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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, sassafras.
I Packed You A Lunch Anyway 22-March-2005
I am having one of those days where every effort to do just about anything, from making lunch to putting on a sweater, seems to require more energy than I presently possess. It is raining in a dedicated fashion. I sort of hope it never stops. I have this needy cat talking to me, wanting something, always more than I have to give. I feel guilty as usual.
And I don't care if you don't like me back. Seriously, I am not going to ride my bike past your house anymore. I see you—pictures of you, pieces of you—laughing all around me. Like you always did. And now you wear too many faces, and I've grown tired of seeing you everywhere. If I knew how, I'd bundle you up and send you away with a bit of money and some food. But even that is not my burden. Just the sending you away; that's mine. The rest is up to you.
How dare you, really. The light was never yours to dim. I guess that's my part as well; the role I played. If I could go back I would travel over miles and ages, and I would erase you. Every inch. How would it make you feel to know that I would annihilate the bits of you that still gather like dross around my heart? Pieces of you, and not one of any worth. Whatever was steeped in less noxious words and deeds fell out of the cracks in my head a hundred years ago.
Standing there with you, on your birthday, waiting for the new year. Awkward, like we didn't know each other. As if we didn't know every line and desire by heart. And you would not love me. Seeing me naked was one thing, one safe thing. I fulfilled a need you could not accept was your longing, and that was all. And you were trying to erase me.
I read those pages that one morning, the ones that warned to be careful what you wish because you just might get it. And then there was my full name written angrily on the page. I never knew you wished for me. I still don't know why you cursed your request.
I never loved you. I never loved you. I never loved you.
I know.
Believe me, I was too daft to see it then, but now I know.
I try to cover these wounds with cloth or evasion, but people see them regardless of the effort. They surface in songs and poems and stories, and angry talk against myself. I am unsafe around words and the thoughts that move them.
Linda
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