a quick (first and last) one before the eight of cups devours the past

he was a weird person in general and i omit the parts where he was evil so that i can rest easy in my own weird, i never lost hope for things to be better. 

in truth i was excited for the rest of our lives spent together and i was happy to be certain we would marry in vegas sometime in the future. his transgressions, which would mean a definite end of the relationship to everyone in the world, were really only pebbles in my shoe that grew to sharpen and stab at my soles. still, i never considered i could or should stop walking. i complained about it, which is why he went on his trail without me. 

in a blog i used to keep when i was eighteen i wrote about him, "my love for you is an unwavering flag, stiff by the salted air". i have very little clue to what i meant, this was before things went bad. when they did, i thought we could push.

right now, i think he is strange and capable of great evil, and i think i am less capable of great acts of revenge as i thought i was. i'm not the hardened bitch i wanted to be, and i dont know if i will ever be. i am so much softer now than there is no real threats to my life or dignity. i've become docile.

he never respected my premonitions and dreams, though there had been evidence that i had some sort of psychic gift. i know he is, or was, seeing someone. i found that out through a whisper from the wind. i found out that my best friend would betray me and that things ended in the confusing, strange way they did months before. 

strangely, it was after splitting that i became more highly intuitive and my magical prowess increased by a long shot. it seems i'm getting everything i wanted out of a simple candle spell, a sigil or a petition.

i did love him though i said i didn't because it's shameful to love someone who is so hurtful. forgotten birthday, instances of abuse and manipulation. through all of it and through knowing i was objectively wrong i believed in him and in my own way still do, somewhere.

i think of the games we played together, i loved terraria and minecraft. and god, i loved watching him play games through the screen. i could never get enough of it. i never told him but i manifested him through silly means that i will admit to now. when i was 16 i played about 1000 hours of stardew valley to escape how lonely and trapped i felt, and i always romanced elliot. elliot was a sensitive poet type, very intelligent, long auburn hair and humped nose. annoying but sweet. sort of just like him, though with better hair.

i didn't connect the dots at first. those first few months with him were very sweet. it was the last actual cold winter in the city i can remember. i liked hanging around and being with him. i thought he was sweet and sincere. it didn't bother me he was effeminate and i do think his bulging pride came afterwards, after meeting some weird friends. he became a caricature of himself. i didn't notice that either, its apparent now that i'm going through my old diary.

i think his circle of friends is too easily influenced by one another, it became some sort of circlejerk dynamic that i'm glad i dont have to participate in anymore. even if i was somehow drawn back i don't think i'd take that chance. i like being alone on saturdays, i enjoy my time drinking red wine and writing. i like fridays with my friends, music videos and such. i like flirting again and feeling light as i walk about.

i feel prettier these days, i don't really know why. i'm feel less guilty about thinking about trent reznor as much as i do. something like that.

before him, i didn't care for coffee. i only pretended to and came to care to have something in common with him. i go out for coffee several times a week and the patrons love me. 

i don't think anyone has ever hurt me as badly before but its who i am. the obelisk that stands against the crashing waves. one day i can become who i am supposed to become, for now i think i'll focus on licking my wounds under the moonlight, whatever ville valo said. he was very cruel, but its mostly me feeling i should react that way from being abused or hurt. i don't really care out of a performance of self respect. its not that i don't have any, its more that i'm more of an i want what i want person. and i think i'm much more of a romantic than i want to admit. in live in relation to my cards and not the dealer.

im going to become a hypnotist! im taking a course in hypnosis as well as beginner's esoterism. i'm looking to start my studies in kabbalah soon, i've been studying astrology and tarot more closely. i'm learning how to play the accordion and getting pretty good at it. 

im more patient now, more responsible. things come and go, i've already been disappointed in love twice since our split in november. i don't think i'm built for all that mess, men are mostly all the same. carnal creatures. they will rape if you let your guard down. i'm glad i found that out young enough, at least.

i wanted to play young lovers again and be that innocent. i let myself indulge in that night in madrid once, walking the hot summer streets at night after some drinks at the bar. in that moment i was drunk in love and bitter wine. i was so happy to be alive next to him. i felt a ripple already, a space between me and the world that couldn't be mended. i felt that familiar emptiness. for whatever reason i either became immune to it or it magically went away in december, when i had a magical experience in new york.

we sat at a window of the place i stayed at and i loved him then, such warmth and splendor. 

i loved the scar by his left eye and the color of his eyes. i loved his teeth. i loved his celebrity impressions, i thought he was very funny. he cracked this joke, its very shrimple, actually. i thought it was very funny. i liked him with his hair up and glasses on, in his cold weather attire.

hope does you in like the atom bomb. there is none now and i don't know what i want. i want to be sixteen again and good at skating, i want to be eighteen by his side, i want to be twenty one and single, i want to be thirty five and own a little shop where i have regulars. i want to be fifty and blonde. i want to be seventy and smoking a slim cigarette in a nice view, still blonde and on my second facelift.

i don't know what will happen but i'm sure that i will be alright, happy or not. i'll end my life in one piece, hopefully figuratively and literally. each limb of my soul torn and regrown, none original, but all working. 

and about him, i know its long gone and over. i dont think its the way things were supposed to be, but its the way things are. things are not usually the way they're supposed to be. in my dreams we used to be kittens, one orange and one grey, and we watched the sky light up with stars. now, my dreams are mostly about new orleans and antique shops.

i love you, thingy. goodnight.