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2003-02-27 : 12:06 a.m.
Chaos theory revered...
Hmm... yes...
so as I see... Toad the Wet Sprocket is reuniting after like five years is it? And performing in the city... errr... yup... swell... Now I see Better than Ezra arrives on March 19th... Hmph... fabu... I suppose... Oh right, Concrete Blonde... April 1st... keep it comin'... fine... Because I can't seem to want to do a thing... without wanting to pick up the phone... or roll over to his side of the bed and ask... "well? What ya think?" But the answer would be as fruitless as proposing the question to begin with... because he is thousands of miles away... And everything loses it's color for it. I am trapped in every horrish example of all the circumstances I've always said, "I'd never" put myself in. (And all, simultaneously no less.) For instance, 1) Although it was by no means through a chat room or a kind of single's search engine... it all technically (and literally for that matter) manifested itself from an internet site. (This Diaryland. Which, to note, ironically enough worked to our favor. Because unrestricted from expectation and performance... we read and got to know each other... before any misconceptions, and typical show-manships could materialize.) 2) He's Younger than me. Oh I'm sorry... did I mention that he's younger than me. hey, guess what? You wouldn't guess it... but he's younger than me. An issue? Always. Now? I can't believe... He's younger than me. It's just never been possible... Is it 'cause English boys are raised on a different grain? It doesn't amaze me so much that he thinks, feels, or expresses himself the way he does. A brilliant boy... can exist... but at his age... really? God bless his parents... 3) And then there's the distance... And of course, as all the deities and saints, heavens and universes over would have it... He becomes everything to me... And everything no less... I am 26 years too old. This I have told him all ready. This. Should never have happened. Because it simply doesn't... only in the movies we laugh and feel cathartically torn by. I've sat there and believed wholeheartedly, that I had been beaten enough in my short lifetime, that such a feeling- was far too past it's prime to be experienced. See, I never doubted that I would love again... I never doubted I might or could spend the rest of my life with someone... But I NEVER... NEVER... dreamed, imagined, fathomed, perceived that I would feel in away I have NEVER felt before.... And it's a dime in the hat- for all clich�'s concerned... and I've gotten the BS line myself a few times... But this... this feeling... I can only vaguely find some resemblance, as to the time I first felt "in love"... felt consumed... entirely eaten by it... that you almost wonder if per chance you may just be going crazy or delusional at best... because your only decent function... is this perpetual nagging motion, of wanting to write the person's name over and over again... in stylized "You love Him" fashion... (Oh come on ladies... everyone has one of those in the bank... ) But they all stem from the earliest of life's years... when everything is fresh... your sense of awareness... is completely open and vulnerable... and as such, available to the full spectrum of love in all it's glory. And with the look of his eyes over me... it's as if... I had been washed clean... the slate made blank... And I feel and perceive in ways I know, I never have before... And the bastards that be... bring him to me... with every stereotype of "No's" I have lived by...(review 1 through 3, at your convenience...) And in essence have proved to me... that "No" is in fact not an option, nor did it ever exist here... because anything bad or good... is possible... at any time. And he is the lying wake of this proof. If it weren't so, he wouldn't meet every fundamental need I have... When I smell him, it fuels the addictive rush, that makes my chest cave in and the blood rush from my brain... When he pets me... I feel at ease, warm, and protected. When he speaks... the sound soothes me into submission... that to this day... I can only hold a steady conversation with him... if I'm laying down on my bed or sofa... When he looks into my eyes, my mind releases all tension, and in the most natural of fashions... It meditates itself into a state of relaxation... In much like the "Om" transcendence, that Buddhists use to permeate into oblivious satisfaction. And his choice of words... are not just words in one lateral self-absorbed meaning... but denotative and connotative, with emphasis, and value... in ways almost pre-written to meet any slight expectation. It's like reading the most perfect of novels... that keep you so wrapped, that nothing... and I mean no other thought, can function in your mind, with those imageries, simultaneously. And I don't have to ask, because he says it. And I don't have to know, because he would have already told me. And before I am even half way through- even when I'm barely mid-swing. And his body... call it mathematical proportional genius ness... or dumb luck... but it was built for mine. And this is all you need to know. And irrefutable. So take my word for it. And he likes what I like... is open for so much... and patience to hell.... Pretty good for a girl.... who likes what he likes... is open for so much... and hotheaded as hell. And yet... if it weren't for the most obscure of all chaos theories... we would have never met. Here we have an English boy... born and raised (in one of the most northern countries in the world, in the east hemisphere... at said random time...in the scope of our existence...) Then we have a Spanish girl... whose parents flee with her, from their homeland, Chile- (one of the most southern countries in the world, on the western hemisphere), to the U.S. Whose daughter eventually decides on a whim to move from the state of Florida, to New York... where she meets at her first random job, a boy... who was introduced by his wench of an ex- to diaryland... whom tells this Spanish girl about it... because she is curious to know more of her and him at the time... and (literally) stumbles upon the diary of this English boy... who had also just barely begun... and whom both at this point, were writing of the trials of equal and current disappointing affairs... that would turn bitter and attempt to rupture them... and in the matter of one simple note exchange... by way of empathy and support for the other... the talks began simply enough... Yet before anyone would admit a thing to the other, the mutual written language was already being spoken... and they began a love affair... and striking conversations abound... without ever admitting in lieu of fear- that the other could possibly be thinking the same things... and then he broke... because I had been crying... over being thrown about like a trivial bitter routine by some other... and sent me roses... and for the first time I couldn't breath... and not because of the act itself... but because of the simple line he wrote... the pretenses under which he had sent them... and the sigh that first pierced the silence on the phone that evening... all which gave me the first of thoughts... could it be? am I dreaming? does he sense the same? And he had... we had been matching each other... every step of the way, without really knowing... 'Till we would eventually meet in the middle-est of points... between the furthest of the south of the U.S.... and the northeast of the north Atlantic.... New York City. And in an email, as I sat at work... he wrote... " And I love you. I love you like nobody else ever will." And for the first time ever... I could not doubt a syllable... Because it's based on the same improbabilities of our having had the chance to breath over the other's skin... But we did. And that is fact. Which makes the answer a truth. And truth, even under the realms of a chaos theory, can exist and be absolute... This is fact. I am living it. And for the first time ever I have the truth... as intangible as ever... but proof... that I can and do love you... and am loved by you... with the same fervor and depth... entirely unknown to me before... You have made me more than I had ever imagined... More than Kimberly Austin.
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