09.14.2005 || 01:40

To some of my former loves

I've never been dumped. Not once. Every girl who's shared my life at some point has ended up crying or throwing things because of *my* decision to end our relationship. Sometimes we both later say it was mutual, and I generally choose to believe that, but I have been the one to lay an ending on the table even when the breakup wasn't a one-sided affair.

Sometimes, I have walked out of a girl's life feeling miserable, like I ripped my own guts out and laid them in the street. Sometimes, I've felt exhilarated by the sudden freedom. Mostly, it's been a bit of both.

Some have left me feeling very guilty. A few stand out: the older woman who said she loved me, and with whom I ultimately discovered I wasn't falling in love at all, for instance. Or the girl before Mysteria, who was younger than me by a decade, still crosses my mind sometimes. Not because she was so damned sexy, but because I knew even back then that under the rock-hard girl with the penchant for throwing bowls of chicken salad at my head there was someone very young and very damaged, trying to find some way to connect. She slept with the guy she called her 'brother,' I know it. I don't know if she actively did it while she was with me, but I *do* know that she called him her brother to throw me off the scent. The story never added up, and she finally changed it to *like* her brother, then threw the chicken salad at me.

But when she slept, all the anger and posturing and bitterness left her face and I saw just a little bit of someone who could be just a normal girl, worth keeping close.

I left her one night just before her birthday. Things had gotten too hard to continue; hell, we weren't even having sex anymore, and that's part of what kept us going for so long.

But I still wonder about her sometimes. I hope to hell she found a way out of her hell and into the world.

Mysteria's a weird one. I'm glad that we're no longer together, and I still feel (as does the shrink to whom she unknowingly drove me) that she was dragging me into a very dark place, but I really want to hear one day that she's fought her way out of the ditch into which she's been digging for as long as I've known her. I guess that's why I very occasionally still read her page.

I don't know why I'm thinking about these people. Maybe it's a by-product of the hard, dark crap I talk about every week at $45 a pop, or maybe it's the drinks I'm mixing myself as I fight to drag many disparate scraps of poetry into something presentable.

It sounds so damned egocentric, but I'm not proud of this. Hell, it feels absolutely evil never to have known what it's like to be deposited outside someone's life.

||Gods save the Queen,

back || forth

older shite

One last little note... - 09.21.2006

de-stressing, biking and terrorism - 06.06.2006

Mildly stressed... - 05.29.2006

More crime stupidity - 05.28.2006

Scary stuff - 05.25.2006

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