another drunken ramble
April 14, 2004 � 1:13 a.m.

First Entry Today

Today�s Weather: Lamenting and painful

If love had a flavor�

Fried shrimp with cocktail sauce washed down with ginger ale and Jamaican rum is the most lovely thing to pass my lips. If love had a flavor, it would most certainly be this.

Sitting here, smoking cig after cig, sipping on my devil�s potion, I let my mind wander over decisions and predicaments, lies and half truths, elation and heartbreak�I sit here drinking with my mind wandering and I wonder once again�is this my lot in life because I am a poet, or am I a poet because this is my lot in life? Plath, Dickerson, and Wolfe�writers, sufferers, lunatics all. Love�s punching bags and life�s forgotten until death�I feel connected to them�and ashamed by it all. Ashamed because I compare myself to their pains and not their genius, horrified by the fact that I may not have any genius like that at all. My genius lies in my failures in love. Beautiful, tragic, poetic�love.

I sip my drink and revel in the coolness slipping down my throat and the warmth spreading through my belly like velvety wings spreading open to tickle my pelvis with it�s fingertips.

Pelvis.

He has the most beautiful pelvis bones�bones structures austerely leading to his flat stomach and thin line of hair that leads down, down, and down�

Cinnamon skin stretched across him like the night sky�quiet and reverent and beautiful�that is him, standing in front of me�my knight of the night�the controller of my soul�my love and nemesis�and surely�my downfall. That is him. The perpetrator. The destroyer. My love.

So I ask this of you, my lovely, faceless confessors and salvation�what is love? Because maybe if you tell me, I will find that what I feel isn�t love at all, and I can find a way to let this obsession go and continue on my quest to find the real thing. I see a man�not like anyone else sees them, but dissected and autopsied�pretty shards of broken parts that shine to blind me�and I am drawn to them�.reaching out pensive hands to caress them and love them�visioning pieces of my father in them and I convince myself that if I can make them love me, then my father not loving me is not really my fault at all. These broken men that no one else sees or loves, I love them and cherish them most of all, and it�s never enough. My love is never enough. I am never enough.

I don�t blame my father for my mistakes�no�I am not as childish as to wantonly push off the blame like that. I blame my love for my father for my faults in love�because if I could let go of that, I could let go of childish ideals and fears of love, and grow up and move on to an adult love�unidealistic and unimaginary love�something tangible and understandable and requited and real. Love is not a fairy tale. Fate and destiny is just a myth. True love is just a theory. Love at first sight does not exist. If I could just relay to my heart all the things that my head knows, then maybe the pain would subside, and with the pathways open, love could finally trickle in, and I would wonder no more.

Do I really love him? Yes. In what I know of love and what those notions are to me, I love him more than I have ever allowed my polluted heart to dare to love. And no, it�s not about sex or lust. And yes, if you were to ask me to name the reasons why or the ways I love him, I could easily ramble off a list�without faltering, halting, or hesitating. And no�I have never known that ease before. And yes, it is possible that if I allow myself, I will know of this ease again. Just not like this love�never like this love. Nothing in my life will ever change or consume me as totally as this love. Does he deserve it? Probably not�possibly yes�but as he is as broken and polluted as I am, I will probably never really know the true answer to that question. But do we ever really? Maybe we just know our love and are secure in our love, and maybe in that security�our love is always enough. Knowing the depth or reality or truth of someone�s else�s love doesn�t really matter at all�just knowing that there is love is always and forever�enough.

I ramble on stupidly�I know. But thoughts of him are consuming me right now, and it�s either ramble or give in to the insanity. I get googled a lot, you know, and I was googled today and as always, it took me to an entry of him, specifically of him, and I was plunged back into the abyss of love and hope and hopelessness that I wade in for him. And sadness�has once again�claimed me. I know, he will eventually call or come back, and I know that when he does, I will pliantly acquiesce to him�fall into his arms and swallow his lies and lament, and make that enough for me�accept that as being enough for me�and when he leaves me, I know, I will again sit and wait for his undoubted return.

A fool that makes me, yes�.his fool that makes me, always�but it is most definitely a title that I choose to bear. You see�I have to give him a chance�one last chance to truly either show me he cares or I am nothing at all to him�because right now, it is so unclear. So many things are blurred and misconstrued, and if I take this time to focus them, maybe next time I see him, my vision will be clear and focused. No broken pieces, no parts of my father, no childish notions�just truth.

And as they say, the truth�shall set me free.

Set me free, God, yes�set me free�because this love I harbor is slowly killing me.

Bless me with insight and wisdom or bless me with death�

but either way�yes�I will finally be free.

Please�just set me free.

Let him�love me�and let me love him�and let it be real.

Let me know it is okay for me to believe in something again.

Even if it just ends up being�myself.