i am satisfied that i climbed a tree for the first time in years.
i am satisfied with improv.
i am satisfied with my improv skills.
i am satisfied with swing dancing.
i am satisfied with how many times i danced.
i am satisfied that my feet are sore, my face is just now cooling down, and i that i smell like dance.
i didn't know if i feared or wanted seeing you tonight. i don't know if i'm completely over you yet, or if there's anything left to be over.
i was telling myself that i would stop making big deals, because every time i shake on those, i end up shaken inside. i was hoping that when i saw you tonight that i'd have my answer.
and lo and behold, i am told you are ill.
i am tired, brain. heart. you two have been double-teaming my senses and thoughts and overwhelming me. and good sense, i thought you knew better. obviously you don't, so you must be taking a breather. i am tired of myself.
see my Theory of Romance Recovery: the farther away an object of attention/affection is moved from the romantic (me), and the longer they stay removed, the easier it is for the heart of the dejected romantic to cope, and heal, and move on.
the Theory's not working. i still think about you.
this is seriously weirding me out. i am calm, yet a tiny storm is building up inside again (and wasting away, and building up, and wasting away). i tell myself i am as over-the-river-and-through-the-woods as it gets, and i feel like letting go would cause no great wound, if any, but when i heard you weren't showing up to either event, a tri-chord struck in my gut.
while i honestly still think about you in that way, it's very much subdued (i've been listening to "eddy" over and over). the gut just wants to know if the next chords will be major or minor. i mean that both in the effect of an impact and the sounds/key of the notes.
no more. i must read something about a woman named miss brill.
-d
i am satisfied with improv.
i am satisfied with my improv skills.
i am satisfied with swing dancing.
i am satisfied with how many times i danced.
i am satisfied that my feet are sore, my face is just now cooling down, and i that i smell like dance.
i didn't know if i feared or wanted seeing you tonight. i don't know if i'm completely over you yet, or if there's anything left to be over.
i was telling myself that i would stop making big deals, because every time i shake on those, i end up shaken inside. i was hoping that when i saw you tonight that i'd have my answer.and lo and behold, i am told you are ill.
i am tired, brain. heart. you two have been double-teaming my senses and thoughts and overwhelming me. and good sense, i thought you knew better. obviously you don't, so you must be taking a breather. i am tired of myself.
see my Theory of Romance Recovery: the farther away an object of attention/affection is moved from the romantic (me), and the longer they stay removed, the easier it is for the heart of the dejected romantic to cope, and heal, and move on.
the Theory's not working. i still think about you.
this is seriously weirding me out. i am calm, yet a tiny storm is building up inside again (and wasting away, and building up, and wasting away). i tell myself i am as over-the-river-and-through-the-woods as it gets, and i feel like letting go would cause no great wound, if any, but when i heard you weren't showing up to either event, a tri-chord struck in my gut.
while i honestly still think about you in that way, it's very much subdued (i've been listening to "eddy" over and over). the gut just wants to know if the next chords will be major or minor. i mean that both in the effect of an impact and the sounds/key of the notes.
no more. i must read something about a woman named miss brill.
-d
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