March 10, 2005
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Warning. This entry is selfish. How suiting... My relationship with him showed me that selfishness is my biggest fault & my most unattractive flaw. And today, one month after his death, I find myself writing about him like I was the only thing that mattered.
Selfish? Maybe. But I loved him selflessly, even after everything. No one can accuse me of anything less than true, young love. You can accuse but I know the truth & I pray that he did, too...or at least that he does now.
« I left you waiting
« (know I left you waiting)
« At the least could we be friends?
« Should have never started
« (never started)
« Ain’t that the way it always ends?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
with hates & loves & passions just like mine
(you) were born & then (you) lived & then (you) died
it seems so unfair
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
On my life I’ll try today
There’s so much I felt I should say
But even if your heart would listen
I doubt I could explain
What did I do to you? What did I start? How much of this is on my shoulders? Did you ever think of me? Did I ruin you? Had you forgiven me?
In June of 2003, you hit rock bottom, you said so yourself- you’d lost the will to live & it was my fault. But you did live, for a year & a half more, and things were changing, right? you were supposed to be so happy, you’re supposed to be in
Had you forgiven me? Did I ruin you? Did you ever think of me? How much of this is on my shoulders? What did I start? What do I to you?
The hours, they creep
The patterns repeat
Don’t be concerned
I know I’ll be fine on my own
(I never said “don’t go”)
(I never said “goodbye”)
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