TORN BETWEEN NOTHING AND SOMETHING AND NOTHING

I've been putting a lot of thought to the letter that was written me. I've felt so compelled to write back, but still motivated enough not to. I think, in the end, I will not, though so many thoughts about what I would say have come and gone with every breath I've been taking. If I were to write him back, though, that would begin corispondence, which I do not want. I thought about maybe giving him some poems I'm written, but I know he would just misinterpret them, and take them directly, when they're really JUST poems. Mostly, though, I've thought about what I would say, were I to write back, but I think it'd be best not to even make an attempt. To give him another chance would simply be to restart a song on a CD, that you know ALWAYS skips in the middle, and you can never get to the next track. I'm on the next track, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to go back.

Not once has it come across my mind to write back in hostility, because that's just openning the scab back up. I've thought about writing something along the lines of how great things are going now that he isn't around. How all of the self-respect I'd lost with him is quickly catching back up with me, and how no friends are better than half-assed ones, per se. Maybe I could just write him for the hell of it? No, he can find his entertainment somewhere else. Hey, maybe he can read about me in a gossip magazine one day.

I saw the sunset for a fleeting moment today. It was really nice, don't get to see many of those anymore. I love flying in planes, and today I questionned myself on the career of being a flight attendent...just questionned.

I had a dream about Him last night. It was refreshing, but kind of baffling. After all of these months, why do I still have these same kinds of dreams? I guess it never escapes you, y'know, that four letter word. I can't quite remember many details, but I know it was at a small party. Paculiarly, it took place at my old house, and I think that maybe Logan and I were dating again, but Logan had walked out of the room and left He and I alone. We were sitting side by side on the edge of my old bed, and we were talking about stuff that slowly evolved into meanningful things, and about how bad I'd been treated. Then He put his arm around me, and said it'd be OK. I leaned in, and He put his head on mine and said that he'd always be there, whenever I wanted to be with him. Whenever I wanted to try again.

But that was just a dream.