Writing from an empty room, or a room emptying at least, thinking about how the towels are all still so wet, thinking about how it was with you, thinking about you, thinking now about how I still don't think much about you and wondering if that means I am sick or if I was just confused before, wondering now what that says about the way I love, wondering if I even know how to love or if I am just confusing love and romance, not doing any worrying, but knowing there is much to worry about.

This is good. This is something good. The room is full but there is nothing here. I keep telling people that but they don't believe me--- or maybe they do but I don't think they know what I mean. It's all out the door. It's all out the window. It's all buried in Golden Gate Park under the bench where the old lady is sleeping. It's somewhere we have been together. It's something about always being in love with somebody or the missing of somebody or the way it feels to be alone. Addicted but okay, in some ways reminding myself that nobody is as independent as they think, or as selfish as they feel, or whatever or however or whoever. Things just go this way sometimes.

In this empty room, there is a lack of silence. The way air moves, it has that affect on things. It also has that effect on things. It also can create suspect or maybe you don't even remember the way this room looks. It helps me to know how easy forgetting is when you are really good at it.

What Comes is Better Than What Came Before

I'm laying flat on my stomach with my shoulders poking into the back of me- a posture I know will probably kill me when I'm older-- and I'm listening to a Cat Power song I remember hearing for the first time when I saw V for Vendetta in high school. When I love a song, I actively listen to it repeatedly until there's no way for me to keep count. This was one of those songs at another time in my life. But, like I said, now I'm on the floor and it's today and everything is much different now.

It's just Clarissa and me in this living room like it was in the beginning.

The last few years passed in a way I can't explain and it makes me sad now feeling like I can't remember those years. I can barely remember California now-- and I wonder if I'll ever remember anything. I read over myself again and again sorting for any kind of honesty but I think I was just trying to survive. If I remember too hard, I remember everything and feel sadness start to pulse through me. I keep getting older and I can't stop remembering and then forgetting again and remembering and pushing it out of me and hearing her voice tell me I wanted to kill myself when I don't think that's true at all or remembering how I just wanted him to go away or remembering the softer hurt of just being left behind without some kind of explanation. I just want to stop remembering those things. I'm not sad about them anymore, but I can still feel the sadness if I let myself. I think this is probably similar to drug addiction - you just keep seeking the same things. Even when you're healthy, you remember yourself as sick. I think I'm fine. I'm just being dramatic. Moving stirs up feelings and dust.

#

What about something that someone else can actually READ, Kate?

I worry about myself in romantic relationships because my positivity makes it hard for me to distinguish whether or not how I feel is actually real or me being hopeful and looking on the sunny side. I always love these people so hard it kills me -- and then I remember how internally I have been saying all along how I thought he was arrogant or kind of rude or an alcoholic - whatever. But I tell everyone around me how good everything is and then I can't figure out what parts of it are lies. And I think a lot of this is where my Aquarian nature comes into play and I shut down.

Now we arrived together in this moment where we can decide either to jump in together or to keep shuffling around until we're forced together and we are deciding to jump. I keep wondering if it will get dramatic or if it will always be this quiet, wonderful way with you where everything feels okay almost all of the time - and when it's not okay it's only because I'm freaking out that it's overall pretty good and I just panic. I keep wondering how you are growing kinder, getting more handsome, loving me more. I keep wondering why. I keep wondering when we are supposed to get crazy or if we are supposed to do things this way. I can't even process what's going on because it just feels like we're moving in the right direction the right way. Is this okay? Are we okay? Now I'm not asking because I'm trying to go somewhere else - it's more like quiet dancing and we are alone.

What I'm saying is that I love you. And I will really do my best. And I'm all in.