:: Purposeful Death Overhead ::

4.22.07

I want to be in love. If only you know how much.
I regret everthing, you, every fucking moment
because I woke up this morning
You were there, sleeping - your back towards me, as always
Arms locked, I don't know what you were dreaming of
Do you dream at all? You dream of kat who wont take take you back
because you slept with me
You must dream of Ellie because it was 4.20 two days ago and though
the date had nothing to do with it, it was a year ago she jumped under a train
and you were at school with me, listless and lifeless, because you were supposed to go home
that weekend and see her.
I forgot, you don't dream, you sleep like a child with no worries, no fears
but I'm here
and I worry, I cry
I'm a woman, how odd that must seem,
but I am and I worry
and nuzzle the back of your neck as I sleep
because I wanted to love you this morning.

I wanted to love you this morning.
You stirred, and I was awake to see your flutter your eyes
I saw glinters of blue.
You jumped out of bed to go shower this morning
after I sleeply told you you'd still smelled of the Axe you put on for me late last night.
( I didn't even ask!)

I lay there, decided to go.
Whores aren't allowed to stay past 12 0' clock anyway.

:: Alina 4:36 PM

I'm beginning to undertstand the difference between High School and College.

I know, its second semester of my sophmore year, and how is it only now that im coming to all these conclusions?

Missed work, missed labs mean make ups, and some bureacracy of a system where sometimes you can get away with far too much and sometimes get screwed over even if you have legitamite reasons.

College is about going to all the events you can because even if you vaguely heard about them more often than not they are phenomenal, and and you end up learning so much about culture and music, politics and art that its a shame not to go simply for the fact that you want to hang out in somebody's room for six hours doing nothing.

That's the other thing about college: You can spend six hours in somebody's room doing nothing.

You can't get away with the same stunts; the excuses, the missed classes. College is about work...once work starts, it doesen't stop. It goes and goes until you're in full throttle of it all and wishing you could get home so you can sleep in a warm bed without someone else sleeping beside you who wakes up at 7 am to call her boyfriend and babytalk while you lie in your bed reminded all the more that you're without.


But. It stops. Classes stop, schoolwork stops. Lunches, dinners, friends, stop (not lunches and dinners persay, but those spent with friends). Back with family, a few friends around, most off at their own schools (on a different break schedule perhaps?). Family wants your time, wants to know when you're coming home, wants to knew where you are, what you're doing. You get to that point, lieing on your couch at 1 pm on a wednesday, where you would rather do anything to get back to that roomate, and your friends, and school.

:: Alina 1:25 PM

February 25, 2007

I sit here, working at the Goucher college library, with cramps, with homework, wearing the scent of my lover (the fire alarm had gone off and in the snowy mid-morning I dawned his sweatshirt as we scampered out of bed and out into the snow.) I went to brunch in it, post - brunch I curled up in a ball and slept in it, and here I am now, working, still enveloped by his musk.

I know I have to give it back, he is just my lover.

To think, I have a lover. And he is beautiful in my eyes, his skin is soft, hhis hands caress. But only when I ignore so much. It is blissful ignorance; as much as the soft snow covers up dead ground and withered leaves so we love.

I know I will regret it soon, he is just my lover.

Today, as I walked to work, I saw, amist the black tree branches and white snow, a red robin singing on a branch. I will never have to give it back, I will never regret it, for the memory is mine alone, and as Josh said when I told him, I'm probably the only person that saw this most beautiful thing today.

:: Alina 4:15 PM

February 17, 2007

A new year's come, a birthday ( i no longer possess the gleeful joy to call myself a "teenager".) I am twenty.

This semester I'm taking an anthropological class on aging, and i know soon I won't be in the prime of my life. Soon is relative; In 10 years I'll be thirty, forty, fifty, and where will those years have gone?

I look in the mirror and see a reflection of myself, still cute, still buyant skin, no wrinkles.

I fell in love with you, and in my dreams you smiled at me, kissed me, held me. But it couldn't of been you, because you smile at me when you feel like it, kiss the back of my neck when you want to get laid, push me aside when I've given you myself, roll over and fall fast asleep. You never hold me.

What more, you post the morning after how it'd been a mistake excused by a drunk night. You post how much you'd wanted me to leave so you could sit in your shower and cry after her.

I'm sorry you don't remember the other nights; I'm sorry you don't remember the sunrise, or 2 am walks to Towson, around Silver Spring, Rockville, or movies, Firefly, Sushi, the endless games of Risk and chemistry and how you would always fall asleep in Bio only to have me wake you up. I'm sorry that you don't remember who was there for you when Ellie died.

Do you remember during finals we got drunk and had sex and fell asleep naked because we were too tired to put on any clothes? Remember when Christina pounded on the door trying to get in? Remember the day we got back from break? Remember how you drove up to Goucher at 1 am the day I left for Israel to hang out?

Guess not.

:: Alina 11:22 PM