My tongue is in my hand…

The ghost of girls I’ve been

Posted on: July 1, 2009

A friend of mine (and one of my most active commenters) has been wanting to read some poetry I wrote a long time ago. This morning, I got out some of the notebooks, and it just made me cry.

I was crying for that girl, not so much what she was saying and feeling, but because I know she would be angry and disappointed with me now.

I was crying because she was so honest with herself, in her words, so honest that the poems are uncomfortable.

I was crying because I know, and she knows, why the person between us, the us between us made the decisions she made, because she just stopped believing.

And it’s really that simple. For all I’ve tried to dissect of the me’s I am and have been, the breaking point was disbelief.  And it’s really that dangerous to stop believing. And the whole world can change in just an instant. In just a moment or two of disbelief, decisions can be made that span years and lifetimes.

I was crying because sometimes, once a thought has verbalized itself, there is no stopping it. There is just no stopping it.

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2 Responses to "The ghost of girls I’ve been"

… wow.

Uh… okay. It’s strange a little… for your biggest fan to think eh… i probably caused that. And for that I’m a little sorry. but only a little, and that’s as much as I will allow because if something I asked for… sought after, caused you to cry then I’m going to be blindly inclined to feel sorry. But… the poem on which I commented just before, side step. Where you talked about what hurts you making you stronger…

It seems that this is one of those times. Definitely. I get that, looking over old stuff. Interacting with an old wave of yourself, even having imaginary conversations with that person, trying in my head to justify all the things I’ve since done that for my old self were incompromisable and all that.

I try to keep it all fresh, to go through it regularly.

It strikes me as plainly bizarre that you, the person I have always known to best, first, and so severely bare her soul, and publicly too… to talk about how once upon a time… she was so much more honest. And that the contrast from then to now made her cry.

Now I’m immensely curious…

no, don’t feel badly. I think it’s made me realize I need to write some just for me, like I was then. Because even though I still write to cope, I know now that I can have an audience (even if it’s a small one) and that changes things a little, it’s good, it’s made me realize some things…

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