A Statue Of Us
I have decided that I am going to marry Regina Spektor. I have no problem with believing this. Can anyone see a problem with this? Other than we've never met and a million other guys probably want to propose to her?
"We have seen how each and every second,
We must chain our hearts down.
Or else we will become ghosts,
Or beasts or traitors to ourselves."
I had both an illuminating and destructive conversation with Alexandra tonight. The conversation trailed in circles - leaving nothing untouched but also nothing fixed. I watched the final strains of my hope slip over the cliff's edge, and let go of the chain in my heart to let it sink down into the dark sea. I used to think that maybe we both held hope for the future - that this was simply temporary. That the pain of losing eachother's care - eachother's romantic relationship is a better way to put it - would be a short hiatus from a fantasy. Well, I was wrong on so many fronts.
She hasn't let go of me - she hasn't stopped caring - if I can't be anything more than her friend, than I can't be anything at all. She doesn't want to hope for a further relationship. She doesn't want to even think about us being together. She doesn't want anything but to stay focused on her direct goals and pursuing her dreams one-hundred percent. Now that I write that down, it doesn't seem that bad. At the time, hearing it over the phone - it sounded like a million and one knives scattering across the floor and finding their perfect place in their rehearsed spots all over my body. A death by perfect symphonic stabbing.
All I know is I have to stop wondering about this. I have to stop thinking about this. All I'm doing is dragging myself down, when really I should be lifting myself up. This is my life, and she has hers. They might meet again - on a completely off hand chance, call it fate or coincidence - or they might not. I can't stop being alive until then. I won't.
I need to start finding out what I can do next - I'm so sick of making these plans without completion. I have so much that I really want to do - finish writing the songs I've been writing for far too long, start singing with my words instead of just my voice, realize it's okay to write the raw and the real instead of the typical poetry, dance often, take my world - my music - that one step farther...this list could go on and on. There is so much waiting for me when I return.
...And on December 28th, my planes filled the sky. The return of J.R. Daniel...Citizen Dildo.
I will make my life what I've been dreaming of. I will reach that desired goal - our songs on the radio, the late-night interviews, the shows where everyone knows every lyric to every one of your god damn songs. I will be able to sit back a year from now - recording in the studio with the band - saying, "well, this is interesting". VH1 will have a fucking fit. I will also write my anti-folk and marry Miss Spektor. I couldn't have it any other way.
Christmas Day approaches quickly - the days pile quickly on top of eachother - buried in my written words. I am really quite excited to see Christmas come and go - reassurance that I'm still alive and time has still not stopped for anyone. I am ecstatic to watch the hands turn and the pages fly. I'm another word to describe "anxious". I barely use the Thesaurus anymore; it never seems to have the real word I'm looking for.
And how.
"We have seen how each and every second,
We must chain our hearts down.
Or else we will become ghosts,
Or beasts or traitors to ourselves."
I had both an illuminating and destructive conversation with Alexandra tonight. The conversation trailed in circles - leaving nothing untouched but also nothing fixed. I watched the final strains of my hope slip over the cliff's edge, and let go of the chain in my heart to let it sink down into the dark sea. I used to think that maybe we both held hope for the future - that this was simply temporary. That the pain of losing eachother's care - eachother's romantic relationship is a better way to put it - would be a short hiatus from a fantasy. Well, I was wrong on so many fronts.
She hasn't let go of me - she hasn't stopped caring - if I can't be anything more than her friend, than I can't be anything at all. She doesn't want to hope for a further relationship. She doesn't want to even think about us being together. She doesn't want anything but to stay focused on her direct goals and pursuing her dreams one-hundred percent. Now that I write that down, it doesn't seem that bad. At the time, hearing it over the phone - it sounded like a million and one knives scattering across the floor and finding their perfect place in their rehearsed spots all over my body. A death by perfect symphonic stabbing.
All I know is I have to stop wondering about this. I have to stop thinking about this. All I'm doing is dragging myself down, when really I should be lifting myself up. This is my life, and she has hers. They might meet again - on a completely off hand chance, call it fate or coincidence - or they might not. I can't stop being alive until then. I won't.
I need to start finding out what I can do next - I'm so sick of making these plans without completion. I have so much that I really want to do - finish writing the songs I've been writing for far too long, start singing with my words instead of just my voice, realize it's okay to write the raw and the real instead of the typical poetry, dance often, take my world - my music - that one step farther...this list could go on and on. There is so much waiting for me when I return.
...And on December 28th, my planes filled the sky. The return of J.R. Daniel...Citizen Dildo.
I will make my life what I've been dreaming of. I will reach that desired goal - our songs on the radio, the late-night interviews, the shows where everyone knows every lyric to every one of your god damn songs. I will be able to sit back a year from now - recording in the studio with the band - saying, "well, this is interesting". VH1 will have a fucking fit. I will also write my anti-folk and marry Miss Spektor. I couldn't have it any other way.
Christmas Day approaches quickly - the days pile quickly on top of eachother - buried in my written words. I am really quite excited to see Christmas come and go - reassurance that I'm still alive and time has still not stopped for anyone. I am ecstatic to watch the hands turn and the pages fly. I'm another word to describe "anxious". I barely use the Thesaurus anymore; it never seems to have the real word I'm looking for.
And how.
I'm glad you found something to hope for now. You were in a weird place and I can't say that I've ever seen you like that. It worried me. I will be there for you, as one of your best friends. But you have to promise me something, that you won't drag yourself the that place again. I don't think I could take it.
So much of what you say hits me on a parallel with my life and heart and lost love, it's almost eerie, but at least you know you can always talk to me and I'll know.
Like drunken hugs on a cold night, I told you things would get better, and I still thing they will.