san sebastián, irún, hendaye, biarritz and bayonne.

March 22, 2008

i can’t get over parker one bit. i just don’t know how to do it. even dreaming of going away to my hidden little part of the world – the one that i’ll call home when i’m old and wrinkled – doesn’t help. ’cause even 8200 km wouldn’t ease my pain any more, thanks to that goddamn poem that he loves.

i’m forgetting what he looks like. i haven’t seen him in so long. he misses class, i don’t see him in common situations, don’t run into him in the halls. all i remember is that he’s so effin’ beautiful. tiny birthmark on his upper lip. glasses. sandy hair. an infectious, kid-like grin. so young…so young.

the way that he walks…it kills me. absolutely crushes me.

not even the drag of a cigarette or the sweet burn of whisky in the back of my throat brings me pleasure anymore. it’s just a way to remember what was or what could have been. and how weak i am.

i dunno. select images. recent ones, i’ll assume reasonably. him and matt. in white rock.

nothing hurts like unrequited love!

i’m not hooked on the idea of parker – well, no more than i’m hooked on him. the two are interrelated. you can’t have one without the other.

i think that there’s nothing wrong with me, right? so then, what’s wrong with me?

parker, admit it. your tears for bruce were real. you never even liked me. so why the hell did you lead me on?

i’m so sorry about everything. i’m sorry that i’ve shamed you…but i can’t help it.

i’m sorry that i thought it would work out. i was obviously never worthy. bruce was, but i wasn’t.

you’ll survive. come along someone else soon.

so will i. i’ll survive. but maimed and hobbling.

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