I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you.

So I was cleaning, and I came across my Andy binder.
I don't know if it's a bad thing that I have a chronological binder of our relationship. It's got letters, drawings, poems, IM conversations, e-mails... some good, some bad.

It's weird looking back on how much trust he put in me. And it's weird how much we confided in each other, and how well we knew each other. It's weird that things went so sour after there being so much depth.
Heh, oh well. We were just really young, and people don't stay young forever.

In a way, I became more immature after we broke up. But in so many more ways I grew up a lot.

I definitely forgot how much trust and communication goes into a relationship, though. Sometimes I think that I want to be in a relationship, but in the past 4 or so years I have never had anything close to the type of honest communication I had with Andy. I wonder how it ever even got to that point?

Hmmm. I'm happy I found that book. And I'm happy to have read through it again. I'm happy I'm not with Andy. And I'm happy that I don't have to see or talk to him ever again if I don't want to. Does that sound bitter? It wasn't supposed to.

And I always have Desk to listen to, as much as I want. :-D I love Desk! We were such an awesome band.

I do, however, wish I hadn't been such a jerk to Kyle. Because he was a great friend, and I miss him a whole lot.

And now I have to put this binder away and finish cleaning.
I'll leave you with a poem, courtesy of Andrew Scot Mascaro:

i should have been the classy boy,
crashing home the pixie crust.
awake and adjourned and relentless with amour,
aura strong with no need to face my fears.
i should have connected with the idiosyncrasies.
i should have eaten with the gods and punished my ignorance later.
i could have been shined up for the stories to tell, and hell to smile upon,
a rebel in perfect haze.

i should have been there in the fieldsduring summer,
the vacant black sky to brush us all with cool.
comfort.
i should have broken my indignant back for the slaves of the world.
i owe everything to the blue faced aliens of the futuristic past.
they've shown their bones to me, without ever looking back to theirs.
i should have felt your nerve tips quiver in the storms of my eyes.
i should have iced your lips and set your hair to solidify the air.
it could have been my heart bleeding recessively if i had opened my missed
army
arms.

i leak battery and incandescence, coated with fate, false, flour and fumes.
fiend in no light, retrospect respected fragmented dullness.
i could have been the leader and the glass bomb they all worship.
i should have saved my continues to myself and sucked in my inner ears.
could have spoken up.

i could have been thrice removed and unsure,
without but relentless in my annoyances at least
reasonable.
i should have been the ones in the fire, to teach me
something real about
pain.
rummaging the feelings, forgiving would have meant more than coincidence.
i could have risen above about the earth to serve a prelude to some unknown
mastership,
or at least something new.

but the additives and subtraction will prove something the dust can peruse,
and mistrust, and subjugate, and endure to love and fly and hold and comprise
the very virtues of hope.
i am a power cord to the metal frame of validity.
soft, old, glossy, warm, deep, starred, forgotten, forgetful, imminent, and
permanent.
savored, requested, distinguished, unwholesome, shaped, found, gone, giddy,and stone.
that which looks as fault only supports us in the unnatural institution ofour lives,
and only a porous rock floats in water.