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chUrRosfRitOs
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Name: Terry
Country: United States
State: California
Metro: Los Angeles
Birthday: 1/10/1984
Gender: Female
Interests: Drinking excessive amounts of tea, coffee, and water, BALLET, piano, eating scones, afternoon naps, wearing BIG sunglasses indoors, foreign/independent films, reading, music, singing, art galleries, indulgence, randomity, and being obsessive compulsive.
Expertise: Standing on my toes, using my fingers to abuse the piano, incorporating wrong notes into Chopin's Nocturnes, and amateur stalking. Please inquire about anything and everything else.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Art
Message: message me
AIM:  jaDOREdarkness
Member Since:
7/11/2003
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| DifficultyI used to know someone who wore the scent of sensitivity. He was
difficult. And he had the grace of someone with direction but was
seemingly mislead as to where his heart followed. I fell in love with
this man. And now so broken are the pieces that lay on the floor. We
are separate. Only connected by the stream of words attached by email.
The distance in our speech is more painful than our previous proximity.
I'd rather have no connection than the static that plagues our distance. | | |
| Hear this speak NOW
Eyes like darts
whiplash heart
unforgiving finger paintings
calligraphied
on the soul of my chest
read it out loud
I'm calling
out
your name.
The beauty in
resisting
is like
a prisoner
in arm's distance
from a feast
he can't eat.
Stomach shrunk
to the size
of his heart.
Broken in half
like biscuits,
stale to the lips
pale to the touch.
Cold.
Unsalted.
Neutral.
Like you.
I wonder where
this
maze is leading
me.
To you? | | |
| SpillingMy heart is flat, like old soda, pointless, unflattering, and
unrelentingly hopeful. The water that once sprung from the well of the
eyes is long lost into the crevices of my palms. I should’ve demanded
you to sign a contract warning me if you decided to leave the point
from where we started; this paradise that no longer includes us, this
residence of we; a pair of inseparable beats that an astounding drummer
could not out drum. He could not interrupt the flow of this…
But
he can and he did. The sorrow quenched the density of my longing and
further I continued to kill the craving to hear your voice on the
phone, replayed in the drums of my heart, the following contents
emptied out from my ears:
Sweetheart, your words are so kind and
read so clear. Spending time with you is very special. Always looking
forward to the next moment. I’m glad that we aligned a clear and open
dialogue in our relationship. I feel honesty is important. You’re the
one I want.
In this exact precision of moments, I am scared that
no one else can compare. Surely I understand you are desired out of
habit, the comfort of a well worn smile, a long lost friend, a good
meal paired with a warm glass of wine. You are all that to me but not
necessarily what I should want. What is good for me is not you.
But
everyone cheats. I thought about you 5 out of 8 times that I tried to
hate you for nothing. We both made the mistake of not fully exploring
each other to the depth that is required for such a love and here I
devour the consequences. I cheated. I looked at our pictures, I dreamt
of you purposefully so I would sleep in a puddle of pity; wake up with
swollen eyes calling out your name. I swear I cannot go to the beach,
where you took me, where we bathed in the sunlight together. In
backgammon you won, always a winner, but everywhere else I won. I gave
you more than you could give and that’s just the truth. To have thought
that you were love and that you were once the love that I could love,
so fully, with the most purposeful intentions that grew out of my being. | | |
| Ungodly, goodbyesUp at an ungodly hour noticing the once black sky is now lit before me.
It's funny how many revelations come at this hour and the previous
ones. On the drive back from dinner I was rambling to Alex about a
dissertation topic: how does mental/physical abuse affect early
childhood education? I noted the "We're so mature" topics seem to
appear a lot more in everyday conversation, especially since a lot of
our friends are moving forward with life. Oh SO adult. Anyway, last
night was spent shooting shit with the gang. Perhaps it will be the
last time for a long while until we all see Alex. W is moving to
Maryland in a couple weeks for Johns Hopkins Grad School so we've
talked about doing it up big one last time next week before she goes to
neverneverland. I'm going to miss her so much! There's something about
my friends that make me a funnier person. They laugh (on occasion) and
even if they don't I do my share of laughing (at myself). Sharing so
much history with a close knit group of people is sharing a bond that
will last forever. I believe in any kind of relationship, the same
rings true. Sharing moments and experiencing the person metamorphosing
is the only way to create that unique bond.
So,
we dined at California Roll Factory and Sushi in Santa Monica then
swung back to Westwood to Palomino for happy hour. After two rounds of
Cosmic-ritas, the girls and I were camera whoring ourselves out, not
ashamed of course. In disbelief still, I don't think I want them to
leave! I dislike goodbyes so I never tend to really say them. That's
sort of a lie because I'm melodramatic and I like to do things at
extremes but in some cases, like this one, I chose to leave things open
ended as if this wasn't a goodbye but a new beginning, which is exactly
what this is! To new beginnings.
Now, 6am, which is ungodessly,
I am staring at my acquired souvenir from Alex, a lucky penny key chain
from Seattle and my empty bottles of water. I am dehydrated, thirsty
and itching. I believe some mosquitoes had a feast last night and my
feet were the victims. My hair is unsightly, I'm not at all tired, and
I'm thinking of the last person I talked to before I fell asleep, whom
I've kept up late. And now I suppose I should give it another try.
Goodnight. Myspace isn't working what's up with that.
Oh yeah, I
also borrowed Alex's cap and gown and took "graduation" pictures. Even
though the tassle isn't the right color (orange is for engineering),
it's basically the same idea. After managing striking a few poses, the
best shot ended up to be the one in front of his messy kitchen. Sad and
ghettofied. Love it. | | |
| FearTo be afraid. To be afraid of inadequacy beyond all measure. The fear
of the first unearthed kiss to the unmanageable sadness of the very
last. To be afraid of not being able to love him the way he wishes to
be loved. To want to love and then to lose it all because love isn’t a
science. Love isn’t a mathematical equation; the perfection in love is
in the imperfection. And what if you continue to think that one day
after filing away the answered thoughts, the love letters fly out of
your hand, land in a mess of misconstrued feelings, most of them yours
and invalidated. You want to love so badly that you keep the fear in
your chest, a lump of mass sitting not too far from your throat and
stay awake for days looking for solutions of how to. To be afraid that
he who is your perfection is not too far away. He is completely yours,
willing to give himself wholly. And you? And you believe that perhaps a
month of his love can cure your inadequacy to love. You give it time
because your insecurity lives not too far from fear. He is that
wonderful being you’ve been sketching in your head, so true, so
beautiful and loving you for being perfectly imperfect. How could you
fear that.
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