don't be shy; just let your feelings roll on by...
01/01/04|10:21 p.m.

I had a different idea of beginning, more auspicious; I'm always relearning a small bit of brilliance outdoes a convoluted plan. I thought today's turning of a new page couldn't really happen; I fell into a sad state where I ended up sleeping and crying and watching an extremely good, depressed, uplifting movie. The doctor hasn't called, and I've had to remind myself continually that his return has a lot to do with the tide-turning I've expected in this new year. I want to keep the optimism that led up to this morning's midnight from turning into an expectation of myself. Yes, I cried again today, for my friends, the brutality against us, and my own fear. Fear for them, for myself, fear that I won't manage to live through my life, fear that I don't always want to, even now. So many pages have turned; so many leaves have moved in whatever direction the wind would take them...There have been so many winds, even and uneven, and sometimes I forget to hear my name in them. Sometimes, I think my choices are two and opposite, I think life and death are opposite, I think if I can't be peaceful in the world I'm in now, I can't be peaceful ever. I forget that I can change, the world can change, and the love between us, the relationship as confused and improvised as any marriage or affair, can change as well. I need the doctor to remind me of that. I need the doctor to remind me that just because I think I'm going to die, or I think I'm going to want to and in that case am going to die, or I think that I'm not cut out to survive the deaths of my friends and therefore will follow them...doesn't make any of it true. I need him, the one who can hear what I'm saying and not be startled, frightened, hurt, hopeless, or brisk. In all this newness, the plotted executing itself in altogether unexpected ways, I want the familiar response I can't quite imagine. I want what has, for over a year now, been just beyond my memory's ability to predict it, a relationship good enough to require the presence of the other person. I need to weep openly, in front of him. To show it all as if I weren't afraid so he can tell me how to make that real. To show the fear and let him teach me its texture. I need to fall apart and hear him tell me I'm not broken, still. I have hope for myself and belief for myself and words for myself, but still, nonetheless...I need a voice that's astounding, gentle with its words, that will remind me of my name.

I'll begin again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Stay, we'll meet; we'll tangle with each other, and dance our way free.

~me

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