Late night wanderings.

It's past 3a, dear diary, and I can't sleep. I sit here at the hotel suite's desk, writing to you on my laptop that's been through so much and still, somehow, functions for me. The white fluffy robe is wrapped tightly around me. My knees are drawn up to my chin. My hair is caught up in that messy-yet-incredibly-sexy state that most men go weak-kneed for. The small glass to my right bears a paste of mint leaves and sugar, the only remnants of the drink I thought might help relax me. It didn't.

And through your speakers, a Southern songbird sings words to me that I've set on repeat. This is at least the tenth time I've listened to them...and I think it's helping. For in this song, she describes the man lying in the bed just behind that open bedroom door. The man that threatens every ounce of control I've ever had over my heart, and over myself. The man that I know, from the depth of my being, I could lose myself in. I don't know him completely. I don't know that I ever will. I see the past hurt and the broken spirit in his eyes; yet I also recognize the light in them that burns each time it sees me. And each successive time that light gets a little brighter.

Do I try to heal him? Can I hope that my love will somehow change him? I don't know that I have enough faith in myself for such things, heart of my heart. How do I take a risk on someone when I don't know if I can take a risk on myself? He's so close. So very, very close. He knows how I work, how I function. I can't hide from him. Can't lie. Can't have my mask. Can't push him away like all the others...

The tears flow so easily now. It's been...since Hank that they've come like this. And as I stare at his silent, sleeping form...so peaceful, so beautiful...I am torn. Help me now, dear diary. I don't know where else to turn.

He drowns in his dreams,
An exquisite extreme, I know.
He’s as damned as he seems;
And more heaven than a heart could hold.
And if I try to save him,
My whole world could cave in.
It just ain't right.
No, it just ain't right.

Oh, and I don't know.
I don't know what is after.
But he's so beautiful,
Such a beautiful disaster.
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter,
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster.

He's magic and myth.
As strong as what I believe.
A tragedy with
More damage than a soul should see.
And do I try to change him?
So hard not to blame him.
Hold on tight.
Baby hold me tight.

Oh 'cause I don't know.
I don't know what is after.
But he’s so beautiful,
Such a beautiful disaster.
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter,
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster.

I'm longing for love and the logical,
But he's only happy hysterical.
I'm waiting for some kind of miracle.
Waited so long.
So long.

He’s soft to the touch,
But frayed at the end he breaks.
He’s never enough,
And still he's more than I can take.

Oh 'cause I don't know.
I don't know what is after.
But he's so beautiful,
Such a beautiful disaster.
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter,
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster.

He’s beautiful.
Such a beautiful disaster...


I want him, dear diary. All of him, broken as he is, even. Heaven knows, I do.