You know, I had this funny little story about Mike and I all prepared, about us watching bad movies and laying half awake on his bare mattress and him running in on me having a shower and about the frightening dream I had about him... ...but see, I still check Sam's diary. Obsessively. Every day, I check it. He hadn't updated in months and months, but I still checked it. And I checked it today, again, and it had been updated. And I completely forgot what I was going to say about Mike. My heart was in my throat. I still care; I can't help it. There's something in Sam that Mike doesn't have. I can't really put my finger on it. Maybe it's the love for the arts. Mike has a healthy appreciation, but it's not the same as the passion that I feel when I step into a theatre or go to an art opening. Maybe it's that bit of hopeless romance that I can't help wanting. Me, I think he described me in his entry. I could be conceited, I could be wrong, but listen: "I am thinking about a certain someone right now. she is wearing a long black dress and has her hair pulled back in a poney tail. Red lipstick and eyes that feel like that steal my soul." That's how I am, or was. Most of my black dresses have worn out, or it's too cold to wear the ones I still have, but that's me. The black, the white, the red. Black dresses. Hair severely back. Red lipstick. Always. (Though I rarely wear pony tails. Braids, buns, yes, but pony tails tangle my hair. It's already almost to my lower back.) (It feels so warm and soft when I let it loose.) And I can't help crying a little, because I cry over everything. I won't leave Mike, because I'm very happy, but I still can't help shedding some tears for what could have been and what wasn't. It hurts me to hurt him. I thought it was over. I thought, or I didn't think. I wish he could get over me and we could be friends. He'd be such a beautiful friend, but I can always feel his pain in the way he writes, and in the way he looks at me when ever I see him. It hurts to know that he is probably hurting a thousand fold what I'm hurting. He doesn't read this anymore, so I doubt he'll ever know, but it's an outlet that I need. . Rosie.
Before&After
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