January 07, 2005 - 8:41 pm
I have taken up the simple hobby of bubble baths. There's something extremely romantic about soaking in a tub full of white clouds, reading a good book, a cool glass of wine and a burning cigarette or three over the course of an hour and a half. Or, until the bubbles have evaporated leaving only boring luke warm water. Then I stand under the hot stream of the shower, wash my hair, try to keep balance, feeling the buzz off the wine.
The aspects of that scenerio that I try to ignore is our overly small bathtub complete with soap scum. Ceiling and walls dripping with nicotine and lights too bright but without them I can not read without straining my eyes or I would light the few tea lights sporatically placed on the counter and shelves above the toilet.
Those candles and perhaps some incense would complete the moment but some how I don't want to over do it. It's enough, the only sound I hear is the fan. That teamed with my book and I can completely lose myself. Everything else doesn't exist.
That provides the same effect as my ear phones which I have been plugging in my ears for awhile now. It's my self appointed sentence to solitary confinement, something I've been craving constantly for about a week or more.
Her laugh, sighs of disproval or annoyance and footsteps creaking above me I just can't stand to hear any more. I fear if I don't have some sort of break I'll go completely insane.
On top of that, the ever so familiar sounds of work, life, the world in general is about to cripple me. I almost wish for deafness just to safely drown it all out. A universe of silence, my utopia.
And then there was him. The object that consumes every cell inside my brain save for the hour or two in any given day where I am absorbed by my book.
The fantasies I create, the stories I tell myself just so I can get through the day... He really does care about me...
I watch him take a drink, the way he holds his cup like he's in some posh cafe, cultured and educated and I wonder what the hell he's doing talking with me.
He cocks his head to the right when he's typing as though he has something intellectual to say when it's something as small as a "lol" and I melt sheepishly to the floor.
I read and reread the e-mails and the conversations trying to relive the moments. I try to decipher the hidden meanings if there is any at all. I listen to his songs which I suprisingly and honestly love, not just because they are what he likes. I wonder if the songs he has sent have a message for me like the one I have sent him. He'll probably listen to it and think it's purely coincidental however obvious it may be. The lyrics scream my feelings. It's the perfect and truist song for us...
"Scars"
I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
My scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel
Drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
I'm pissed cause you came around
Why don't you just go home
Cause you channel all your pain
And I can't help you fix yourself
You're making me insane
All I can say is
[Chorus:]
I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
The scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel
I tried to help you once
Against my own advice
I saw you going down
But you never realized
That you're drowning in the water
So I offered you my hand
Compassions in my nature
Tonight is our last stand
[Chorus]
I'm drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
You shouldn't ever came around
Why don't you just go home?
Cause you're drowning in the water
And I tried to grab your hand
And I left my heart open
But you didn't understand
But you didn't understand
You fix yourself
I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life
I can't help you fix yourself
But at least I can say I tried
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life
(I never do the song lyrics thing but this is an exemption.)
This diary is out dated for me. I have changed, I can sense it. The darker, heavier music that I once swore I would never listen to I do. My thought process and even my speech. I swear more frequently now, not caring who takes offence. Jesus Christ and Goddamn slips from my lips with no guilt what-so-ever. How I could feel guilty for cursing "His" name I don't know. I never once believed "He" existed any ways. I no longer want to be reminded of the past. Although the scars remind me that the past was in fact real, I do not need proof.
Once I have a new "alias" I will let who ever wants to follow know.
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