but i also have this problem of blaming things on myself just to make sense. like if i see it coming, or know i did it, it becomes comforting. something i can scold myself for and change later? it's not even quite that with this. you become more important because i'll never be able to cuss you out, swing at you or ask you what the hell? and even on a simpler level, can't travel back and ask you questions i shoved down my throat and into my heart, throbbing, throbbing still each time i find myself wanting to ask you now. i choke on them now. and when i remember you're dead, sometimes i stop breathing.
i saw Shutter Island today. makes me wonder how much is enough to make you delusional? how invested must you be to play out a fantasy where things happen differently? i'm not that invested in you. but, my mind does wander. and we save dead things, we mount them as trophies, and keep them in boxes and and i save you. every once and a while i have this fear that if i start to live as full out as you did, i'll end. like you only get so much life in so many years, right? that's enough. one day i'll be able to stop calling you that. until then, it'll be our little joke, how i can't name you. it's actually not funny at all. i can't name most of you. most of you dead things/moments/grey/pale/wilting(ed)/nothing relationships.but i'll still write to you, you can't hurt me new.