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2001-10-15 - 3:10 a.m. - the day i learned what a broken heart looks like

sometimes when im not paying attention there is a dull ache somewhere beneath my ribcage. i wonder if maybe i should go to a doctor. maybe my hearts fighting back agaisnt all the cigarettes and coffee i consume. i always take my pulse at that point. place fingers against my neck or wrist and measure the rhythm of blood being squeezed through my veins, the moment of sound and the space between. my pulse is always right on. right where it should be. i wonder how this could possibly be with the way i treat my body so poorly. i wonder could be causing that dull throbbing sensation in my chest. then i hear it. that sound like when i was ten and christmas ornaments shattering on a tile floor because the box was far too heavy (i was only trying to help). the sound of breaking. and maybe if im lucky the sound of healing. not yet. really. and i smile. another one of those smiles placed at the completely wrong time. but this one is just for me. and now i know how my friend felt when his father died when we were in sixth grade and had trouble not smiling. reminding everyone that everything is okay even though it is not.

a couple of months after that funeral that i've been dwelling on lately, this short fat kid that we hated (we hated him not expressly because he was short and fat, but because WE were short and fat, or pale and skinny, and he was one of the few people in magsig middle school who was shorter and fatter than we were) was trying to start shit with my friend. and he said "at least my dad's not dead" as if my friend had caused the death of his father. i think that moment in time was when i realized what a broken heart sounded like. the reperation was with rage and glue. we held his arms so that he couldn't bring anymore hurt into the world (theres enough fucking hurt in the world already), and then the short fat kid was called down to the principles office and served some sort of punishment.

anyway ive been thinking alot lately. being in dayton where there are more ghosts than i can reasonably be expected to count (falling faster than stars, see?) and history lurking in every shadow. possible futures disguised as front yards and falling leaves. i have been forced to think about my future. and how at this point in time i have no one to spend it with. no one to spend the week with. no one to look forward to the following year with. no one to look forward to winter with. no one to look forward to next weekend with. no one to spend the day with. no one to spend the night with. and really, all i can say is that it really fuckin sucks. most of you who read this have 'somebody' so you probably can't relate to the barely coherent ramblings of an aging and bitter and lonely 22 year old. most of you will probably have stopped reading by now.

i would have also.

pathetic.

anyway i saw flashpapr play tonight at antioch college. hence my getting home so late. wolf eyes played before them and projected scenes of a woman cutting her own cuticles with an exacto knife on a screen behind them. jesus fucking christ i thought i was going to puke. my fingers still hurt.

if you haven't read them, my three entries prior to this one i am very proud of and have gotten lots of positive feedback from(thank you to all, i suck at the email game ill write soon), so if you haven't read them please check them out.

this day has been too long. its time for bed.

im dreaming of you (who?)

xoxo

listen to: wolf eyes, flashpapr, bob dylan, ben folds (got the solo album today...wow).

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