so much of modern art today is about experiences, and because experiencing things yourself is the only way that something can't be replicated. in a time where technical skill is easy to acquire, and teach, and sometimes fake with photomanipulation, perhaps the new form of art, in its transience, is moving and acquires its value because it does not last, and cannot be truly recorded. and perhaps one can say it's a commentary on our rapidly changing society, but art is beauty and meaning, and that would be an ascription.

in so many ways, i feel like i don't know how to be myself, that i've tried to make myself into what others wanted for them to love me, and its rare the times i realize the people closest to me love me for me, unconditionally, and yet at the same time, i feel like i'm still lost and adrift and grasping at being..me. and maybe that's what i'm afraid of, that i've done all these things i've done to make him care about me but one day he'll be bored of it, because it's this weird self-other integration that i can't seem to shake but i know deep down inside, it's me, and i am still me, and everything will be okay. and that struggling as i may be with who i am and the future, i'm going the right way.

i miss james with an intensity i can't understand, now that he's almost here, and with a fear that i can't explain, either. perhaps, like always, i'm afraid of everything falling apart and people learning more about me and forgetting about me/us/we because it isn't their perfect idealized relationship but maybe this is part of love - reality, and learning how to be fearless. and this time, for some reason, i believe it, all of it. perhaps, like the night-dreamer who sees bright day for the first time, instead of running from the dazzling blindness and the pain, i've learned how to slowly open my eyes and love everything the world's now colored with.

i bear grudges quietly, and being repeatedly shown how low i am on someone's priority scale has a way of bringing out all the old list of grievances. strange as it may seem, there's only a few people who i remember the list for...and i guess, in some ways, they're the people i wish i was rid of in my life but never got the chance to be. she did top this small group of people before, but it was a long time ago...yet after this winter and spring break, i feel like i really do just don't care anymore. and goddamnit, i'm a terrible person, but if her life was more entertaining perhaps i'd want to keep being friends, but man, she's so bad at being a bitchy dramatic asian girl and provides ..not that much comedic value anymore. yeah, we know it's small deals, even though you keep playing yourself off like you're so cool. and no, it's not okay to show off that you're so overbooked and important to your friends. and no, i still have not gotten over her two years ago deciding that it was okay for her to contact my ex who she never talked to outside the context of me / us being in the apartment and then letting him know that they were still tight/cool even though i was on the outs with him. it was two months after things exploded, and you knew how much of a shitstorm and drama he was causing with my other friends and how tired i was of everything, you could have had the decency to wait until things cooled off. twice, you've shown your priorities so easily in a way you thought was clever, but there isn't a third. perhaps i'm not very forgiving of people who rip into their friends behind their backs without any hint of remorse or care about these people they call 'friends', who display their superiority complex as a way to make others feel less important...but i don't know. perhaps i never really knew the person i wanted her to be, and maybe there's a niche in my life that is now empty, but i think this friendship has been dying slowly for a long time, and i think i can see it in how her friends constantly change, year to year, and she's rarely kept the same close ones. i still miss her and the days where she relaxed and just talked, but maybe that was just a side of her she didn't like bringing out. and after all of this time, i really don't want to guess at what she's said about me behind my own back, because i don't think she's really been kind to any of our friends that we've both known, or anyone, so why would i be different?

un jardin sur le toit smells like warm summer upon my skin, sunlit and beautiful, the comfort of daydreams and soft honey-apple-pear what i dreamed home and happiness and mothers would smell like, not the rose-lavender-vanilla-cling of cosmetic creams that i smell when i hug her, a little overpowering and with the oil still settling on her skin, concentrated and floral and strong. maybe her smell defines my relationship with her - i can't bear to have her touch me at points, i can't stand how she smells, as it's so...strongly her, practical and yet not at the same time, but i still love it because it reminds me of her, and it is her. but when i need calm, it's the smell of the mother i never had, of warmth and contentment unceasing, that i want. and home feels like that now, i love them because they are my parents, but i can't love them at the same time when they constantly remind me that it's not okay to be me, that i have so many problems that need fixing, that i'll ruin my own future because i have bad habits...that so many things. yet at the same time, i know they love me for it, and in my own way, i love them because they want perfection.

god, i miss falling asleep wrapped up and safe. twenty seven hours.