February 4, 2011 + 1:02 am
you're so vain
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So, this isn't an entry. I don't care who reads it, because it's just a substitute for an email. You saw my message, and my hunch that you would "stop by" must be right, if you're here. This isn't one of those "what does it all mean" things. I am moving, and in the packing ordeal, i found the shoebox. I opened the shoebox. When i did, i missed you. Which is awkward. It's awkward because you were such a long time ago now. And because the last time we talked, i know i got needy and clingy, making you decide even a conversation was more trouble than it was worth. I've grown up since then, but maybe not sufficiently. I feel like I have to explain myself. I can't begin to understand why you still end up on my mind so often after having not spoken to you in five years. I don't want anything from you. Maybe that's not completely true. I think sometimes about how i would feel if i heard from you. I don't know what to say about that. I have a life. It's changed substantially in the past few years, but i still wonder about you. I'm in a decent relationship which probably continues out of complacency/apathy more than anything else. As the song says, I don't want you thinking that I don't get asked to dinner. But I've just been missing your presence lately, your thought process and perspective, and everything that goes with it. I'm in school, something I've thought about telling you about since I began it. (I passed Art History.)Maybe I'm not as apathetic as I claim. Anyway,I'm not crazy. I'm not dwelling on the past or having a quarter-life crisis. And I don't have any idea what your life is like at the moment or if you've even thought of me. I don't mean to interrupt. I just had more to say than could be covered in a little blurb on some weird favoriting site, and if you cared enough to look here, I thought this would be the way to go. 313 523 7323. If you want. Or not. Up to you.

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