Like I do
02 March 2004 at 11:34 pm
His lips to my forehead, my face buried under the covers, limbs and thoughts entangled, we lay there, comfortably in between a conscious existence, plagued by a sunlight so thick it drips down the walls and leaks between our eyelids.
Sometimes, things are ok.
My most recent reviewer seems to think I am an ungrateful girlfriend. It is not so, and Iím kind of embarrassed that anyone would get that impression. I am very appreciative for all the things heís done for me, but back when we first got together, when I was a very grateful and forgiving girlfriend, he treated me like shit. I learned my lesson: keep people on their toes, never let them think itís good enough, and theyíll strive for something better. He knows I love him.
My laptop is perched on a table, upon which many a random item are precariously placed. Every letter I type, something starts jangling, and it sounds slightly like an old-fashioned type writer, which makes me feel oh-so-literary. Youíll have to excuse the pomposity of it all.
one year ago today: "you'll do anything to make my pain stop, but if you really loved me and weren't quite so selfish you'd let me go, please, for the love of anything, just let me go and get out of my life." and "...are you doing ok honey?"
two years ago today: "5 shots and 1 bong hit later, all was well again." and "I will be Focused, Alert, and Reliable. I will be Diligent, Healthy, and Wise. I will be Organized, Humble, and Intelligent...tomorrow."
three years ago today: nothing.
mod l post-mod
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.