Renewed Pain
03-07-01 ~ 14:15:38

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Have you ever wondered how long you could sit and just look at an empty text box, wanting to type, but not knowing what you want to say. . . . or rather, you have so much to say that you don't know where to start?

I've been sitting here for a little over an hour, and I'm still not exactly sure what to type.

I feel an emptiness within me . . .

I hate when I can't shake this feeling, and I was fine last night until I turned on my AIM as I've gotten in the habit of doing.

. . a void.

Sometimes I don't even open my AIM when it connects . . . you know? . . . I just kinda leave it sitting in the tray, with the rest of the little Icons.

With one look, the hole I worked so hard to fill . . .

That's how I should have left it last night.

Lay before me, gaping, black, hungry. . .

If I would have left it closed, I never would have seen that he was online, and I wouldn't have been thrown back to the base of the mountain.

. . . and empty once again.

Memories tumble down like boulders on top of me, making the climb back up to where I was even harder.

All at once my courage and strength drain from my body, into the dark canyon,

I double clicked his name, but like this morning here, I couldn't type anything at first. I just sat there, staring at the empty white box, not knowing how to start, or if he'd even respond.

Leaving me frail, weak, afraid.

I knew that he wouldn't answer me if I were to just say hello. That single word has always been followed by that horrid doorslam sound when people on AIM go offline.

I'd create a lake of tears, but I cannot cry

So in the end, I decide the best shot at getting a response would be to message him with a statement: "Richardson wants to get ahold of you"

My tears for him ran dry long ago

That decision turned out to be a good one, as far as things to say are concerned . . . because he did respond . . of course, it had nothing to do with me . . . he just asked for Ricky's email address. I of course sent it, and then I also sent a second message, asking how he had been

The healing reversed. Scars turning to wounds . . .

Moments later, that old familiar doorslam sound again, and he was gone with out a word.

Wounds that weep for the eyes that can't

I don't think it was a good night for me to be alone. It left me to think too much.

They weep tears of a long ago pain, burried deep within

And thinking brought back all those memories, and the feelings . . . mostly the hurt that our distance had caused me

With renewed strength, they wash over me

I realized nothing had really changed . . . aparently he still didn't want to talk to me

drenching me, weighing me down

that realization was probably the worst thing for me . . . after all, he was a friend for 10 years.

Weak and unable to stand, I fall.


A note to a true friend: Thank you for being there with me last night. I was afraid, and even though you weren't physically here, your words and your thoughts were.

You were a light in the dark, a strength for me to hold on to when I needed it most, and for that, I can't thank you enough.

I miss you and I'll talk to you again tonight.

Until then,
Your Dark Beauty

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