you know sometimes these tiny residual grief, they just floating around waiting to land on something. sometimes they land in the most menial, trivial thing you don’t even care about. and then boom, they’re there again.
on something.
the little things.
erased.
new.
we are a new person everyday. everyday we change in the smallest of things. you can’t hold somebody accountable for who they were the last time you saw them.
i wish i wrote the way i thought.
nada, perhaps.
…because friendship and intimacy are subjective, and there isn’t a widely used scale researchers share to define those concepts across studies. Closeness can be particularly squishy.
today i mourn.
today i mourn for the things i never get to explain, left unsaid, silenced under pressure. i wish i don’t remember them so vividly.
fyi. (2)
i love sharing a knowing look from across the room. it’s like we’re the only two people in the universe who share the same language.
i love your laugh too.
notorious.
We’re drawing stars on the skylight of your room, with our innocent fingers and you told me I was going to be a writer someday.
You said I was going to be a writer, and I was going to spend my lifetime writing you. I scoffed. Don’t flatter yourself, I said.
You laughed. Oh but you will, you said. But I would do it secretly, sneaking in memories like they were truths. But people hate truth. Exactly, you said mischievously.
For the rest of my life, you said, I am going to rely on you for that. My life would be so chaotic and disheveled because you know I am going to get notoriously famous that I can’t take it. As my life spins out of control, I’ll turn to your written words and find my way home…
pride.
I used to ride along the waves of uncertainty that was my mind, playing out scenarios where I would end up in places close enough to reality that it might actually happen. I could ride and ride for hours without any clear intention or purpose, no directions. A wishful thinking that’s so loud that it magnified every single thing I yearned for so the universe could make it come true.
See, I’m just a child inside, wishing all the good things come tumbling down on my lap and wanting all the bad things to go away. This thing I do keep me busy grinding on thoughts back and forth, back and forth. I would forget about them and fall asleep eventually. I would be dreaming or waking up, either way, I escaped being me for a little while.
And now it’s swirling around you. Just the second I was boarding a flight, I thought of you mindlessly. In my mind’s eye I saw you smile an infectious smile, laugh that infectious laugh. If only people say the things they want to say, and do things they want to do, maybe we won’t be here tangled in pride.
Who was too proud again?
secrets.
Let’s keep this love a secret. Let’s forget all about it and pretend it never happened. And years from now you can smile that smile that did me in years ago and I will let you sweep me off my feet and under the rug once again.
Crumbs, Diana Perry
a thing about you.
I looked at your face while you were sleeping and this habit of mine I could not seem to let go. You looked so peaceful and pretty. What is it about you that got me feel like I was coming home?
But this wasn’t real I knew. Once we’re out there, we’re out there.
If we’re a couple of peasants in the southern of France, I’d pick out berries with you and bake pies, bear your babies.
You opened half of your left eye and smiled. But you didn’t want to embarass me so you pretended to go back to sleep.
You’re just so sweet.
you were so handsome
from below
from above
so easy to love
you were so handsome
that last night
in that life
that wasn’t ours
Diana Perry
cling(y).
i wish. (5)
i wish i could stop being me for fucking two seconds.
problem. (2)
i love myself only when i love
you.
found.
complicated.
myth.
the myth is that i can only write about you, and not anything else.
shame.
i’ve been carrying a large quantity of shame that is snowballing from what i can’t seem to remember
always shame on me but i don’t know what for or what to make of it
and it’s getting heavier
maia diaries 