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amaranth says i smell like her childhood. she smells like vanilla bean body spray. i think she should find a fragrance that's more unique. something exciting and vivacious. flirty. effusive. something more like her. when castor's in a good mood, he's the sweetest guy. we can spend hours discussing literature and art. we go to solvang for breakfast--crêpes and salted licorice. we have the best sex. he buys me presents and i love every one of them. (he knows me so well.) he gets me dark, dramatic flowers and key lime pie. for yule he gave me a new-bauer ware children's tea set. when castor's in a good mood, he's perfect. | ||
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damiana gave me lots of things too. but they were only sometimes things i liked. mostly they were things that the idea of me she had in her head would have liked. and that idea was never human. in the beginning i was a goddess. beautiful and perfect and severe. sublime. i tried so hard to live up to it. then i was a demoness, the essence and incarnation of evil itself. i even tried not to disappoint her then. now i'm a slug or something equivalent. i don't bother anymore. it's not worth it. she could never let me just be myself. |
when castor's depressed he's an inanimate object. a thing in the corner that exudes whininess and self-deprecation. he even fucks like he's not really there. he's been depressed for weeks. he says he's traveled far and wide and he's tried a million different things to try to relieve his depression, but none of it helps because what really makes him ill is himself. and no matter where he goes he can't escape himself. we've started therapy. when we break up, i don't want to be friends. it's not worth it. |
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