Concert in the park
“I am a writer, a writer of fiction
I am the heart that you call home
And I’ve written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones.”
~engine driver, the Decemberists
I saw the Decemberists at the Malkin bowl tonight, and saw J_ out with his girlfriend. A little sad, but also liberating. I had been toying with the idea of asking him if we could try to be friends again. Now I know I’m not quite ready, but I actually feel (in some totally not desperate, blind, flailing way) like there’s hope for it yet.
I don’t know what’s up with C_ and I. There’s love there, but it’s growing up all stunted and hunched, crowded as it is by our egos and insecurities, and pale from being hidden away. It sucks, and I don’t want to do anything about it. It is entirely possible that I’d feel less alone without him in my life. It is also entirely possible that I am suffering solely from a lack of drama.
