Well. Where to begin.

I'm sitting here in this huge, empty house, trying to find the words to express what I am feeling. Yet I'm not sure what I'm feeling. There's a dull ache within my chest, but I am intact. I guess more than anything I am simply disappointed. Maybe deeply so, but I am alive and functioning, and I am not really very down or depressed.

Needless to say, Faith is gone. She left Saturday in a damned big hurry. I'm not supposed to write. I'm not supposed to call unless I get Mom to call for me. I can't say what I think is going on. Parts of me think she's going back to Paul. Parts of me want to believe what she told me (that being that she's moving into the house with the girls and P.J. and Paul are moving out). And parts of me think of things Patty said.

However I look at it, I know nothing. I am essentially as unaware of what was really going on, and of what Faith was really feeling, as I was in the beginning in those difficult times I mentioned in past entries.

Well, she's gone. Mom asked me if I thought I'd ever hear from her again. And I had to answer no. I don't think so. I think I was a dream which she was chasing. And when the fairy tale didn't unfold, she left. You just don't do someone you really love like she did me.

So how do I feel? Same as ever. Same as I have since my mid-teens. A little lost. A little lonely. I've tried to consider what I feel for Faith right now, and all I can say is that I'm glad it's over. Well, perhaps I should say that I'm glad there is finally some kind of resolution. I won't have to worry about stepping on anyone's toes anymore. I won't have to feel guilty when I get something to eat. I won't worry
that someone is going to spout a hushed “Jesus Christ” if I forget to cap the toothpaste.

But the house is still empty. And I'm still sad. This relationship cost me everything. Chris has my Stratocaster. Mark has my Alembic. My keyboard is gone. My 4-track is gone. My processors are gone. And all I have to show for the sacrifices is a pint of Jack Daniels which she gave me, that once belonged to her dad.

Well, anyway. I just started writing this to take a break. I've been loading the truck and don't really have much more to go. All the major stuff is on there. The chairs. The books. The desks. All that really remains is my end table, the chair I'm sitting in, and the computer. Everything else is just minor details which I'll probably throw into one big box (if I have enough tape to make another).

Guess I'd better get to work. I still need to wash some clothes after I finish this. And I'm looking at another eight hours on the road.

Jesus. And all this for a few short weeks of a decent relationship. We only really had the first two weeks. After that it was hell. But then, I suppose I can always remember the dream. And I can always think of the better points. Playing with the girls. Listening to Lindsay and Mollie sing like wild banshees. Or watching them play aerobics instructor. Faith's laughter. All the wonderful talks we had on the computer and on the phone. All the imagined and needed passion. And I can always remember our little week together. When we first came down. When it all seemed possible. We both looked forward to a moment in the sun.