There are things that I cannot say

There are a list of things that I can't say, may never be able to say, would not know how to say.

I am so in love with you that if you never wanted to have sex again, that would be alright with me. I would still want you every day of my life, but I would give it up without any regret.

At night, I can't sleep without you. Even when I'm angry with you, even when I can't stand to see your face, I still want to hear your noises in my house.

I am never more safe, more free to be myself, more able to acheive my dreams than when I am with you. I cannot imagine a time when I would be without you. The very thought is terrifying.

I want to marry you. I have never wanted to marry anyone in my life. Not even my first love.

I may not agree with you, I may even think you are mad, but when we are together, it is us against the world. Outsiders beware; I will never tolerate word one against you.

I love the very things about you that others can't accept. I love your sense of humor, your sheer irreverance for everything. I love that you would take a life in defense of mine and I don't take that honor lightly. I love your unwavering devotion to our country.

I love that you are kind to my parents. They are the most tolerant that I have ever seen them of anyone.

I only regret that I can't tell you any of this.

The Queen is Dead! Long Live the Queen!

As the self-proclaimed queen of romantic love, I, Melinda Lisle, renounce my crown. I give it away to whatever poor soul decides that it is worth the pain (and the crown hair...yuk) just to have the possible glory of saying, "See, I told you that love is perfect like a Disney movie! Nanner-freaking-nanner!"

Since I consider myself a veteran of the wars, I can say with a certainty that only comes with age and dismemberment of vital heart parts that romantic love is bull-puckey.

All those things that people tell you about how great it will be when you find the one, and you look at them for the first time, and just know? Yeah, that only works when "the one" looks at you the same way. I know this because I have fallen in love with people and had them not love me back. Trust me, it's as bad as it sounds.

Otherwise, what you have is a serious case of the one-sideseez. These usually include declarations of love that are not returned, lots of sleepless nights, and crying to yourself in the bathroom. So, you know, the usual.

HOWEVER, non-romantic love is the SCHNIZIT!!

It may be great to have someone tell you that they romantic love you, but (and I speak from experience here) someone telling you that they love you can be:
1. A lie
2. Half-hearted (no pun intended)
3. A preamble for something a little less awesome like, "I love you, just not like that..." (Sidebar - REALLY F***ER? REALLY? 'CAUSE YOU SEEMED TO LOVE MY VAGINA LIKE THAT. I"M JUST SAYIN'.)
4. It could mean that they love you like they envision love to be, which usually includes hitting, yelling, generally unpleasant behavior, or an intense desire for you to only do what they want you to do.

Non-romantic love, kind of like that chicken soup that your mom made you when you had the sniffles, provides the following (as an alternative to the crappy list):
1. stability
2. fun (yes fun can be had when you aren't worried about all that other nonsense)
3. sarcasm (people in romantic love are far too serious to be sarcastic about their dumb behavior)
4. caring. (yes, I said caring)

I much prefer the man who says, "I don't love you. I care about you. I want to spend time with you. I want to see where this is going," to the man who says, "I love you forever," but only means for the next five minutes.

So I relinquish this crown. And I gotta say, it's kinda nice to not have the dent in my forehead.

At a loss

This post decided to be red...and black too...

I don't remember what it feels like to be in love.

By this, I don't mean that I don't know what the feelings I am currently having are. I am happy & terrified; content & restless; sure of myself one minute & devoid of certainty the next. I smile & cry, sometimes as much in one day as I had in weeks past.

I wish that I could call him. Someone who would tell me how not to fuck this up, and how to not be fucked up by it in return. How not to be in love, if that is what I am, without at least the slightest possibility of a healthy return of love.

But the terrible consequences of February once again make themselves known. Once again, I twist, ruthlessly tossed to the wind, at the loss of the one person on whose honesty & regard for my own personal truth was not to be overstated. Only in the area of us did he frequently, and with such final, disastrous consequences, did he err. Otherwise, he was an ever-fixed mark to which I could direct my gaze in times of uncertainty or doubt.

Truly did I love him.

He was my partner and my guide in so much of life (even when he was about the business of living his own), that to be here...now...without him, feels like falling all over again. Though I am not in such despair as I was, and I try to remember the little things that he would tell me (the good things), I am sure of my inequality to the task of deciding this business on my own.

Should I stay? Should I go? Should I run? Should I walk?

How often can I be so alone without some significant damage being done to my truer self? I fear the loss of my own good humor, my own way in the world. It should seem strange that I would want, or need, the guidance of another to find the port in the storm, but every ship looks for the lighthouse...lest they crash against the jagged rocks and go down in the storm. I feel myself precipitously close to those same reefs, even as I write this down.

He needs me, of this I am certain. Whether or not his own countenance will admit it freely, he needs me more than even I may be able to withstand. He would care for me, without reservation, if only he would let himself. He admits that he likes me against his better judgement, against his better reason (though what kind of endearment that might be is still not decided).

But I? I am different now. I cannot love in that way anymore, or at least I do not think that I can. To love one for so long, so completely unrequited, is far beyond my tolerance. I have tried that path. I have failed. It broke me so that I hated instead of loved, to the worst possible ends.

So I destroy my little bits of happiness every time I open my mouth. I push at him. He pushes back. I cannot imagine that we will survive a direct assault, and yet, with each passing moment, I am more and more certain that I will die if I do not move forward. I will be no man's receptacle, for no man has the right to think me worthy only of his trash.

But God...I am lonely.

The Compliment

You are great.
You are so low maintenance.
You are smart.
You are pretty.
You are the awesomest girl I have ever met.
You are the most laid back person.
You don't make me want to put you six feet under.

We should travel.
Virginia City.
A baseball game.
San Francisco.
Your parent's house. They'll love me.
Not this year.

I should meet your friends.
You should meet my friends.
You'll hate them.

It feels so good when you do that.
Scratch right there.
I can never reach that spot.
You smell good.
Like my ex.

I'll fix your car
Your house.
Your job.
Your life.
But not if I have to be around all the time.

I'm not sleepy.
I'll just stay down here for a while.
I don't want to come to bed.
I don't want to sleep over.
I don't want to answer the phone.
I don't want to go out.
I don't want to care.
I don't want to think about you, your feelings; anything that isn't me.
I don't want any of this.

Can I meet your mom?

On the other side of OK

In celebration of the fourth annual self-love day, I post the following:

I love that I forgive. I know that it can seem like a weakness at times, but it lets me be able to let go and that's what I need, so yea me!

And thanks for reminding me that it's OK to just be myself.

Do you have anything to add?

It might get loud...

Hello again dear reader!
This is the new cover art for my new band...Slowly Varying Function.
We've decided that our first album should be called "The Heroic Makes Heroes."
I know, I know it's all too awesome to be believed...you can start paying those Ticketmaster incredibly overpriced prices any moment now...any time...really...
(All stolen from some random Facebook user. Go to Wikipedia. Click on Random Articles. The title of the Random Article that comes up is your band name. Go to Random Quotes. The last 4-5 words of the last quote on the page is your album title. Go to flickr.com. Chose Explore the last 7 days. The third picture that comes up is your cover art.)

No title will do...

I'm all done.
I don't love you like that anymore.
You left me. Brutally.
You made me hysterical on the fucking freeway today.
I had to pull over because my iPod shuffled you back in to my brain.
Fuck that.
You made me almost mess up the new, potentially good thing because you demanded, in my head, that I be loved & paid attention to RIGHT THEN.
Because you left me, no one else could want me.
To prove to you that someone else does want me...he does...he does..., I lost my mind. That helped.
Fuck that again.
I'm not having it.
You can take your happy life,
Your condescendention about mine,
Your bullshitery...and fuck off.
If there were stronger words, I'd use them.
If there was a way to slap you, I would.
If there was enough tissue in the world, I'd never stop crying.
But there aren't stronger words,
And there isn't a way to slap you,
And I will stop crying.
So fuck off.
And take your life with you.
I'm going back to bed.