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What would you do, if the man you were falling in love with had a wife, children, a life that you know could never be yours?
The look in Suzanne's eyes, the flush of tingling that breaches my noses to only imagine what she could possibly be feeling.
Heart. Ache.
I can't say that I know exactly what that must feel like. But how lucky. To feel like that is nothing but evidence that you can care that deeply, fall that hopefully into love.
What happens when a lie you've been hiding your entire adult life unravels in front of you, your wife looking at you like you're a stranger. The cry of the baby reminding you of all you've built together. "All this."
Sometimes, I think about the lonely nights that await my return in the City of Fog. I know they're by choice, by and large. But I will not accept anything less than what I deserve. I will choose to be alone in my apartment, watching old films and choking up by myself, rather than being in a overcrowded room with a bunch of children so eager to "party it up" they lose sight of themselves. I sound high and mighty? Don't care. Don't mean to be. I'm tired of being alone, I'm waiting for you to get here. But I won't compromise myself for my "youth."
I'm tired of waiting, but I'll wait a little while longer if it means I get to feel it all when you do show up.
ANYTHING can be art but NOT EVERYTHING is art.
We need to place a higher value on ART.
Not everyone with a camera is a photographer. Just because you took a picture of a lawnchair and desaturated it, does NOT make that art.
Art is supposed to MEAN something. Just like Van Gogh painting Starry, Starry Night meant something to HIMSELF and later, the WORLD means something. I'm sick and tired of people taking ordinary, substandard pictures and doing some fancyfootwork on Photoshop on them, posting them on Facebook and then getting lauded as "a great photographer." "Damn, that's ART, man." NO IT'S FUCKING NOT. True artists should know not to squander their talents on trivial pursuits. You know how many canvases were thrown away before Picasso created a masterpiece?
I think of myself, on my best days, as an artist. I don't need anyone or anything to qualify me as such. Anyone can be an artist. Just like anyone can cook. But not everyone is an artist. Art is something that is derived from thoughtful nitpicking and more importantly, luck. I really do believe that you're just in the right place, in the right time and you've got the skill to take advantage of that perfect moment. I think great artists are just ordinary people with beautiful souls and this power to reach within and draw out something completely raw. And with the right tools, on the right day with the right light piercing through the window panes, art is created. And yes, more established artists such as Annie Leibovitz are lucky to have the resources to hopefully bring that lucky equation together again and again.
We take thousands and thousands of photos in hopes of finding that one, perfect picture. That captures the essence of everything we want to say but know that even words cannot deliver. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but I think all great art does the same. Captures something more powerful than words, more poignant than anything else - an idea. A carefully put together or cathartic release of soulful energy that manifests into an idea.
And I do it for me. I don't care if you think my shit is good or not. It's a fragment of soul. It's breathtaking to be able to create. And if it doesn't fall into your standard of "beautiful" or "art" I could give less of a shit. Because thriving on other people's approval will only lead to a thirsty death. I don't need to prove myself because I am not just one thing, to be defined by anyone. The constructive criticism is cherished, the recognition and praise are just perks.
I will never do it for anyone but me.
Lots of things have come to make themselves clear to me in the last couple days. And maybe I need to let it all stew a little longer before I can write about it all. But let's break it down to this.
Fuck you and your pride.
It's not that I didn't try, because I did. Again and again to the point where I was pathetic as shit.
But I have always been one to come only slightly short of beating the dead horse. I don't ever want to regret. So I try.
But you're the one that let us get like this. This is all on you.
I'm not going to let you make me sad anymore.
It wasn't even you all along.
It was all just so much, at the time I didn't understand what was happening.
Why I was so sad. Why it all hurt so much.
Because I've come to realize that it wasn't just that I lost you. I lost my best friend too.
In one fell swoop, I lost two very important people to me. I felt bare. I had no one to talk to.
But I tried. So fuck you both and your pride.
It's going to be really lonely. But that really is the measure of character, isn't it?
I knew from the very beginning this path was going to be a lonely one.
Stop.
Stop letting people dictate your life and blaming others for the bad things that happen to you.
We are the masters of our lives.
Don't perpetuate the stereotype because it makes you a fool.
If you don't like how life is going, change it. That's all there is to it.
Don't let negativity color your view on life. It can be a beautiful place if you let it.
I saw a quote on Tumblr the other day. It went something like "Make yourself someone worth loving"
I think everyone is worth loving. Right now, it's about holding on until it's your time.
I know my time will come, and so will yours. We'll find people who are grown the fuck up and can love us like we deserve.
And it won't be easy, it'll be fucking hard. But it'll be worth it.
Somewhere in the dust of the happenings last night, it has definitely disappeared. Augh.
One of my summer goals is to "educate myself in film studies." i.e. watch a shit-ton of movies.
So far, the list looks something like -
Art & Copy 5/24
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus 5/25
Dear John (again) 5/25
Finally being home has been good for my soul. Good like I can feel it. The sense of belonging, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the blowing up of my phone. I feel so blessed that I am back where I know I belong. I've been aching for home for so long, it got to a point where I was afraid it was myself I was trying to run away from. But there is this comfort I feel. Not a settling feeling, just a knowing that I am where I am supposed to be. Not that I'm quitting school or anything. I hope it'll get better when I return to NorCal, but I can't help but completely let myself go when I'm home. The familiar roads, the nightly excursions or nights-in with my closest, the laughing and joking. It feels damn good to be home.
I've taken the liberty of unpacking at a slow rate. And while I know it irks my dad to no end, I'm enjoying the process at this rate.
Had an almost all-nighter with Jolyn last night in which we sat on my bed and talked about all the things we've never talked about with anyone else. And it was so nice. We laughed, we aww'd and we gasped at one another's stories. Truly, it felt amazing to be back in the vicinity of my partner-in-crime. It felt so good to connect and understand one another. We talked about exs, hopes, etc and it was just such a release.
It got me to thinking about him. Like I haven't let myself in a long while. Thought of about the effect he had on me. The things we had in common. The good and more importantly, the bad. I miss him, yeah. Haven't seen him since the last time I was in his arms. Strange to think of it like that, but there you go.
I only pray that someday I will find another. Someone who will make me laugh more than he makes me cry. Someone who will fight for me, fight with me, to prove me wrong to show me how much he loves me. How much he cares. Someone who will do without asking. Someone who will adore me for me, flaws and all.
A girl can dream right?
I have been torn apart, roiled up, muddied and singed. This year has been such a struggle. Filled with so much yearning and confusion. So much broken hope and clinging fear.
Sometimes we have to remember that no matter what, some people just can't give us what we want of them.
We can want and want, but sometimes you encounter someone that just can't give you what you need. Not because they don't want to, but perhaps because they may not be able to.
It's so discouraging because I thought I had found a best friend. But over the weeks, things started disintegrating.
And as a wise person once told me, expressive people search for something in others, and those who cannot express just take away so much.
It's physically so hard to reach out when that other person is there, but can't feel you. It's that feeling where you can miss someone and they are physically sitting right next to you. You think of the good times you've shared and it almost is impossible to believe that was it. All you get. Things change. I know that. Life changes but maybe I thought I had more time. More time to cherish, more time to feel safe. Before it was taken away.
I know I need to put in more effort, try. But I haven't felt that spark of life from anyone I've met out here. Nothing that indicates they'd be a ride-or-die. And I guess I'm tired of being disappointed.
I crave someone who will be down. Someone who puts up with my shit. Needs me like I need them. Try because I try.
I was riding the bus today and just imagined the next three years. Getting through a string of lonely slumps. Pictured it going as it has been. And I felt so awful. So miserable. I wished that I was done with school so I could just up and leave, go searching for my happiness.
But this city IS a big city. I'm holding onto hope. Please let me find someone to love the city with. A friend, honest and true. Down as hell. Someone who I won't get sick of, who won't get sick of me. Someone I see eye to eye with, but also differ from. I feel like I met so many more of those types down in SoCal. I don't know.
I like being alone. I just hate being lonely.
This past weekend was my last in San Francisco for the foreseeable future. And whilst I've met some pretty cool people recently, I felt no urge to go out and drink with them. Instead, I opted for a warm night in, between my warm duvet cover and sheets, where I finished Band of Brothers, tumblred and dozed. Truth of the matter is, there is no one that really ties me to this beautiful city. No one that is my anchor in any sense of the word. Everyone's got something. And I've got somethings, but not someone. Not that I want a relationship, because at this point, I am far too damaged to ask for anything of that sort. Just no one reliable that needs me around, that I can party with but also whisper secrets to at the end of the night when my brain is just groggy with emotions and half-bitten words. I miss home. I miss LA, the place where I am determined my monsters will stay at bay.
Maybe it is wishful thinking, that I will be exponentially happier there, surrounded by friends and family. That it never rains, everyday is blessed with warmth and sunshine and chemically enhanced sunsets. I'm scared, that I'll go back and feel just as caged and uninspired as I did the summer before I left. But I think I'm different now. I appreciate being near my kin so much more, I think.
They say home is where the heart is. And my best friend has told me on several occasions that I am strong enough to make my place anywhere I go. And I'd like to believe that, I just wonder why this city has been such a challenge. No one that really touch my soul like other places have. It's superficial, fleeting like the fog. Disappointing.
I've grown up a lot. Experienced somethings that have molded me, pushed me and tore me apart. And for that I must be grateful. That God has blessed me with things I can handle, push past and move forward. I am marked forever, in one way more, by my experiences here.
Soon I'll have an apartment here, a place I can call my own. Decorate and weave new memories from. And for that I am excited.
This summer brims with promises of sunny days filled with laughter, "loud interactions", turned heads and shared stories. I am enthralled at the idea of getting back. Back to the arms of my family, my friends, my city.
I only hope, pray that when I come back, it's a little easier. Not like starting over. Just different. That I meet some people, some one that will change how I look at the world. Because that's all I've really asked for from this lifetime. Some more someones to mold me, hurt me, save me. That I have a person to go out to dinner to, party with, browse a bookstore, thrift with. A best friend in the Bay.
Nothing compares to home, of course, but one can want their temporary nest to allow them to thrive, right?
I want to thrive up here. I am determined to thrive up here.
today, for the first time, in a very long time, i felt okay.
today, for the first time in a very long time, i had a normal day.
today, for the first time in a very long time, it felt like old times again.
today, for the first time in a very long time, i didn't feel like i was pretending.
i have thought about you, wracked my brain over the last words, last sentiments and last moments we had together.
i didn't want to see you because i knew it would be too much for me. because i am a coward. and i have never been able to be okay with seeing an old flame. because i am the jealous type. because i know i am weak and i know my dark side. because i refuse to submit to my jealousy and my wicked thinking. because there is evil in all of us, but i want to be a bad person.
i think it's ironic/coincidental/whatever that the first question to part your lips upon seeing a.j was "is she mad at me?" because no. i am not mad at you. i am too stupid to be mad at you. i was sad. sad for you. sad for me. sad for a missed opportunity. as mentioned in an abundance of katherines: isn't it silly to ache for something that never was? to feel like a part of you is missing when it wasn't supposed to be there in the first place? how can we feel despair for something that's never happened? to be forlorn for a camping trip that never happened. to constantly mull over the black and white photobooth strip that we never took together.
i don't know why you meant so much to me. why your lips were the only ones i have ever enjoyed. why everyone was so hesitant to let me be sad about you. why my heart pounded with exceptional force against my chest when i realised you stood merely a wall away from me. i had not expected you to be there. i didn't know why it felt like suddenly my lungs had been drained of air. why i for once, took the other option, and flew off.
but i couldn't fight for you forever. i couldn't stand the humiliation, the sting of indifference that rang in your voice all those times that i submitted to calling you. to you, it might have been a game. but to me. i think, i think that this was the first time, in a very long time, i had allowed myself to hope. to plan for a future. to invest my happiness in someone because i could trust them. and as much as i want to spite you and love and swear to never let it happen again, i know otherwise.
i hope that one day, you find yourself. that you figure out what you want without the clouds of mary jane there to help or hinder you. that you figure out you are a good person, with a good heart and good intentions and one day, a long time ago, a person like me, saw all that. i hope that you find yourself and that the clouds part and you are happy with what you have. and i hope that one day, you find someone. and she will be lucky to have you. and you'll love her with everything that you found, that's new and whole. you deserve her. and i hope you two love easily.
i am allowing myself to hope again. to hope that this gets easier. to hope that one day, i might find someone to love me, fight with me, and still hold me close.
a part of me, small and ineffectual wants to know that this really isn't the end. but a larger part wants this chapter to end. wants this peace to settle and a new chapter to start. and i believe it. because if we do meet again, you won't be the same person, and nor will i. another lifetime. another chapter. one can hope. but never dwell.
for the first time in a long time, i feel okay.
Things are as undefined as they were a few days ago. But I think I am different.
And I think that is a good thing.
I don't know how to explain to you, or anyone else what this one meant. What hopes I allowed myself to have, and how foolish I have felt since. But I am allowed this bit of overreaction. I am allowed this bit of despair. Because I never rushed you to just "get over it." And I never told you he "didn't do anything for you." I always allowed you blather on about the hurt and the pain. And I think I am owed at least that. Because it's not easy. And I know that it was only a matter of days, only a matter of weeks. And it should have been of no consequence. But it was.
I felt the beat in my fingers. And while the feelings don't linger. (Because they're not allowed to.) It happened.
It happened and I get to be sad about it. Maybe not forever, maybe not even for much longer. But I am allowed to be sad.
I was scared. Because everything seemed to drive me back to the same point. Confusion, misunderstanding. Not allowing myself to regret anything. But I was weak. I had my moments, my failures. And I was informed that I was being stupid. Of course I was being stupid. I knew I was being stupid. But you can't help it. You can't just stop feeling. I wanted to. I tried. But I didn't want to become him.
I've gone through the last couple days holding onto shreds. Praying it gets easier. And it has.
I know it comes off as dramatic. Maybe it is a little bit. I don't know.
I'm not sure of much anymore. Certain things, but other things remain hazy.
I don't know how to look into the future anymore. I'm getting by focusing on one day at a time. One task, one moment.
I can't explain to you what happened or what I wished happened. All I know is that it did. And I can't help the remorse, the sting of defeat.
I don't allow myself to hope for anything. For him. For anything.
It's all jumbled up in my head. And I wanted to work things out. In words. But the lash back reminded me this was something I had to face pretty much alone. I get that. Just disappointed. That I have to lie and tell you something else.
I'm okay for the most part. I think it's safe to say it's gotten a little easier.
I am lucky, I guess.
But I still have moments. Throughout the day. Where I have to close my eyes.
Because I just want to hold onto the memory for as long as I can.
Or because I'm letting go, as fast as I can manage. I don't know which.
I was never good at any of this.
This is a pain I'm not quite familiar with.
But I get to say what's on my mind, what I'm feeling.
I'm at least entitled that.
i let myself cry over him.
and his words, or lack thereof, spoke to me. contrary to his actions. and they all hurt.
i don't want to move from this bed.
but i want to pack up everything that belongs to him, littered across my room.
and put them in a box in my closet.
but i don't know how.
i don't know what to do.
meeting his family has developed an attachment, he tells me things that leads me to believe i'm important in some way.
but the affections are lingering, his promises come up empty or half-assed.
i think he knows how to make me happy, he just can't or won't.
because i don't mean enough?
i don't anymore?
i want to sleep without dreaming, without thinking.
i want to hear from his lips. i want to see the expression on his face.
i want to walk away but the horizon has never been emptier.
does he not know? how can he not know how into him i am, how hurtful he has been?
is it malicious? or is it just ignorance?
does it matter?
i don't want to hurt anymore. i don't want to get out of bed. i don't want to go to work.
i just want to see the sun again.
and i know that's something to be said lightly.
it's gripping. overwhelming
where i look back and the memories flood my sense,
but in a good way.
songs sound crisper. things taste better. things feel stronger.
distance makes me ache
instead of the usual welcome mat i throw out for separation
it actually aches.
physically marked & yet i feel weightless.
i miss you
and i'm scared.
