To the Man in my Life who is no Longer

I tried to try.  I really did on this one.  This was me at my most effort and still the resolution is the same.  I think you were right in things once said.  I'm not ready either.  I thought I could be and I really wanted to.  I like my space.  I love my time.  It's the only thing that matters most.  I won't force you to stay and I won't ask you to wait...even if I want both of those.  I'm simply not ready to be the person you needed me to be.

We bickered often about things we were passionate about.  I knew a different tongue than you and things got so complicated so fast.  We remained because our connection was so strong but life has other plans for you and for me.

Je t'aime

I believe that anything I have ever written has been for one person.  The suffering has to amount to something and if that means I can weave a web of entertaining or touching or melancholic words, than I suppose it's all been worth it.  No matter the cost I am compelled to write my story.  The heartbreak.  The loneliness.  The suffocation of my own existence.  I believe myself to be too unstructured to write in the conventional sense.  There is no place for feeling in our contemporary times.  Sensationalism is far too seductive a technique.  I mean not to sensationalize;  If only to tell my truth and to have the world bend its ear in my general direction.  How fabulous to be recognized in one's own time.  Perhaps I blow my own horn a tad too hard.  I have been known to be of the dramatic.

All histrionics aside, I want to abide by a life of creativity and passion.  Far too often the passion escapes me as the sadness settles in but we all must learn to press on.  I have loved.  A great and mysterious and unsuspecting love.  My eyes met his and that was it for me.  To this day I don't think he truly realizes the extent.  I don't really either.  I know that the majority of my major life's decisions have been based on that love.  It's so difficult for me to write when I'm happy.  I wonder if my words will ever be worth the price I've paid for them.

I remember you everyday.

The notion of impermanence has risen in my thoughts as of late.  I'm reading about several great thinkers in history who walked their own original path, often against the societal conflict they faced.  Could I ever be so courageous?  Could I ever grow so weary of these expectations to, as Stevie Nicks so eloquently puts it, go my own way?  The grace and inevitability of change is not lost on me.  I just wonder at what cost to my heart these changes must progress.  I suppose I need to adopt the concept that just because something is in memory, does not automatically diminish its worth.  How do I go on living a life in which I know parts of it have gone unlived?  I have not lived through the great love I thought I could have because life in all of its intricacies got in the way.  Life sometimes moves too fast for love and now I must accept that you have moved on, to have great love with another.  I have followed you to the edges of my sanity and now I must face this emptiness alone.  

Potent-ial

What a deliberate rouse this life we've been blessed with is.  We are given such abilities, emotions, thoughts, patterns, and yet we have no control.  We have no say.  We have all of this 'potential' and no delivery.  I had delivery as an actor.  I had presence.  i had potential.  I feel so very separate from all of that now;  As though that was all a part of the dream of what reality represents.  I don't want to represent an element of what it means to be real...I just want to be it.  I want to feel it.  I want there to be more than just my senses.

Potential is the word given to dreams unrealized.  I had dreams.  The closer I become to becoming myself the further I feel removed from the things I once cared for.  What does that fucking mean?  Am I more of a shell or less?  Isn't more and less the same elements of a coin flipped in the air to determine how a day will play out?  Probably.

Sometimes a depressor becomes the depress-ee.  

My Phone Rang Today

My phone rang today and it had been so long since it had done such a thing that I didn't even recognize it and nearly missed the call.  It was just the salon confirming my appointment.  Weird how use to things a person can become.  I got use to you pulling away.  The more you did, the more I wanted.  You came back from your big weekend abroad and said, 'I left with the hope of meeting someone else.'

That killed me.

So after death I walked around with shutters on;  Pretending I was happy and with someone who felt the same.  I get that I'm a part of this.  I just wish I was privy to the knowledge earlier on that we weren't happening.  Why didn't you confide in me that it wasn't happening for you?  Why do people do that?  If you had been straight with me instead of distancing yourself until I felt like I was the darkest one, most if not all of this heartache could have been alleviated.  Why can we not be honest with one another?  What kept you from being honest with me?  Not wanting to hurt me only drew the pain closer to the surface.  Now I'm raw and alone...not for long.

I'm beginning a new experiment.  I know not of his name but that he seems kind and enjoys to walk.  You hated walking but obliged me for whatever reason.  I'm sick of being obliged.  You like it or you don't.  You like me or you don't.  There is no grey area anymore.  This is my goal.

Maybe I Am

Sometimes I feel like I revert to old ways.  Like unbeknownst to me I become the person I once was.  I can be angry.  I'm not just that.  At least I don't think I am.  Perhaps I am but only my perception of me trying not to be is the difference.  I feel like I don't give myself permission to feel without scrutiny.  Without judgement.  I use to be negative all of the times.  Now I feel a slow progression to something else.  Maybe it's growing up.  Maybe it's my need for something other than tension and dis-ease.  I can be angry but sometimes I feel that I allude to that being my only state.  It's as though the world perceives me as having nothing else to offer but a quick whip, a stern tongue lashed with sarcasm and vitriol... two dimensional character in a life led alone and fearful.  My fear is lessened daily but then why do I revert?  I wrote some things a bit ago that I recently posted.  I posted them more for lack of having posted of late than to actually get things out.  Writing helped to get them out and I didn't need the world to be a part but I posted them anyhow.  I wonder why.  Closure maybe.  Maybe I'm still the same person I've been struggling against and until I can accept that girl and all of her shit, I'll never be free from the shit I've imposed upon myself for years.

I thought I remembered not being this way.  Maybe I only thought this because of how tired I feel;  Knowing there was no way I could have carried on this long in this manner.  Perhaps I was truly fresh at one point.  Bitterness had yet to rear it's toxic head and I was free to choose without the past affecting me so.  Now all I see are patterns of things once learned and I keep away from that hot surface or that cold element.  Struggle I do between comfort and ease.  I have felt a balanced place before but to sustain seems nearing on the impossible.  Maybe I should accept that.  Accept the fact that no one person can ever just be one thing forever.  No amount of peaceful thinking or meditation or impermeability or perceived pain can ever rule out any one thought.  If everything is impermanent than why do I expect goodness to reign supreme or happiness to last forever?  Why do I expect that from other people if it's inconceivable for myself?  I think I'm an asshole and so very tired.

Hunny Bunny

Fuck It.  I cannot control what comes out right now so I'm just gonna go with it.  This isn't about you.  It's about me scraping out my brain full of the shit that I don't want rattling around in there anymore.  "Write it down", all the experts say...well, and why not for the whole world to read and pass judgement on.  Fuck It.

I spent the first six months of our relationship listening to you speak in vivid detail about your ex.  Six months of you wallowing, contemplating and attempting to come to terms with a crazy bitch that took your virginity and messed with your mind.  Your beautiful, fragile, open and compelling mind.  I'm sorry that happened to you but I didn't need to hear about it.  I allowed you to drone on and on because I liked it when you smiled and how wide your shoulders were.

I slept on the couch while you and your bestie slept in the same bed together when we all hung out.  I felt so fucking low that night and I don't know why I stayed.  I enjoyed making you laugh and your mom seemed cool.

I stuck around while your parents disappointed you and the world shat on your ideas.  I took you places you've never been and opened you to a world you've always lived in and never noticed.  You helped me feel alive and new once more.  Oh those defining moments...

Two years later and we're not exactly hating one another but shit be broke.  I allowed the world in and you shut it all out.  You bury yourself in music, technology, blading, drugs, anything to keep you from a single silent moment with that special voice inside your head that only you can hear.  I'm not blaming you.  I'm trying not to blame me.  It's over and for now, that's for the best.

You can't stand on the backs of other people to get what you want.  You can't burden others with your money woes because you want what you want when you want it.  Well, I guess you can because we'll let you.  I cooked, cleaned and took care of you as best I could.  I became your apartment mother.  Tried not to...but you know what they say about the best intentions.  I felt drained.  A shell.  I was becoming someone who didn't enjoy being alive.  I clung to you and your needs like a fly to that last grain of sugar in the bottom of the bowl.  If you love someone, you put their needs above your own.  The other should reciprocate and love prevails!  That's not how things went.  You dug your heels in deeper as I tried to drag you across the carpet to commitment.  I just wanted to belong to you, with you.  Your shit got so annoying and unappealing.  Two years and you still live at home, suckling off the teat of dearest mummy who can't fucking stand ya'll being there.  Two years later and you think the world owes you favors cuz you had it rough.  Two years later and neither one of us can stand the effort it takes to be honest with the other.  Two years later and we have regressed to silence and contempt.

Now I feel relief.  I miss you but you're an asshole.  You take and take and look at me with those gorgeous eyes and I melt and give and give.  Still, with this entry I'm giving away my post.  I acted like a lunatic.  This I know all too well.  You chose to love me how you needed to, all the while denying me my needs.  You dismissed what I wanted from you because you couldn't speak the language...nope, you just weren't listening.  You still can't see it and I'm done being your teacher.  Now you have a swath of scummy friends to learn you how to treat women and get nothing in return but venereal disease and an empty hole where your heart use to be.  Do you want to get understood?  Or do you want to live in Sainthood flipping back pages to understand yourself?  That's the way love comes.

Just think what I would have wrote had I actually been pissed off?

Back-Burner

I hung out tonight with someone I thought I should hate.  She is beautiful and probably smart...I don't even know...and well-dressed and eloquent in speech and manner.  I thought I should hate her because she seemed so very different from me.  Not for all of the things mentioned above but because I thought I already knew her.  Let's face it.  I did.  I do.  She kind of sucks.  I let my guard down.  Free wine tends to lean a twisted branch in the general direction of drunken desultory.

I spoke to said girly-girl.  She was kind enough, just really boring and predictable like most girls that dress and act like her.  She's bought in.  She bought in to the house, the car, the husband and her inevitable brood stirring in her loins as we spoke.  Gross.  She stands for everything I find so distasteful in society.  I was nice to her.  I was feeling all jolly warm and drunk inside so I didn't rip her meager empty life to shreds.  Now I'm the gross one because she will now go through existence not hating herself and her choices.  Dammit.  She will grow to be someones' role model.  She will create a bunch of offspring just like her and the world turns once more.  Boring.  Desolate.  Certain.  Perhaps that's what pisses me off most;  These people are certain in their creations of nihility.  This is the way my parents did it, therefore...I am.  So it is.  So fucking question-less.  So content.  I can pretend too, you know.  I have.  I did.  It felt good to feel included.  Like I was part of something collective, connected and bigger.  Then I realized these people have not the foggiest clue what they speak of.  They are scrambling for meaning in a world that bears fruit of no sort.  It's sad.  It's embarrassing.

I don't think I've ever wanted to be one.  Really.  I've played the part once or twice but I grew so very weary of the performance.  The posturing.  I want to be a Thai dude speaking at TED about saving seeds and building houses for my neighbors cuz apparently land is free in Thailand.  Let's all stop dedicating our lives to things we need to follow and create something real.  Let's feed each other more than the bullshit pictures we take on Facebook.  Live your life for you, not your following.  Travel to go deeper into yourself, not for the constant photo ops people are screaming for as they sit in their homes they can't afford to view the world through the computer lens.  Go to school for your brain and the benefit of society, not for the achievement and bragging rights about how difficult school was to manage with your drinking and social nights.  Love the world because you love yourself and fuck the rest.  Stop showing us the you you think we want to see.  Everybody gets one.  Only one.  Make it count.