see, and this is my point

because last night i had a dream--after the dream about the cats and my mom's mom dying, and cleaning her kitchen

last night i had a dream that i was back in a place, in a bed, that i don't belong in. there was nothing in the refrigerator and it was comfortable. but i made the wrong choice about who to be with and i didn't realise it until another girl came around and tried to get in that bed with us, and i said 'what are you doing lady, can't you see what's going on here?' and i called that man by the wrong name. i called him kevin. then i had to go and fix my mistake. it wasn't easy.

once upon a time i started a relationship with that bed and knew what would become of it, even if i occluded myself from it at times. i knew it would be the one, the one i would never let go, the one i would always hold somewhere. because that's what artists do, they dramatize and they torture themselves.

it was a declaration i never should have made. that kind of attention, even when subtle, is exhausting. dredging up feelings i should no longer allow, like jealousy, like distaste, like curiosity. it's unnecessary.

it took me a long, long time to say that i was over it. through lots of burying, lots of uncovering and plenty of indecency that i know better now (but who gives a shit about the future when you're convinced you'll always be living in the past)

so i was finally able to say it last year. and i thought that would be it, you know? but no, i made that declaration, remember, and besides that, after denial comes a whole host of other characters. and some of them have been healthy and others were a little pissed because i'd ignored their appointments and they'd been waiting for a very long time.

the point is that i have other things to deal with now. like, being with someone who likes everything about me and not just some of the things means i don't have to hide. and i don't expect him to go away, which means i don't have to leave prematurely. but my brain tries to do these things anyway, and i am trying to fix that before i make more mistakes.

and to make room for that workbench i have to clean out the old space. so i can't keep looking for myself in between lines and never rarely knowing for sure. i can't keep watching the little fishies dart back and forth underneath their little castle.

one time, with a different person, i'd written him a letter to tell him about an indiscretion. he wouldn't read it, instead he made me say it. coincidentally, he is the only person i've had a romantic relationship with, even after a horrible breakup, that i still have a comparable relationship with, one that has even continued to grow.

the first step in trying to break a habit is to have it stop staring you in the face everyday.

so here, gather 'round children, for an open letter:

dear nicholas bigsby,

the most personal things that have been said have been without addressing one another, in this place. and if it means in the future all we talk about is guitars, then so it is. you know a lot about them, and that's good.

but i would expect you to understand what it's like to need to break a cycle.
i would hope you'd understand this cycle, but i spent most of our relationship pretending it wasn't there, so i can't really know.

but the point is this: you can't be my favourite book anymore.

that's all.

love, sara

now i've finally gone and found windows sound recorder on my damn computer so i'm gonna go play with that and PS if you could find a way to send me something better, that'd be awesome.