The Other Half Of The Story
Previous - this entry written on July 06, 2003 at 4:14 am - Next

Somehow it still feels... not odd, certainly not uncomfortable, but somewhere exactly half-way between the comfort of the familiar and the interest of the new-and-different, I suppose... fish, it feels like that to be writing what I know is NOT an unsent letter here. I know that it's likely to be read by a fair group of people, I know that although it is in so many ways a private thing that simply by posting it here it becomes public as well.

I want that, you see. I want it to be clear that I love who I love, need who I need, care for who I care for, and even hate who I hate. There are people to whom, for various reasons, I would not give an unedited version of my life or the content therein. Those people, were they to stumble across this journal, most likely wouldn't even recognize me soon enough to keep them from reading an entry or two and going away again. The few who are closest to me right now and right here (namely the Madhouse, Dixons, my boys, and a rather deranged Canadian that I haven't seen in far too long) know me already and have been aware of this journal from the start, and although I send my love and affections to them as well as give them in person whenever possible, this letter isn't to them either.

Today, it's the time that's eating at me. Not exactly a regret, because I suspect if either of us had mentioned it at the time, we would not now be communicating... but to think of the years that have been spent never quite knowing what to say, never quite daring to speak...

...some of my boys know how much she - you, yes you - matters to me. They know that always in my life memories of her and brief communications at the oddest moments were for the most part all I had, and only briefly did I ever share anything else, any details, any of it. I used to say that it was Rie-est who turned me bi, and I still say that if I hadn't met her I would have never dared to put words to it or act on it...

...but it is you who I dreamed of, you who I missed, you who I found wandering through poems and prose alike, coloring everything I became, everything I am.

I guess this is a thank you, really.

Thank you for being there that night in the middle of a church, of all places. Thank you for talking with me. Thank you for the late-night walks. Thank you for the courage that I would not have found without your influence. Thank you for the belief that I have always held and still hold: life works out in the end.

How could I not believe that? I have a place to live, food in my mouth, internet access... I have Ryan, Caleb, Kadin, Torian, Rhett... I have caffeine, health insurance, lots of goth music, and a PS2... I have some of the best friends I could imagine...

...and, not in deed perhaps but at least in words and most certainly in my heart, I have you.

Thank you.

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