My boyfriend,
I was going to reply in your journal by hand, but I simply have too much to say.
You’re not just a simple artist to me. You’re a complex and interesting artist. Don’t you remember the list of things you’re never supposed to forget? Fifteen through eighteen:
15. You are my equal, 16. I have the utmost respect for your art, 17. Us being apart would be just as hard for me! 18. Love + Creation are my two most important passions. And you represent them both for me.
In other words, I view you the same way I view myself. And your art is not to be dismisses as unimportant, because it’s obviously very important. Being apart from you is just as dreadful as a thought for me as it is for you. Love and creation is what I need, want and crave from life and you give me those things. I need you. You know that. Stop fretting.
I might be growing up, but you’re growing too. You’ve been so good to me lately. I wish things would stay this way. I could marry the My boyfriend that I see you as today. I could wake up every morning the way I woke up this morning.
You’re right, you do have confidence issues, but don’t we all? I’m not strong physically either you know. I’m not funny, though I try to be spontaneous sometimes. I’m not a prodigy. I’m not in college. I don’t have a career. I’m no fantastic prize either, looking at it in that light.
Our talents, skills, and assets are not what make us. Maybe you forget that because I always tangle your art with my love. Our personalities fit. We fit. We’re poison porcupines, babe. You and me. We’re a man and a woman from the same slab of clay. You may have been painted the color of wood, and I the color of the moon, but we’re the same underneath our skin and sex. You know that as much as I do.
I can’t replace you and more than you can replace me. For you to think that I could simply replace with you with Will, or Jeremy, or Tre, or some other random nigga is just as ridiculous as saying you could replace me with Brianna, or Courtney or Michelle or Rocsanne. What don’t you understand about me wanting you?
I’m sorry if I can’t have sex with you each and every day. Sometimes I’m tired. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes my pussy hurts. But otherwise I try to please you. And what’s this about how I don’t do the simple things you ask of me? You can’t honestly expect me to frolic around in my lingerie (that itches) in this weather. It’s uncomfortable and cold. You’ve said countless times about how you want it on when we have sex, and after that how you don’t much care. I’m sorry if I didn’t do it that one time when you asked me to, but seriously, what did you do for me on Valentine’s day or my birthday for that matter? You can’t have your cake and eat it too.
As for not complaining anymore when you leave the bed... I thought that was a good thing? I’m trying very hard to adapt to your habits. Subconsciously when I’m not doing it consciously. You like to leave me while I’m sleeping and get annoyed if I bother you, so I’m trying to get used to enjoying having the bed to myself, instead of dwelling on your absence.
On the issue of my remark about our relationship getting lame. I meant that we don’t strive to be together much anymore. We’re starting to act like those couples that pass each other without kissing, or even touching, or even looking. We don’t stare into each other’s eyes anymore. We don’t complain when the other leaves. We’ve started just doing our own things separately. You don’t inform me of where you’re going when you go downstairs. Just like my Dad disappears without telling my mom or I anything about where he is going.
And though I never asked you to be spontaneous before. I guess you’re right. It would be nice if you were spontaneous now and then. It’s not really a hard trait to acquire. No where near as hard as starting a conversation. Being spontaneous like writing me a letter, or drawing me a picture, or suggesting we go out on a walk (someday when it’s raining, or when the air smells of dew and the wind doesn’t blow to hard) or taking me to the movies by surprise. Or coming home with berries from Wilson Farms (check for mold!!!) or Orange Juice or flowers. You could write me poetry, but that is a bit more tricky.
Though I’m not saying you have to do all of those things, but any of those things would please me immensely, and you say that what you really want to do is please me, and I believe you, because I know how much I want to please you.
I’m possessive of you too. The same way you are of me. You get jealous of my vibrator because you can’t understand why you can’t put your dick in me instead. Is that really any different then my reaction to you saying you’d have Nikki order your laptop for you? Is that really any different from my suddenly realizing I couldn’t stand you fucking other girls? I want to own you. I want to say, “That is my man, and he’ll do anything I ask, because we love each other, and he’s mine.” I mean, not that I really want to say that, but I want it to be that way.
I know you want the same from me. We’re on the same page sweetie. Really, we are. I want to improve myself too, I just think I have some different ideas about self improvement than you do. For example, I’d like to perfect my speech, and to talk more eloquently. I’d like to sit with my back straight. I like to learn yoga. I’d like to meditate everyday and increase my healing capability. I’d like to dance more often and improve my rhythm. I’d like to perfect my typing, and my writing, and my grammar, and for that matter, my spelling as well. I’d like to learn more about health, and cooking, and food. I’d like to learn more about you, what you like, what you need, and what your priorities really are.
You want to 3D model, animate your models, learn flash and web-design. You want to perfect you pencil artwork, your tattoo artwork, and learn to paint and work with colors. I also know that you want to perfect your cunnilingus, you sex, your romantic side, and perhaps on a more subconscious level you’d like to improve your self expression in language as well. Unfortunately between me and work that doesn’t leave room for much time to improve things other that tattoo art and relationship stuff. The only way to work it in to our lifestyle and succeed is to maximize our efficiency by working such things together. One of the reasons I brought up going to college. I think it would be good for us to learn together, and study together.
You do realize, don’t you, that we came really close to breaking up? I can’t pinpoint when, but reading your writings and mine, we definitely came close, and you changed things. You changed it. You have my everything My boyfriend. If you come home and proclaim that the both of us are going to work on flash, I’m not likely to contradict you. If you come home and proclaim that I will teach you how to put your hardcore website into html and put it on the web than I would (most likely, depending on my day) be more than willing to oblige.
I miss you. I can’t seem to think about anything but you today, just like the old days.
~Phoenix
I calculated the hours I’ve been spending working on this Social Club. I’ve been keep track of them.
For example, on January 28th 2008, at the beginning on week three on a Monday, I promoted at ten different schools with Jasmine and Ashley. Then right afterwards I held the very first meeting. And when I got home I updated & checked the Social Club websites. That day I got up a 7:30am to do all of that. I never get up that early anymore so that day was a real hassle for me. I spend twelve hours that day. On average I’ve been spending thirty seven hours a week on it, which doesn’t surprise me in the least.
Pay off so far? Nothing.
Very depressing. I’ve been taking my Sunday’s off, and Monday I took off this week as well. I took my nineteenth’s birthday off, but other than that... This thing is consuming my life. After the longest week yet being last week it’s no wonder I lagged around Monday feeling pretty blah and just taking care of anything besides the Social Club stuff. Especially after the shenanigan that the first party was. Mom has this plan to turn the thing into an after school program. We’ll see how that turns out.
In other news, My boyfriend and I have been doing very well lately in my opinion. I made him this poster yesterday that says “Phoenix” and “Muse” with a big heart in between. It’s very artzy, and it’s lime green, pink and black to coordinate with the rest of the room. It’s covered in heart stickers, and sentiments and small drawings and such. It’s about two feet by a foot and half big. It’s hanging above his computer. I think he likes it, or at least like’s the sentiment.
*smiles* I’m feeling a new surge of love for him lately. Like we met all over again.
Phoenix & Muse
Jeremy,
I’ve been thinking about you here and there consistently since I last saw you. Perhaps not so consistently because of the Teen Spirit Social Club as of late, but it feels consistent. You popped into my mind this morning as I was thinking about my wedding plans with My boyfriend. Who knows why.
I’ve had some random thoughts towards you. Remember when we watched some episode of Samurai Champloo together? When was that? I remember you saying I was odd for liking the outro song, and not the intro. That everyone else was the other way around. Seems like I’ve grown up to be more normal than I thought I would be, since now I prefer the intro song, though the outro is still kinda nice.
I was thinking this morning about how you knew I was looking for something I couldn’t seem to find. You knew me better than I knew myself back then. I think you contributed to my habit of constantly analyzing myself. I think it’s a healthy thing to do, and that we all should do it. I always ask myself why I feel the way I do. It helps me feel at ease with the way I feel about anything and everything.
Why do I still think about you? Most likely because you were my first love. You understood me, and you changed me. I still use your phrases like – what the fruit cup? – in my everyday life. I sometimes still think about how you would react to something I say or do. This morning I wondered how you’d react to being invited to my wedding. I can see the sad look in your eyes. That look that has painted your face since the day you left me. I never see it change.
Is that how you look at Janet? She must see how sad you are. If I were her, I’d blame myself, and hate myself for making you so sad.
I didn’t really hold much expectation of you visiting again after your brief visit when Laura, Jay, and my brother Roy all happened to be here. I dreamed last night that you showed up again, at the same time as someone... But I can’t remember who that other someone is. I just remember feeling how ironic that was.
Would you come to my wedding if you could? I’d like you to be best man, next to Tina, my only bride’s maid. Will won’t come because he’s too crazy about me to come. But you’re more mature than Will is... Perhaps it wouldn’t bother you that much? I suppose it’s foolish to think so. Of course you wouldn’t come. You’d probably cry if you’re anything like you used to be.
Remember what you said to me? When I was on Lee’s porch? I kept pestering you after you dumped me. I kept hoping that you’d fall in love with me again. It seems clear to me now what I should have done to snag you back into my life. But if I could go back in time (as I’ve said before) with all of the memories and lessons already learned, I’d go back to the day I met you, and make you my very best friend. We would be best friends to this day, and you’d come over and hang out with me and Tina and My boyfriend. The three of us would get along well.
I’m sorry Jeremy. I’m so sorry for everything. I hurt you, I misjudged you. I didn’t come back to you when you asked for me back. Tre was a liar, a thief, and an ass hole, and I could only see the latter of the three, and didn’t think it was that serious. What a fool I was. He played me like a fiddle, and for some stupid reason I thought at the time that I had found myself someone better than you just because he supposedly had a job, just because he supposedly was going somewhere in life, just because he wasn’t fat. What foolish notions I had.
Teeth, and fat, and hair, and style can all be changed. The things wrong with Tre are much harder to change – his morals, his ideals, his habits, his lifestyle... You will be the love I remember when I’m old. Assuming My boyfriend and I don’t ever break up, because then I’d fondly remember him too. He’s a lot like you, you know. Mary has said so, and I think you said so too. He’s the version of you that’s even more like me. He’s what I was looking for.
How did you know that somewhere inside me I was still looking? I didn’t know. You know, as much as My boyfriend is like me, and as much as I’ll say he is what I’ve been looking for, he still can’t read me like you did. You knew my buttons practically inside and out. At least I felt like you did.
My boyfriend doesn’t know how to control me. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons things are still going so smoothly. If he got a power-trip on how bendable I am, things might change.
I remember Tre like a bad dream fogged in thick brown weed smoke. I remember you through flower-petal glasses. Though as much as you loved me, and as much as you understood me, waiting for me was too much, wasn’t it? My lust, my drive, my immaturity, my naivety was just too much to stand, and I can understand that. Tre’s immaturity was too much for me. I couldn’t hang around and wait for him to grow up. And in his case, and in mine, being broken up with was just the right wake up call.
If I could go back in time, without my memories and lessons, there would be no point. I’d do it all over again. I’d have to do it all over again. Your love and lessons taught me how to control myself, and how to be a lady. I still strive to be a lady, in my own way. I’ve evolved my notion of what a lady is, and what sort of lady I want to be. My boyfriend knows that it’s still something I aspire to. He thinks it has more to do with you than it does. It’s my own journey now, one that I take for me, and for no one else. Yet I have you to thank for starting me down the right path.
And I almost lost that path while I was with Tre. Did you fear for me back then? When I was high, and tipsy, and eating fried food everyday, watching the Simpsons and Futurama and being emotionally abused. And even though he didn’t (usually) hit me right to the face, and even though he never really hurt me (like breaking a bone) he threw me, pushed me, squeezed me, shook me, and twisted my mind until I wasn’t even recognizable. My mom feared for me.
How could I have not known? Perhaps some part of me was still blinded with the hurt from being without you. But in these days, the memories that don’t involve My boyfriend involve you. My thoughts of Tre blur, and twist, and dim. My memories of you become small gems in the sand of my memory, never washing away with the tide, only shining brighter as the details fade, and only the warm feeling remains.
I remember dreams I had of you while I was with Tre. Just you and me, and that feeling I had while I was with you. That feeling I had when I fell asleep in your arms in the apartment night after night...
You weren’t grown up either, but you were much farther than I was... Both in love for the first time, and truly clueless about real sacrifice, clueless about commitment, clueless about forgiveness... What do those things really mean anyway? Do either of us really know, even now?
Inside a red gem on my beach of memory I hold especially close the trip to Myrtle Beach. I have yet to go on a long vacation with My boyfriend. He’s been with me to Toronto, to SFX, just like Tre was two years previous. My boyfriend has been to the Renaissance Fair with me, and to Hawk Creek and to Shakespear in the park. But never a real trip. There hasn’t been a trip like that since... I wish I could clearly remember what the moon looked like.
The ocean was dark the turning, and softly rumbling towards and away from us. The sand was cold. The wind was strong. And the moon was red... I remember that it was red. I remember trying to stay close enough to you to stay warm. I remember my big pink and blue beach towel. I remember you looking at that girl when we were in the hot tub. I remember my yeast infection, and biting you... I remember us pushing the twin beds together... I remember the wine, and getting drunk with Dad and you. I remember the fire crackers... Have I missed anything important? I can’t seem to remember much else...
My boyfriend and I plan to go on a road trip with my Dad, like Dad and I went on in March. We’re thinking about going in September. That would be a unique experience...
Where am I going with all of this? As I was saying before... About what you said when we were on Lee’s porch. You said you wanted me to be a star among many in the sky. I’d like you to be a star in my sky. It always makes me sad that you can’t be.
Perhaps after I’m married we could be friends? Maybe then Janet couldn’t be jealous? If you spent enough time with me, surely you’d get used to the idea of me being your friend...
Right?
Perhaps you’ll never even read this... Perhaps I won’t ask TuJuan to tell you to come visit me. I know your answer. You won’t come to my wedding. You won’t be my friend. I know.
If anything we’re to ever go wrong in my life, I’d like to think you’d be there, but perhaps you can’t be there, and perhaps it’s silly to think you would be.
I’m not sorry I loved you with all my heart. I’m not sorry that I got my heart broken. I’m not sorry I did those foolish things. Those foolish things made me who I am now. And the person I am now is brash enough to invite you to my wedding, bold enough to propose that we should be friends.
We should be friends.
We should. Yet I know you’re answer. Because I think I know what our actions turned you into. I’m sorry first loves never work out, because you deserved me, even if I wanted more.
*kisses your forehead and then sets you on your merry way*
~Phoenix
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