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| While I certainly did not forget about this blog, I simply never got back to it, did I? Well...
I'm married now! No kids with my wife yet, but we're young still. I no longer see/speak with Tomi or Junji. They are no longer together anyway. James and I email infrequently. Family is still family, though.
Not sure if anyone even uses xanga anymore, but I thought if anyone is still around, they might like some closure. Not exactly "happily ever after" but I'm okay. Living in California now. Handling a branch of the family business. I could not escape my fate, haha.
It's so strange to go back and read all of this. Seems like someone else's life. Makes me feel nostalgic and sad and ashamed all over again.
I will not return here. I have too many secrets to keep. Be well.
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| He called me "cold." He sees my reticence as evidence that I feel little for him. But if I am cold, it is the fragile, tenuous cold of a snowflake that will melt at the touch of his hand or in the heat of his whispering my name.
It's he who is the cold one. Why, when he has the utter love and devotion of Tomi, does he still pine for me? After all this time and all of the truths we know, how can he still want to be with me? It's insane. It's wrong! So if he can't stand the cold, then I will freeze him out. A cold shoulder, a frosty word will turn him to the warmth of the boy he belongs to. Poor Tomi. I know now it is a mistake to see them. It's best to leave them alone. I thought I had done something good in bringing them together, but I can see the start of the decay of what was never alive to begin with. To please me. I think it was all to please me, at least as far as Junji was concerned. Tomi never played games. His love was pure and real. And wasted.
I almost hate Junji. Almost. Yet at night when I let my thoughts run free, I can see us together, consumed in the fires of hell and dragging each other down and burning and burning and burning together in the beautiful conflagration of our own destruction. Literally, I see flames and death and yet... it is tempting. A salvation of sorts, really. As if in our ruin, what is good and pure will remain. Tomi, James, Papa, Mama, Yoko-- they will be better off. And if the flames are symbolic, then it would be our shame, our disgrace and abandonment. We would vanish together. We'd end up living desperately and hating each other in the end and as the final light died in our hearts, our hell would be complete and inescapable and fully deserved.
And that is what keeps me on this path. Better a heart that is stone cold than one that burns and razes everything in its path. Too long I've lived a passionate life. It's the French in me, I suppose. Now, I have to be Japanese. I keep everything in its compartment inside my heart. And some compartments must be kept closed forever. | | |
| How do you fall in love?
You lay open your heart and let yourself freefall. You'll know you've landed when you feel your stomach drop.
I've fallen in love many times. It always leaves a mark that only fades with time. Time hasn't erased him. I'm not letting go. However...
I am going to marry this girl. | | |
| A waxing moon shines through an open window, tracing the outlines of white, sculpted flesh and soft gold rivulets of hair. Breath, as soft as the night breeze, whispers in the darkness.
A second figure clings to the shadows, watching as the angel sleeps. For all that the dreamer may have done wrong in his life, he is essentially sinless. He has never done true harm. He has never acted against his honor.
The dark figure looks down and lets the blackness swallow his sight. The mark of the beast burning beneath his skin, the sinner kneels at the foot of the bed, at the feet of his salvation. The bed is an altar, a sacred place annointed by love and made holy by devotion. A place of vows and blessings and cries to heaven. A place unreachable now.
Confession sticks in his throat. Forgiveness is not unattainable but what good is the forgiveness of the greatest of heaven when one cannot forgive oneself? Don't kiss my cut for I will cut myself again. This mark does not erase. This blood is tainted and until it ceases flowing, it cannot be made pure.
The child of the devil crawls away from the bed. Poison is all he has to offer. Poison blood. Poison tears. Poison secrets. Words can be viral, tainting the souls of those who hear. Cursing them to bear the secrets or betray their love. Biting back his voice is the only good thing this creature can do. His belly feels a rotting, burning sensation. The poison is swallowed. The slow death comes. He will keep crawling away until he disappears forever, beyond sight and reach.
He prays that the angel is incapable of hate, not for the sake of the damned, who hates himself already, but for the sake of a sinless soul.
Don't forgive me. But don't let yourself be poisoned with hate.
Good-bye for a time. | | |
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