msjessica's Diaryland Diary

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what he wrote

my..... heart? soul? some un-physical, unseen part of me, longs to be outside with the wind in my hair and salt on my skin and the stars above my head

animals around, big feelings abound

ing.

-

watching faces - no, not even, watching

thoughts and shapes, possibilities, truths, lost dreams, brand new ones, crackling questions burn in camp fire light.

that fucking fire fly.

-

sleeping rough was never so perfect a term. sleeping literally in leaves, making space for a lovely, sweaty, snoring, sated boy (man) shape. some person i was coming to know and love (thinking maybe i could one day love).

sleeping with mosquitoes and other blood sucking things about, they particularly like him but steer clear of me, only sounding in my ear not feasting through my skin - perhaps a notification of similarity, and an attempt to steer away from cannibalism. one blood sucker won't feed on another.

you say that you're no good but I..... I..... I will not pepper this with self hate.

and this is just so many things it's hard to find a place to start.

do i talk about now feeling like that older version of my teenage self? a feeling which sounds....banal. But as one who back then very quickly fell away from oneself, feeling like "an older version of me" feels like a privelege, a pleasure.

do i talk about how now i am not so scared of nature, of heights, of moths and beetles and the outside and other people and the darkness and..... of loss, my own abilities, my own heart, my love and lust and connections with others?

do i talk about how love making was the perfect term?

do i talk about love being cursed by monogamy?

or about how............... sharing pop culture references is the best way to get to know somebody?

or do i talk about how when i said 'it was as if every word that you wrote was read straight from my heart', I wasn't lying?

god, where do I start?

11:05 p.m. - 2012-11-10

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