did dishes with my mom while my girlfriend was in my room and I told her, out of nowhere, that I'm going to marry that girl someday. She smiled and looked at me as if to say I know. We reentered the honeymoon phase, and seriously, I never knew that was possible. We've been together for 8 months and I never dreamed a love could be this rejuvenated. Not that our love had grown tired.

I knew that I could end up spending the rest of my life with her and only now is that starting to feel short.

It has come to my attention, okay really, I have been smacked in the face with the fact that love, true love, is the most joyous feeling on record. It's blissful and serene. I am in love, the forever kind of love. This feeling is equivalent to severe grief in that both are fucking intense and make you want to scream your feelings to the world. This is it. I fucking love the way my entire body is radiating with sensations. We are both glowing - and it's not the after good sex glowing. We are showered in glistening love.

Whether or not I partake in the endeavors my girlfriend has granted me does not matter. What does matter is that I know she will support me in any, absolutely any whim I choose to follow. I fell re-in-love with her when I realized this. I don’t see this as her being desperate to not lose me. Go screw whoever you need to so long as you don’t leave me. It’s not like that and she and I know this. It’s just her being happy to make me happy. She doesn’t want to keep me from experiencing things. She knows.

She doesn’t feel that she would be sharing me and I think that is the selling point. We have this relationship that goes beyond the means of being expressed through words. It’s an admiration. We’re devoted. But we’re human – and I pointed that out to her. Plus, normal people do this all the time. I’m not trying to justify it, just trying to explain. She knows how much I love her and how sometimes the three words don’t adequately state the truth. So I show her and she sees. She knows that I know. We know that we know love.

I’m going to write these words again next month but I’m going to try much harder to be more creative and random. I hate writing about my life. This isn’t my journal. I have a journal. It bothers me when I edit my journal entries to fit 100 words. It seems a waste of words. I should be putting something new out there – the definition of creativity. I have to paint a picture though, for my girlfriend while she’s away. That should be some fun spontaneous creativity, though not at all what I crave considering I have no artistic talent.

Now I requestion everything, as I possibly do every weekend. Time without her is cherished because I like being with myself and my family. She is a sort of impediment in the way of me spending time with them. Specifically my brother. I’ve hung out with him a lot today, yesterday and tomorrow all because she isn’t here consuming my time. She’s like a sponge with the way she soaks up my attention, drawing me away from the rest of the house. I have the best of both worlds on either side of me, but I want them both simultaneously.

I enjoy the muted atmosphere of the house that only I get to experience because only I am a morning person. My father was a morning person too and I’m sure I know why. I slept for twelve hours last night after spending a good part of the afternoon upstairs doing demolition work. I was one of the guys this weekend. And now my body feels the aches and I regret the summer not spent riding my bike. So much wasted time. Unlike this time, early in the morning, when all is right with the world because I love silence.

I moved away from home, the house I grew up in. I moved away from the baby whose life I was a daily part of. I miss him and I clearly see that he misses me. Nothing can replace the gentleness of our hugs upon reception. Maybe every other day I see him and it’s not enough for him. He cries for me when I leave. Sometimes, when I’m away, he’ll cry for whatever reason and his mom will sing him the song I made up for him, and it soothes him just the way it does coming from me.

I had a decent death day. Dad’s death day. It was far from emotional but full of inner remembrances. I was only slightly sad and hardly surprised that my family did not remember. They don’t have to. I alone can be the tool by which my father remains alive. I grieved harder when they failed to do so and now I’ll remember further because they don’t want to. These are the kinds of sacrifices I make for them, and my dad. I suspect that this is the way it will remain at least until I forget, which may be never.

I received someone else’s bad news and now I carry theirs and my own burden. I insist that I cannot do it again. I cannot watch someone else die nor can I watch someone else watch someone die. Blood cancer is the worst cancer and so my mind instantly goes to my dad and the suffering he did and the death we endured. This time it’s someone else’s parent and I want no part of it. But I will have a part of it. It’s like my obligation. But how will I know what to do or say through this?

My girlfriend talked to my crush for me as a means of breaking the ice between us. We both feel awkward about it but agree that it had to be done because we simply have to know. I’m only unsure of how she can trust me so well. She is assured that I won’t leave her if she just lets me do what I want on the side. She doesn’t want to keep me from experiencing new things. We believe this is only sexual. But what happens if it’s more than that? Could either of us deal with that outcome?

The death day went well despite canceling plans with J at the last minute because I really did have a ton of homework but also because I was lazy and sometimes when I’m lazy I despise obligations. Sometimes I need to be free of all constraints. I really wanted to go, and the fact that I didn't will probably indicate this not being an every year thing. I still have no every single year thing to do. Nothing to mark the date. To finalize, once again, once a year, that it's over. That was the date that ended it all.