Letting go

Dear you,
I didn't notice it until just now. I suppose the reason we can't be friends, the reason we can't be anything at all is because in my mind we were never in love. Knowing that we've lied to each other for six months puts a strain on trying to communicate at all. Maybe you'd disagree, but the true proof for me that we were never in love was that you were unable to be there for me when my mother was going in for her second surgery. To me, that was betrayal. Even acquaintances would be loyal to me in such a time of need. Maybe there was a sooner sign of your negeletful attitude, but when I received the news and had to beg for you to be available, even as a friend...you were further than ever. You never loved me. I had doubts in my mind that I ever loved you, but the fact that your love was, fake, just a false belief, made everything feel--- too much in the past.

Please stay behind,
me

Experiments in Memory

Memory is fiction. So why do we believe in so much? This is my first real blog entry, so for the first time in a long time, I feel I have to introduce what I am talking about. I believe strongly in the power of creating, the power of words, the power of art, and the power of the individual. For example, novels, wall sized canvases, whatever it is you do--- I am sure you've created something that has impact. So that is where the name Objects Left Behind comes from, things created or loved that slip into the past.


I am graduating college soon, so, I'm leaving behind four years of ritual behaviors. I've learned a lot, especially how much there is still left to learn. So, I suppose I plan to post anything I've been creating lately--

I don't like the country. I don't like quiet- small towns are not meant for girls with busy minds. It only makes them more silent, still, and frustrated. I don't know how to accept being around the same people. Always the same gossip and the small buisnesses that become so intimate that privacy becomes a myth. I need noise, I need slow minds that don't hesitate to keep spewing out words because of the rush their bodies are in-- I just want to be in a coffee shop.

I need something in the background, that isn't trying to be involved with my life. I need somewhere I can drive to that doesn't feel like more empty space. I feel so lonely here. I guess a part of me has always been a drifter- people confuse me too much. But places, places calm me. Strike a curiosity, that I can't stop looking at. Sure, there is something about endless walks, and long stretches of dirt roads with only small red barns every few miles. But it is that silence that comes with it all that makes the noise in my head all too loud.