All of my muses are dead.
Where did I put that
Where did I hang my wings?

Last night could have went better.

Sure, it started off fine... I went out with Margarita to her place in Troy, where she made me dinner. She had printed out the entirety of my poetry page - in response to me telling her that I had written about her in there somewhere. As we were eating... I glanced at my work... it was 10 printed pages... I never knew that I had that much.

It was hard to read.. with every passing statement I was back at that moment. Some that I swore I would never feel again. People I would never visit. Those who have made it abundantly clear that they are not worth my time... as I was not worth theirs.

As I read, I realized that I had written about her more than I thought.

I don't deal with how I feel about her. It finally dawned on me last night.

So there she is, guessing. She marks out the ones that she thinks are about her, as I told her I would not tell her. She gets the two easy ones right away (They were on the first page). She doesn't get anymore. Some were, in fact... way off. The ones about a person hurting me... she took a few of those... Has she ever hurt me?

This one for my heart and I cannot have her.
This one for my mind and I cannot have her.
This one for my lust and I cannot have her.

You'll never see this rose that I am holding for you
so beautifully oblivious

We end up laying around on her bed... After some prodding I seperate the sheets... make a small pile of three where the other ones about her are. There were a total of five that I counted...

Immediately I realized my mistake...and, much to her dismay, i shuffled them back into place. After that I didn't have much to say to her. I mean come on, John. Don't cross that line. In a split second I realized that what is complex to me, is simple to her... and I envy that. So, with few words said, she proceeds to start driving me home. The car ride is a continued silence.

When she gets closer to my house, she starts to inquire about what is wrong. I told her that it was a mistake to point her in the right direction on what I have written about her. I told her I stopped before more damage was done. She said she values me as a friend... and doesn't want to ruin what we have by being a shitty girlfriend, who would end up making me hate her.

What are you thinking about? Nothing.
I know how you feel about me, John. No, you don't. And it doesn't make a difference.
Why doesn't it make a diffrence? It hasn't made a difference in three years, Margarita.

That was pretty much it.

I love her. To what extent, I don't know. Because it truly doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how I feel to her.

She is the only person left who can hurt me. Everyone else has been banished from my heart forever. It is her, and only her... what sucks is that I am locked up so tight that I am so afraid of letting anyone in... I am so afraid of being hurt again. Sometimes it is unbearable... and with her, for a few hours that I get to see her... I don't feel alone. I know she loves me, and she is there.

So, for all of this armor... I feel like a scrambled yolk inside of an uncracked egg. What do I say now? Where do we go from here?

BTW, Margarita... I know you are going to read this.. so here goes.

You don't want to hear----what I have always tried to tell you...

I wish you could look through my eyes

I like to look at you-
I like to feel your eyes
I like touching you-
feel your body next to mine
To hold you-to kiss you-
now I miss these
Withdrawn and killing me
these things that I need


What, in these days of misguided lament... Keep me going? I would have to say... Defiance.

Unaccepting, Spiteful... I wish to call out all the world and scream: You will not break me.

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