Glory

I look at Glory's profile every once in awhile, though I always so faithfully promise that I won't again.

And remember how he made me feel. Cherished, which was such a move and shake from how England left me feeling (like I was a slave to some desires, like I was obligated almost, to fulfill some desires.)

Somehow, with Glory, it was okay and clean. Until I thought about it too much; the feelings were clean and safe. I was happy.

Oh! a green girly sighed and by the river sat! Crowned with her death-bed mask
Her hand was on her heart, her dark head on his breast, and that was the end of that, Oh!

But we were always very good at not thinking about things, weren't we? I was struck once, when he told me that he never really saw me coming--we were "sitting" I kissed him and he responded. What? You didn't?

And perhaps you were to say that you didn't see that whole night coming either? Glory, glory, Glory, glory, there was no way that you could not. You were too tenuous, too guilty, too reverent, too gentle. You could not not.

I am not silly for saying this. It is so. You know it. I am speaking to you now.

It is all fine but for how you said it all. How you said, 'so goddamn beautiful.' I will remember it,

And I would say that I hope that you remember it too except that I don't, not if it causes you any displeasure. It's okay, Glory. Really, well, and truly it is. it's fine! and smiley faces forever.

(you will have to forgive me for what I felt in those few week-months afterwards. or at least understand: i do not presume to know if there is anything to forgive.

it was a lot of things, you know? that cauldroned into it. verb.

i felt, then, that i was 'good enough to snog (or whatever it was! it was more. it was so much less. and it is only an approximate definition.) and not enough for more' or something. really, this is what i felt that i should feel, that I was obligated to feel. and it was not that way at all, was it.

Q got up. My train of thought has run away.

That is not really what I felt. it was what i thought i should feel. difference. i am more made of sunshine than that.)

but forgive my dilapidated syntax, my dears (and i will never call you dear heart.) it is not emotion that prompts it, more simlicity and grace in communication. i do rather like punctuation, and fun with punctuation.

Love always,

Katharine

Hi There, Blog. Remember me?

Title says it all, though I think I'll be better about updating in the future. I've stopped keeping a diary, but the whole spilling-guts thing is rather theraputic. (spelling. spelling fail.) (bah.)

So I'm in Scotland--stranded in Scotland, I joke. I think I joke. I'm really caught in this dreadful jux of 'am I stranded here?'

More to the point, I think my main issue is that I've had this taste of this life over here. I'm filled with inspiration for it, and so now I want to go home and make this work. I want to keep this momentum, this wonderful thing at my back that's pushing me so fast now. I feel like I can take this spirit of here into me--forsooth, I do love thee: forsooth, I will remain--and use it to push myself into all those late-night study papers, all those little sacrifices.

And...

Oh, this really isn't the most coherent of posts, is it?

I want to remember this moment forever.

There is a jam jar, next to the computer. Strawberry jam and bread and galaxy caramel bars for breakfast. Q is snoozing in a linen shift thing and I'm wrapped in a maroon badge of warmth and St. A. Sunlight sits on the floor like another thing in the room, another person, another presence. Sunshine for sunshine. It isn't really a good name for me, I think.

Who am I?