ON THE CULTIVATION OF LOVE — Learning To Keep Her, But To Also Release The Remainder.

Reflection from September 5th, 2011 @ Age 30


I feel a little blue, probably because it’s been gray outside for two days and didn’t even reach 70 degrees today, but…I don’t know what.  Whatever the reason may be…I feel blue.

I do feel good about one thing in particular though, that this gray, gray day cannot ruin away…I started working on the book again.  Yep!  I did it!  Don’t know how long it will last, where it will take me, what it all means, etc.; but the important part is that I started (again), and that makes me feel g-o-o-d!

I have been thinking lately, and I don’t feel that I perhaps have given as much deference to Danny Klein as perhaps, he actually deserves.  I was reading in my journals today back from January to March 2002, of the time when we fell in love.  What a fucking beautiful thing it was!  It was just an absolutely, positively amazingly beautiful thing!  I’m so happy that I wrote what I did, so that I could remember what it was like to feel that, and to remember where I was at that time. 

It was just such a beautiful thing; it almost makes me want to cry.  I don’t know why, if it’s just that the whole thing is over now, mere memories blowing in the wind, probably forever forgotten in his mind.  Or if it’s because of how ugly the whole thing became in the end, over time; how badly we hurt each other, how cruel we became with one another.  Or really, I’m not sure that it’s just not from the sheer beauty of both; the love and the hatred, the sweetness with the bitter chill to follow.

In any case, whatever it was, it makes me ache for the past, although I’d never actually want to return to it, not even the best parts of it all, as it relates to Danny.  Too much pain followed, I don’t know how I would even make it through all of that again.  Too much fucking pain, it’s a wonder I’m still alive today.


I honestly don’t even have any idea how I have the audacity to say, even to myself in my own little head, that that was the man I was supposed to marry.  I don’t even know how I could say that, and it seems to me that it’s pretty horrible that I would, in any case.  I look at the pictures, his big blue eyes, and I think to myself, that was the man I was supposed to marry.  How could I even think such a thing?  How could I say that when he didn’t even live to age 26?  How could it have been meant to be, if he didn’t even live long enough for it to be

It just doesn’t make any sense.  I don’t know if I’m still not over it, if I am over it, or mostly over it but never will quite get past it in the end.  I just don’t know what to think about it.  I don’t even know how I could of loved him as much as I did; and I don’t know either, how I could have treated him so horribly in spite of that love.  I mean, I do, I was 17 years old for god’s sake.  But I don’t know, I’m still here trying to figure the whole damn thing out, by myself now, no less.  And I know whether I am over it; I am not.  I am, more so than I think I have ever been before in the past, but I don’t think this is the kind of thing one ever gets over, or under, or around or anything of the sort.  I think it’s the kind of thing that just stays with you.  I think he’s the kind of thing that will stay with me, like it or not.  Or at the very least, my symbol of affection will always be there to remind me. 

I just don’t know how to process it all.


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