promise me you won't always be sad like charlotte
2003-11-18 || 6:10 p.m.

And so yes, it's easier to write about Charlotte than it is to write about me.

It's easier to pretend to be Charlotte. To describe how she didn't mean to upset people. How she didn't mean to forget stuff. How she didn't mean to be odd, strange and prickly. And to explain how sometimes she just had to be alone because everything just got too much.

And just like Charlotte, sometimes I feel a complete dislocation from myself. I don't know that I'd recognise myself if I saw me somewhere else. However, unlike Charlotte I would recognise my hands. I have a small smile-shaped scar on the back of my right hand and when I turn my hands palm-upwards I have lines that make palmists turn visibly pale and shake.

You don't want to know the truths my hands hold.

And everywhere that Charlotte lived was large, cold and uninviting. The people who were real to her, who made her feel whole, were far away. Real-life ghosts almost. And the ghosts were real.

And the things that could make me feel real have always been far away and the real people have always been distant.

And I don't mean to be cold and distant, just like Charlotte didn't mean to be cold and distant. I hate the constant feeling of wanting to burst into tears for all the things I have not done.

And just like Charlotte both loved and hated her different lives, so I wonder what it would be like to feel normal and yet I never want to give up all the times I float through.

And unlike Charlotte, because I don't know that she ever thought about it, I hope that the love I send is enough.