Getting worse

I'm getting worse.
I feel better by telling myself lies.

I've been listening to the Shins. I'm seeing meaning in places where I
shouldn't be...
Somehow just discovering that I adore the Shins, then finding them on my
computer in M's folder means that I had so much, but didn't realize
all that I had...  Maybe it's true.  But it does not matter now.

I started feeling worse than awful by pondering M in his new apartment
with furniture belonging to his cute internet friend...reading my
messages and thinking that I had gone insane...or maybe not even
getting the messages because he had been partying with friends, with
girls.. So I lied to myself.  I told myself that he
hadn't responded because he had gotten my message and got into his car
to immediately drive to me...

Last night I was dying thinking about walking on streets with him in
Kyoto.  He told me on the dark street next to the river that
his experience in Japan was made complete
by falling in love with me there....I was thinking about crying on the train as it
left the station to take me away; looking back as M put
on his ipod and looked away.  He told me later that he was not sad because he
was so sure of us....But, he took so long to get to me.  He was gone in
Japan, in Russia for *so* long.  And I was sad and struggling in the
meantime...missing him, trying to get settled in a new place with
Noel.  I would look up at the sky and miss him and think of him on the
other side of the world and feel hopeful.  But I hardened myself to survive.  I told
myself that I could handle it all, but then when he came, I couldn't
integrate him.  I was so used to pushing myself, to dealing with
everything with a set jaw, to making it on my own.  But independant
girl *really* wanted to be taken care of.  In Japan, he took care of
me, and that's what I wanted (want).

Why did he write so many things about how even my faults were perfect, about how I
was the center of his universe, about how he loved me?  He would
always sign "Love M", even when we were mad at each other.  Why did he
tell me things would be OK, that it would work out, that I would be beautiful when I was old and grey?  
Why did he dance with me the day he left me?

How will I ever believe any of these beautiful words from any other
lips?  How will I ever trust?  I don't think that I can ever trust
again.  And trust had been given so meagerly before, as it was...