you were right about the end
it didn’t make a difference
everything I can remember I remember wrong
In speaking with my friend last night she tells me that he wants me to be a vacation. He wants it to be always fun and exciting, always new and thrilling, always rightnowrightnow and never next week. She says that everyone loves going on vacation, but at some point you have to go home.
She’s right, and that breaks my heart. I cannot possibly be a vacation all the time, Alexi stop spleening me. Even when I’m on vacation I’m not a vacation. I am not even a summer cabin. I’m Helm’s Deep; a solid fortress of constant battle and unyielding defense. I’m not a waterfall, I’m the Mariana Trench. Neither flitting nor fleeting, but rooted and unmoving. I wish as much as you do that I was a strapless dress rather than a suit of armor, but I’m not, and I never will be. Ever. Ever, ever, ever. I used to be proud of myself, for having developed these skills and assembling this arsenal and earning my merit badge in Damage Control. I am not proud of that any more, no more than I would be proud of my Herkimer Battle Jitney on a jaunty little road trip. It just won’t work because it’s just not right. And it doesn’t have to be Just Right, but you do have to actually want it. The distance between Wanting It and Not Wanting To Be Without It is significant. It’s the difference between right and left. So close there, so maddeningly close at the intersection, but ultimately insurmountable. The ridiculously cliché feeling that we’d die without each other is meaningless without an attendant desire to actually be WITH each other. They seem so similar. They seem like brothers. They look like such big, strong hands, don’t they.
everything I can remember I remember wrong
In speaking with my friend last night she tells me that he wants me to be a vacation. He wants it to be always fun and exciting, always new and thrilling, always rightnowrightnow and never next week. She says that everyone loves going on vacation, but at some point you have to go home.
She’s right, and that breaks my heart. I cannot possibly be a vacation all the time, Alexi stop spleening me. Even when I’m on vacation I’m not a vacation. I am not even a summer cabin. I’m Helm’s Deep; a solid fortress of constant battle and unyielding defense. I’m not a waterfall, I’m the Mariana Trench. Neither flitting nor fleeting, but rooted and unmoving. I wish as much as you do that I was a strapless dress rather than a suit of armor, but I’m not, and I never will be. Ever. Ever, ever, ever. I used to be proud of myself, for having developed these skills and assembling this arsenal and earning my merit badge in Damage Control. I am not proud of that any more, no more than I would be proud of my Herkimer Battle Jitney on a jaunty little road trip. It just won’t work because it’s just not right. And it doesn’t have to be Just Right, but you do have to actually want it. The distance between Wanting It and Not Wanting To Be Without It is significant. It’s the difference between right and left. So close there, so maddeningly close at the intersection, but ultimately insurmountable. The ridiculously cliché feeling that we’d die without each other is meaningless without an attendant desire to actually be WITH each other. They seem so similar. They seem like brothers. They look like such big, strong hands, don’t they.
posted by machine central at 10:16 AM
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