7/5

As it's past 12 in the potent east, yesterday was the country's birthday and today is my birthday. I've been given so many pieces of the world and I've had them all taken away; I imagine it's a lesson? Do yourself a lovely little favour and walk down to Battery Park listening to Von and wearing boots. No one by your side. This is getting ridiculous, has been ridiculous. Trying to grow and know and love yourself through someone else's eyes, and this boy with the arms....

I have pocket-slices of all these things that I used to keep and hold and own simply for that reason -- just not being able to let them go. I tried these tragic, spinning detoxes, fasting and cleaning and sleeping. I am sick. I am tired of things making me sick. I have never been free but I have never been... confined, either. That can't be the antonym. And life can't be the finite antonym for death and I'm tired, I'm just so tired of heres and theres being tripped and spun around to mean more than they are. Missing people I don't know. Can't know. Loving them, even.

Tomorrow (or today, really) I will celebrate my birthday the way I always do: walking downtown and buying Elliott Smith records. I need a place and a space that belongs to me. I need people who belong to... themselves, I suppose. Just themselves. I feel like this is partially the ugliest time of the year and also, perhaps, the most alive.