need to let go of the possibilities that are lost to me.
forever forgetting to forget the past.
i keep looking back.
don't know why.
can't turn this face or avert these eyes.
no matter how hard i try.
keep building and breaking, i say.
keep building and breaking until i no longer recognize me
and the memories of you
are too far gone to ever mean
anything.
keep building and breaking, i say.

tonight, Amy and i sat together at frijoles, struggling to keep our eyes open and to have some semblance of a conversation to catch up on each others lives.
finally, she cried "Sean! why are we old? when did we get old?!"

as i search through my mind.
as i catalog my life.
as i sort through the sordid mess of women i've known through the entirety of my existence.
i can't think of anyone i'd rather get old with.

these women aren't worth the worry.
put down the phone.
leave it alone.
you're better off driving on your own.

i bought a green, college-ruled, spiral notebook 2/3rds of the way through my first semester at Goucher.
at first, i alternated between writing one or two lines per college-ruled line.
somewhere along the way, i decided to write exclusively two lines per line.
it made me look somewhat batshit crazy when people read over my shoulder.
it also made it impossible for people to read over my shoulder.
i've been writing in this book for so long.
through so much.
the transition to college.
dead friendships.
living on campus.
brotherly abandonment.
misguided love.
bad break-ups.
Jack Leonard.
long drives.
this violent mind and life.
those early mornings.
these late nights.
so many repeated themes.
so many things had changed.
so many things didn't change at all.
4 long years in one little book.
i don't know what i expected when i finished it.
felt like i just wanted to start over
and over and over and over

i need to get away from the idea
that there is a happiness i need to reconnect with
that the source is in the past
i need to stop looking back
22 with who knows how many years ahead
there's bound to be a face that comes
out of the wood works
makes my head jerk
makes my knees quake
makes my insecurities run away
because they'll know that if they hold me back
i'll never forgive them
when i find that singular soul that could make my mind and body whole
i'll know
so
i didn't find it in the past
i need to quit looking back

for use in a future script

ok, fuck you. shut the fuck up and go the fuck away. i mean it. i don't want to hear another fucking word out of your filthy fucking mouth, and i want you to fucking get out. clamp you fucking lips. walk out the fucking door. hold your fucking tongue. get up and fucking go. fuck off, you fucking fuck. please.

in regards to saturday, august 7th's post:

at 2:30 am, i got a text from a number i didn't know.
"Sean! I miss youu- sketchy guys suck"
it was Rosemary.
we texted back and forth.
i ended up driving to Canton to give her a ride home.
but first, we went to sip and bite.
she bought me a short stack of pancakes.
we chatted for an hour or so and i drove her the half mile home.

it's always nice when i start to forget
and life reminds me
late at night
it'll be all right.