The more I think about Oregon, the more relieved I am. I'm going to miss Chicago and the people there, but right now I feel like everything I love is seeping out of me..
I went to see Glen Hansard downtown Monday night, and Tim and I ended meeting up and we go fourth row seats. And it was the most amazing concert I HAVE EVER BEEN TO. It was so beautiful, I contracted the biggest, purest, most natural high from Glen. He's a beautiful person. He does so many concerts, but I feel like every one he performs feels new or different. When they played "When Your Mind's Made Up", I started to cry really hard. It felt like something deep-seeded was being extracted from me, similar to the feeling you get when you're talking to a friend about something you hold close. It's painful and constricting, but beautiful in both ways. When he played "Bird Of Sorrow", all I saw was Ely. I wished so hard that she could feel what he was singing and playing.
Words are so over-used sometimes. I think of quotes and cliches that I've always heard, and they resinate. But when I feel like saying or writing them, they seem so obsolete, like they can't carry the meaning I've assigned to them or like they wouldn't understand.
I don't know what's going on with ******m. I'm still being with him after he wouldn't fucking stop. I hate him. I know he just likes me for my body. It's not even good sex honestly. But while I'm with him I feel like I'm close to somebody. Just somebody. It's fucking pathetic but it is what it is. Why do I need to feel intimacy. I like ***e but I know he doesn't feel the same way. I love how he doesn't have to be anyone but himself. It seems like he has no doubts; he's stable.
this is where I'll be staying for the summer.
It looks beautiful. I wanna buy a bag of shrooms and take them with my sister.
No comments:
Post a Comment