I got to talk to him. Yeah, HIM. Hiiiiiim.
The one. The only. Told me he is, still, always has been, always will be a "Jenna fan". Oh those fucking dark days, man. He held my hair back, he held my hands down, he held my chin up.
It maybe somewhat horrible of me, but I will say it anyways. A mere month ago, my boy left me. Hightailed it back home. Seven fast and furious intense months, talk of marriage, child-rearin and the whole bit.
And just four weeks shy of total abandonment, my thoughts at work when I am in my "sensory-deprivation chamber" as I like to call it- I wear a mask, headphones, work alone and with gloves so I really am off in my own world, four weeks and I am immersed in thoughts of those beautiful fucking cold, sharp Pacific NW days, and my love that I have never experience til then, nor after. I often think that the tattoo on my chest of a "sagrado corazon" represents more than a holy reference- my heart forever burns for a legend. A Chupacabra. A bloodsucker only by rumor.
And I heard it through the wire tonight. I heard that all familiar voice. Twice he said "I love you" and it hit me like I was in a ring and was hit with a combination of nausea (in a good way) and pubescent admiration. How will I ever love anyone as much? I don't think I will. He told me to "try lovin' a Chupa" come springtime.
No thought will reoccur in my head now, other than being his girl, even for a week, in that "humble" abode of his, listening to the familiar sounds of his snore, the hum of the fishtank at night, the random and seldom car rumble by on a cemetery-laden road off in that tiny Washington State town that just barely rubs elbows with Bellingham. To be in his presence is to know truest love. To be in his presence makes it known that if astrology ever mattered, Cancers reign supreme and he is king of Crab.
Oh baby, how every mile between us feels like a fucking million. How your voice rockets me back home. Back to painted headboards, Absinthe and ecstasy (pill form and not), flying across state for shows (thanks babe, I woulda never seen TOOL if it weren't for you) and many beers, sticks of gum, and hot showers.
You are the best. You are the one that makes everyone else obsolete no matter how much time or distance passes between us. Tonight felt like it had been two days since we last spoke, and not a year.
The one. The only. Told me he is, still, always has been, always will be a "Jenna fan". Oh those fucking dark days, man. He held my hair back, he held my hands down, he held my chin up.
It maybe somewhat horrible of me, but I will say it anyways. A mere month ago, my boy left me. Hightailed it back home. Seven fast and furious intense months, talk of marriage, child-rearin and the whole bit.
And just four weeks shy of total abandonment, my thoughts at work when I am in my "sensory-deprivation chamber" as I like to call it- I wear a mask, headphones, work alone and with gloves so I really am off in my own world, four weeks and I am immersed in thoughts of those beautiful fucking cold, sharp Pacific NW days, and my love that I have never experience til then, nor after. I often think that the tattoo on my chest of a "sagrado corazon" represents more than a holy reference- my heart forever burns for a legend. A Chupacabra. A bloodsucker only by rumor.
And I heard it through the wire tonight. I heard that all familiar voice. Twice he said "I love you" and it hit me like I was in a ring and was hit with a combination of nausea (in a good way) and pubescent admiration. How will I ever love anyone as much? I don't think I will. He told me to "try lovin' a Chupa" come springtime.
No thought will reoccur in my head now, other than being his girl, even for a week, in that "humble" abode of his, listening to the familiar sounds of his snore, the hum of the fishtank at night, the random and seldom car rumble by on a cemetery-laden road off in that tiny Washington State town that just barely rubs elbows with Bellingham. To be in his presence is to know truest love. To be in his presence makes it known that if astrology ever mattered, Cancers reign supreme and he is king of Crab.
Oh baby, how every mile between us feels like a fucking million. How your voice rockets me back home. Back to painted headboards, Absinthe and ecstasy (pill form and not), flying across state for shows (thanks babe, I woulda never seen TOOL if it weren't for you) and many beers, sticks of gum, and hot showers.
You are the best. You are the one that makes everyone else obsolete no matter how much time or distance passes between us. Tonight felt like it had been two days since we last spoke, and not a year.
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