i stumbled across a blog today which i’ve decided not to link*, and as usual found some writing that made me think, ‘man that’s a good way of saying that.’ not that anything someone else says about their own life can directly translate itself onto your own experience, but i identified with the end of a particular post over there and thought i’d recognize it by copying it here.

i’ve gone through some very back and forth times over the past year with someone.

she’s absolutely wonderful in her ability to take life by the horns and a flip it on its back, and she’s got gusto and she’s got inertia and that line paulo nutini wrote; ‘i love the prowess in the things that you do’; well that brought one person to mind and it’s her.

and i could sing her praises all day, because any one of the reasons that we don’t seem to work would exist outside of my respect for her, and my impression of the kind of person she tries to be.

but we don’t bring out the best in one another anymore. we manifest too much sadness and strife, and until that cloud of pain and frustration clears neither one of us could hope to move on or move towards one another.

anyway…what’s written below reminds me of a time in the past. a time when we hadn’t talked about all the confusion and unhappiness that floated around between us.

i only hope that had i written it myself back then, it would have been expressed with such honestly and tenderness:

“me and my girlfriend are going through a rough patch.

thats what we call it, a “rough patch.” but we dont refer to it often, so we dont call it anything much.

we might take a break. whatever a break is. a split between time. a division of worlds. but we dont know yet, the tangle of confusion that is love and commitement has kept us knotted up, sad and hurt and fearful. we hold eachother at night, or i hold her while she sleeps, and we let the hours do their work. we let the universe figure it out for us. passive and unbelieving. its a dull ache. we dont even know what to call each other anymore. the loving nicknames we have created for one another now carry a mournful tone when said. honey is no longer so sweet. baby is now just condescending. buns is cold and tasteless. our real names too strict and formal.

she says im too private, which i am, but that im so proud of it. so simple and determined, to escape into my head, away from her and all the rest of it. what do you do on your computer? what is so important? what do you write? why? i dont do anything, i say. i write about the things i think i know. and then i just stare at the floor and see nothing. meaningless wood and dust. i wonder what to say. i never know what to say. dont you think im sexy? you never even look at me, i never see you. her curves are gorgeous. slow and defined. so beautiful. her bangs make her eyes a mystery. her lips pout out in sex and anger. i look around. the house is a mess. we havent had the time to clean it. shit.”

– not cited*

i will say this…the nicknames always held their ground for us. always carried purely love. maybe that’s what kept us going for so long, even after we’d lost something. we had words that still always said ‘i love you, babe’ and always meant ‘i love you, babe.’

* i didn’t link or cite this writing because it dawned on me that its author mentioned in his comments that he hadn’t shared his writing with his female subject. it may seem a little paranoid, but because he’s from an area in which i know a ton of people, i thought it best to let him decide as to how his work is distributed. if it’s cool with him, i’ll put up the link.

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