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It's been six months since you fucked right off. A very long six months.
It would be hard if I knew you were telling the truth. And I don't know that. Making it much harder.
Apparently, my missing you has reached some kind of peak, possibly an event horizon, and now I'm dreaming of you. Specifically you. Specifically uninterested. Much less enjoyable than the vague, warm, summery dreams, the ones where I get what I want, your hands on my body, around my heart, and just as gentle with the second as the first.
Limerance is a bitch. The way my system slowly rejects it, once the fire is no longer being fanned, is even worse. And what the fuck am I going to do if you come back? Talking with you makes me happy. We've already established boundaries, you're used to my goddamn swearing, I'm used to the shared sense of humor and lack of boundaries I personally find ridiculous. I don't know that I can keep myself from talking to you, even if it's better for me. I probably can, at this point. I've changed so fast, I really don't know. But making myself do so will also hurt. And then I'll be minus another friend, another ear, another source of decent advice.
And that's if you fucking come back. It seems unlikely you will, right now, although it's possible you will today. If you don't.. I don't know. I don't fucking know. I don't like letting go of massive opportunities to be happy. But I could be fooling myself anyway.
I really don't want you to slip into my past, randomly popping up in dreams to ruin my day. I don't want you to be a lesson. You're too fucking valuable. Too rare. I can barely talk to most of the people I find interesting, for fuck's sake. And if that weren't the case, you'd still be too rare.
I'm so tired of learning lessons.
I can see and communicate with ghosts/spirits/whatever-you-fe
I know that a rational person would have gotten over the loss of a loved one by now, but it's always been like my brother was the ghost of my future self, and that I was the ghost of someone who was already killed years ago. It's like trying to ignore your image in the mirror when you've never seen yourself before.
I died along with him, and my perspective on life, the world, and my own existence were irreparably altered. But since then, I've led a fantastic life as a ghost.
I've written more on this subject at brother, irony, pain, violence, and vigilante.
Don't feel as though you need to be "over" the death of your brother, because the truth is you won't ever be over it. And nor should you have to ever be over it. Don't anyone tell you different.
I find what you've written about very courageous, and very devout to your brother. But don't forget that although your brother may be gone, that you still have your life to live too. I can understand feeling as though a part of you has died with him, but would he want you to consider yourself a ghost? You're as real as the words you've written.
Anyways...On a final note, just wanted to say your writings have made me think. Not a lot of these entries do.
When I tell people that I can see ghosts, they look at me like I should be committed.
But I look at them the same way when they try to justify organized religion to me.