July 22, 2004
Trying to find the truth - it seems so impossible sometimes. I hunt for the feelings that hide in the hearts of those I know and, harder still, I search for my own feelings. The true ones, the honest emotions, the bare bones without the jargon. So still I must now be. Attentive, alert and concious. I must find my truth and face it - draw the strength that comes from virtue, whether or not the result finds me alone.The night air has grown rather cool and chills crawl up and down my spine. But is it only the change in temperature that has caused these chills, or is it something more? It must be fear for I am even afraid to answer the question. To own up to my actions and regard them in absolute veracity.
I do not wish to betray the memory of Shane. I do not want to leave here now with dishonor resting on my heart. Though I cannot say with certain knowledge that he has never betrayed me, I can say that if he did, he did so with his own wife. She is his wife and what can be said against such actions? How could I find fault in him if he had slipped back into the ten years of life with his wife and children? How could I ascertain to be so naive when I myself chose to walk so boldly down that street of vanity? As long as I have to look into those eyes, if even for a moment, I never want to feel the burn of guilt created from his returned glance. A tender touch, a trifling tease, a hug, a kiss, a withdrawn hand could not be reprimanded in its falling upon me - save for the day that I go in search of quenching such a passionate desire. I must know strength and keep it close to my failing wants.
I do not wish to pursue the enormity of a relationship between myself and anyone, besides the unbreakable connection I hope to attain between myself and Carroll. The success of MY OWN knowledge, the reward of my own success, the passion for my own life - which has only frightened my soul for so very long. What tender care I could bestow upon that precious seed and yet how long I have denied its chance of growth - how long I have forced it to linger and shrivel under my own morbid form of truth! That I should believe, with such alacrity, that I do not contain the power to make amends to myself - that I should still promote the years of cruel punishment onto my own world. What would I have to offer anyone else with such evils surfacing at their inappropriate leisure? I sit here, hiding behind a meniacal mask of self destruction, all the while gently tending to the wounds and scars held by those who might just as easily disappear with tomorrow's sun rise!
How can I wonder at the rarest moments, that I hardly find the time to take, when I smoothly run finger tips up and down and across my yearning skin? How can I become surprised by the elevated sensations prickling throughout my body when my finger nails claim delight in such a reaction? How can I have NO faith in my ambitions? All the reluctance in the world has rested its weary burden on my shoulders and I have never wondered at its presence.
I still wish to hold the real, pretended or half assed adoration of another in my hands simply to enlighten the days that go by. I wish to be shown that I can do it, that I am worth that sacrafice, that I am no longer defined by the trechery of my own fears. I wish to not be the only one at the Christmas party or Birthday celebration without a companion. I wish to have a RESPECTED friend, a lavish lover, a willing partner, a motivating man, an adoring fan - a conversation, a moment of time, the pride to shine in my face from the company that I hold. That tender touch that states, "I know you're here and I wouldn't have you any other place in the entire world." That helping hand, that promise kept, that misery mingled with understanding, that positive push in the right direction, that reassuring forehead kiss...
That reassuring forehead kiss. How many millions of years could go by and I will never long more for anything else. Entangled fingers and lingering looks, even as the passion has long since been marked to fade. Desire, unsurmounted, steady cheer from cheap surprises - what can you do for me? Never again, besides in business, will I ever ask, "What can I do for you," without firm resolution that in my life something, in return, is being done for me. I've been too picky in picking hearts that need a hundred years of mending, but never have I held a hand that seeks to mend and motivate and appreciate my own. If such a notion does not exsist, than I shall forever be cast in searching darkness or force contentment from my solitude in the inadequacy of another.
I wish to speak the utter truth; I wish to know I feel it and hear it and I wish to find the remains of its consistant presence all around me. And though I may not be perfect and though I may fail in my ambition, just let me always find the strength to rise again.