| Part One: Tradition. |
[30 June 2010 @ 8:47am] |
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The lights are off when I walk in. I'm surprised by the familiarity I feel navigating around strange new objects. There's a vase in the corner near the door. It's tall and broad, a masterpiece hidden behind a welcome mat. I imagine you navigating a china shop with a critical eye, or better yet a garage sale or an outlet mall. Clutching my bags, I close my eyes and I'm there with you, telling you that vase is perfect for the corner, but my image evaporates. I wasn't there with you. There's an emptiness in my chest that belongs to you. It's always there, always present, always in love with the hungry 17 year-old boy who held my hair when I threw up and thumbed my tears away when I cried. I wonder, as I close the door behind me softly so as not to alert the house to my presence, if you are why I cannot fall into the sea of acceptance Anderson gave, that Craig gave, that Matsuda gave, that Liam is still giving. I wonder but don't say a word or let my thoughts travel. At this point, it doesn't matter anymore. You were never meant to belong to me. ( I've always known that. )
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