longing: a record

Barthes: The amorous subject wonders, not whether she should declare his love to the loved being (this is not a figure of avowal), but to what degree he should conceal the turbulences of his passion: his desires, his distresses; in short, his excesses (in Racinian language: his fureur).

X, who has left for his vacation without me, has shown no signs of life since his departure: accident? post-office strike? indifference? distancing maneuver? exercise of a passing impulse of autonomy? or simple innocence? I grow increasingly anxious, pass through each act of the waiting-scenario.

Nov. 24th 2017 –  To cover the 7,331 miles from Vancouver to Bangkok would take approximately 12 hours on an airplane, 6 more with a stopover. I look for things to do, just waiting to hear from you again.

Barthes: But when X reappears in one way or another, for he cannot fail to do so (a thought which should immediately dispel any anxiety), what will I say to him? Should I hide my distress–which will be over by then (“How are you”)? Release it aggressively (“That wasn’t nice at all, at least you could have…”) or passionately (“Do you know how much worry you caused me?”) Or let this distress of mine be delicately, discreetly understood, so that it will be discovered without having to strike down the other (“I was rather concerned…”).

Nov. 25th 2017 -When I get home from work is when you wake up. When I start cooking dinner is when you’re having lunch with a new group of strangers. When I go to bed is when you are off to explore old ruins. When I wake up is when you open a bottle of beer. When I open a bottle of beer is when you are asleep.

Nov. 26th 2017 –  I hook your house keys with mine.

Nov. 27th – “I just want you to be here with me. Like meeting all these people in hostels is fun and ppl are fun to hang around with, but once you start talking about meaningful things you realize how much of soul mates you and I are. I’ve been thinking a lot about how we are 1 in a million, D. Well I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel. If there were anyone in the world I would want with me on the trip right now it would be you. I miss you tons.”

Nov. 28th 2017 – You call me beautiful as if it were my name.

Nov. 29th 2017 – Lately I feel as if life offered me penance for all of its transgressions , and as a result, you.

Nov. 30th 2017 – Spotify – “My Girl” by Otis Redding – Added 2 hours ago. What were you thinking when you thought of adding this song to your playlist for me. Where were you, what were you doing, what were you wearing, who were you with, what image of me was in your head, what was the weather like there in Chiang Mai because Vancouver has been brutal, have you eaten another fried scorpion yet-hey can you look through my statement of purpose for my Master’s application-what are the names of the women who have touched you so far-what games would you be into for the ps4-i think your bed sheets need to be laundered soon-i saw gregg turkington tweet about a new season of On Cinema-what do you think about Vancouver’s new housing strategy-have we settled on ‘babe’ as our definitive pet name-hey it has been exactly 17 hours since our last conversation so i am saying hi and i am expecting you to say hello back-beginning a new relationship this way sucks. Oh, wait. There you are.

Dec. 1st 2017 – Look, you have to realize what I know: I am not as beautiful, or as intelligent, or as funny, or as emotionally stable, or as kind, or as secure, or as organized, or as strong-willed as you think I am. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you can leave. But before you do that, let me do it first.

Dec. 2nd 2017 – I am beginning to need physical reminders of how we were, how we could be, how we will be: my fingers on your lips, your breath on my neck.

Neruda: so close that your hand on my chest is my hand

Dec. 3rd 2017 – Today I think in synecdoche. Remember that one day in snowed in November, in the evening I woke up and you were looking at me. In a half-stupor, I asked what was wrong, as is my impulse to look for hints of cracks, fragmentations, mistakes. Instead, you say, Dionne, I’m just so happy right now. Your thumb runs down my cheek. Lines form at the corners of your eyes.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s