I am way too old for that analogy.
That said, the only journal I've abandoned was Incognito, and only because I felt completely detached from the emotion expressed within. Or perhaps I wanted to fool myself into thinking I felt detached from that part of my life.
Truth be told, I do feel as if I am denying fate somehow by letting go of him. I know those same feelings are still boiling underneath the surface, but they are completely useless. After all, isn't it fate that placed us so far away from each other in the first place? He's such a beautiful person. I simply can't continue to chase after something(one) that I will never have.
Dimebag Darrell of Pantera fame died yesterday. What regurgitated crap that is, huh? Everyone's talking about it. Bet you heard it five times already. But I still have to say it because it's a compulsion, no, an obsession. I am obsessed with death.
I have to taste it, roll it around on my tongue. I have to try it on, walk around in it. It consumes me. I must fantasize (or ruminate) upon what it must be like to be absolutely nothing. Completely black. Void. Nonexistent. Perfect.
And so he's dead and now I am left with memories of my three years of high school (when Pantera was, of course, requisite listening). Smokey basements. Loud music. Heavy metal boys. Marijuana. Dusty futons. Bad trips. Christmas lights. Marijuana. Respect. Walk. Are you talking to me? Marijuana. Did I mention Marijuana? No wonder I don't smoke anymore.
RIP, Dimebag. You'll be getting more sleep than me.