Another Way.

I am inclined to melodrama, this I know. But, I also cannot hide the echo of the thoughts that haunt me. I cannot force myself to forget those few nights that lay out before me like a dream. I sit inside the short-lived silences inside me and I wallow unnecessarily in all the things I should have said. But, really, I have said everything; I have said more than enough. And now things unfold slowly, layer by layer until I am left with the withered remnants of what I thought might have been. I analyze and over-analyze each word, each breath, each light and telling touch for signs that things were felt, that things mattered. It is in each over-analysis that I drown beneath the weight of all I thought was there.

I cannot let go of things. I try to forget, to brush it off, but I am lit up by long talks and by a literary understanding. Nights where I raced home fueled by words which pounded through my mind and which spilled off the edges of my lips and out into the deserted, humid evenings. And I felt something full and yearning- whole yet reaching.

The days are long now and the sun is high and bright. I look out into the light blue distance and all the colors crisply coat one another. I sit for many long hours beneath the shade of a tree and read and write and absorb the dense heat and the thick flavored smoke I inhale.

But, I am also a mess in my head, selfish and stupid though I fight against it. I am a foreigner to myself, these days because my computer is broken and I cannot type comfortably and quickly and all my thoughts are long drawn out sentences written in long-hand. I sat at a bar this evening and tried to write an Anna letter. I stretched out all the things Fernando feels and examined them beneath the dim light of the Tavern. I found very little and only articulated things that I myself feel, and nothing that he feels or understands really. I suppose we are quite enough the same, he and I. But, also I do not want to shove my feelings onto him and make him react to someone he has already had an intense relationship with in ways that are my own ways. I suppose that is why I want so much to keep writing Catherine because I feel like it is only in that relationship that I can connect my own feelings to Fernando's without feeling like I am cheating him out of a personality.

I have been supremely distant from myself, from all the things I believe and all the things I understand. I have pushed my emotions aside to make room for someone else's interactions; I have sullied my own relationship with myself quite by accident but mostly because I have distanced myself from the things that I feel. I had to hold so many things back, to stand at an uncomfortable distance and look in on myself and all the things that I said and all the things that I did. And now it is all dust and I am trying to look at my life in another way, in another light.