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26 August 2009 @ 09:30 pm
my pen is the barrel of the gun;  
I am an utter failure at keeping this, most likely because I failed to have any interesting thoughts or experiences for approximately a three month span. Of course, it helps to occasionally leave the house if one wishes to experience those things, which I have mingled feelings about admitting I did not. I do believe I'm a hermit at heart. I wish I could say I spent all of this relative solitude writing, but that would be far from the truth. Perhaps the first month I managed to write something every day and, as always, then proceeded to watch my motivation stutter and go out like the flame on a match. I do, however, have seventeen inbox messages on livejournal alone. Is this a win? I cannot say, for I've yet to check them.

My purpose in returning to this charming little online journal, my friends, is, as ever, the thoughts in my head that I cannot seem to share, and yet cannot bear to keep inside. I can't say whether or not they'll make sense; indeed, I'm afraid I haven't captured the point of the thing at all, but as I no longer feel as if I'm drowning in inexpressible emotions (for imaginary people--imagine that), it must have done me some good.

My pen scripts the pages for your life, and I wonder again why I had to make it such a bad one. The more we play, the more tangled it becomes, your will and my will twined as one and every step we take together only taking us deeper into the hole. I want to cry from trying to imagine your future, because one that isn't as bitter and unhappy as the present is lost to me. How to write a happy ending to your tale? I'm afraid I cannot say, for even though I'm the writer, I'm as blind as you are, only able to see the next few steps for you, if that. I'm afraid I don't know how to fix things; we can only make it worse together, and see if that will somehow take us to the other side. I think that if I were there, I could love you the way you need to be loved; that I do love you, in spite of the faults I penned with my own hand, and maybe even because of them. I wonder anew if you can feel that even through the barriers, that endless expanse of time and space that resides between us, a looking glass that goes one way. I see you, every moment of your life, and every aspect of your character, both the light and the dark. What I wouldn't give sometimes to see you staring back, knowing me as I know you.  I wonder about my own Creator; whether she feels the same remorse. Whether she sits there and cries over the pages as I do, unable to change our fate. Unable to reach us, even for the briefest of moments.
sharpblckneedlesharpblckneedle on August 27th, 2009 09:10 am (UTC)
Fuck me, I made a comment and my computer decided to erase it all. Remind me to just talk about it on the phone if I'm able to call tomorrow night.
lipstickiullaby on August 27th, 2009 03:22 pm (UTC)
Awwh x_x It does that to me too. I thought I lost the entire entry at first, but it turns out to have posted after all. It's the thought that counts? <3