about a boy...

Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

I am going to be twenty-six years old and once again got dumped. I’m not sure what’s the point of telling someone that you love them. Not entirely sure what’s the point of telling a person all of your secrets. We seem to invest so much of ourselves into a person at the risk that any moment this individual may leave, and not only with your pieces, but with a far greater trophy; one’s heart.

It seems to be as time goes by humans want someone to spend the rest of their life with into old age. The future scares me, as it does for many people. What is the guarantee that you will be with a person forever? What is the guarantee of anything? There isn’t.

What’s so hard of enjoying someone in the present? More. Enough. What is enough?

Life is a choice. Everyday you choose something. You choose to have a good day. You choose to press the snooze button. You choose to go back on your phone and look at old photos, cough. Life is what you make it.

As I was being dumped, which by the way was a mess due to my OCD of needing ‘closure,’ which also wasn’t granted,  I saw a change in his tone. During the midst of my tears he told me “This is life. You don’t get what you want.” How could someone say that? That’s not life. That’s survival. I was brought up with the notion if you want something you go out and get it; you give it your all. I was under the simple thought that if you want someone, be with them, why was it so hard? Contradictory statements were all that I got. “I love you, and I want to be with you, but I don’t want to work it out anymore.” This is what I got. This is what I was left with. Confusion. Obviously, he didn’t want it hard enough.

This was a person who loved me more than I ever knew. I knew he loved me, I absolutely knew he loved me. Yet, in that moment, I couldn’t convince myself that he did. The glass was shattered. He no longer felt and thought with his heart, his actions and words were sharp, cold, and analytical. Being in love blinds us from logic, while simply loving a person is enough to see what the world sees; for the person to back away and think with logic. This is how I knew it was done.

I am going to be twenty-six and had an interesting twenty-five. I got to spend it with a person that I truly loved. I wasn’t settling, I wasn’t looking. This guy just came to me. Sparks flew and I fell in love. It didn’t happen over night, but once I let the past go I was ready to take this person’s hand. Maybe I dropped the past too late? Maybe fear was the beast to blame? I won’t know. I didn’t want to be another lesson, or learn anything. I don’t even want to figure out what went wrong. Twenty-five pushed myself in this world than most years. Twenty-five gave me someone who I’ll always remember. Someone who actually got me. Didn’t turn me away while I went crazy, and who I found more than comfort in his arms. We were the same height. He had a tortoise. And we were two years and one day apart. Within that year I felt love a second time around, felt a person crawl under my skin, had him in my mind, and he stepped inside my heart. People stay as long as they need to be, if that’s what you believe. People stay as long as they want to be, what I believe.

As long as you fight for anything with your heart, you will not hold regrets.

I fought.

I lost the battle.

Yet not the war.

Twenty-six, I await you with welcoming arms.

 

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about a boy...

Give me a sign…without the fine.

” I’m bad luck to be around”

“what, no, it’s not your fault.”

“every time we hang out something happens. not speaking about sex.”

“like what?”

“like what? they just towed your truck because I’m here. You got every single parking ticket due to me. you got pulled over, because of me. and for some odd reason i always accidentally hit you in the eye.”

he laughs in between a smile momentarily distracting himself from the current situation. tallying up what I mentioned knowing it’s all true, as if weighing if it was all worth it.

“hmm…you’re right.”

“yes, I am. now you owe $345 to get a truck out of the pound that isn’t even yours! because of me.”

“it’s ok.” again, momentarily distracting himself from the strain of bad luck that happened within 2 hours of  us having sex. A $345 night of passion between ex-lovers. He seemed to ride it off. he weighed it in front of me, as his eyes met mine.

I think I was worth it.

It wasn’t the time to smile but I couldn’t help myself in that moment. I was asking for signs left and right, and maybe this was one. the silver lining of the night; staying there. I quickly passed these thoughts to the corner to later be dwelled and analyzed upon. back to his eyes I went.

“by the way, thanks for the ride to my interview. again if you didn’t drive me, they wouldn’t have towed your truck.”

“anytime.”

I had a job interview yesterday and the only one that came to my rescue was my “ex.” i just wasted my gas money on the previous interview, which seemed like a waste of time looking back, and no one cared enough to help me out or even stress that I am trying to get my life back. It would’ve taken 5 busses for me to get to the block of orange for my interview which broke down to at least 4 hours of brutal travel. For that amount of time I would’ve gone to Vegas, drank, and done incredibly stupid things.

I think the interview went fine, considering it’s the same company I worked for before in San Francisco, just different location. I’ll know within 3 days. After the stupidest questions to describe what I did in said situations and how much I can kiss a customers butt, I got a tour of the store. I applied extra chapstick that day.

I stuttered towards the end clicking my heels to push out the words stuck in my throat. She didn’t mind. The short, blonde, porcelain princess that was across from me smiled the whole time. I thought it was over but there was only a 2 minute break before the second manager came in to grill me like a cheese sandwich. Out of all the people I didn’t think this woman would be a familiar face. A washed out bubbly girl entered breaking the awkwardness that we know each other. Of course she was a former manager in my last store within the company. We never really saw eye to eye and I did my best to pucker up. Again, having the chapstick handy. She was the final say and I now worry about the longest 3 days of my life.

25 minutes passed and I went out to meet my ex and go on with our day. Again, in an attempt of trying to hold on to each other we developed some sort of friendship, or relationship that is a mutant with no name. We opened up on the ride back to his house and simply vented the insanity that we deal with daily.

I wore Oxford heels, tights, a black skirt and a leopard blouse that exuded my professionalism as well as the curves of my body. The occasion couldn’t have been more perfect. I had a reason to be dressed up and knew what I was doing to him.

His eyes followed my long legs when I lifted one on a chair  to dust my stockings after I got out of the truck. Our eyes met and we killed each other when we were inside. The countdown began.

His roommate killed the first half and I hung on by watching “Goodfellas.” One of my favorite mob movies. Finally getting rid of him we had the place to ourselves. He closed the door and pushed me on the couch. Our breaths held up the drumroll in our movements that were restricted all day. Everything built up exploded. Every back scratching, shoulder biting, thigh clenching scenario possible.

and in the end we cuddled. I tried not to over analyze, just feel, but still searched for my sign.

Then…they towed his truck.

why?

because we couldn’t wait, and he parked it inside his complex without the permit.

I was worth $345.

I didn’t know what to say when his face dropped understanding that they just towed his stepfather’s truck. What kind of sign is this?

He didn’t get the bad luck that was happening to him all week and I didn’t get it either. All I knew was that I had no choice to spend the night in Ontario, to spend it in his bed. I didn’t want to be happy, but this little girl did cartwheels in my head.

The further I try to get away from him…the more tow trucks come into place, the more cops follow us, and a line of parking tickets connect us.

The message I received from this: People in uniform don’t like me.

Is this my sign?

 

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about a boy...

About a boy…

mom: “Which is easier, falling in love or falling out of love?”

me: “falling in love.”

mom: “why?”

me:”…because when you fall in love, you only know what you see and what you feel. It hits you fast or slow but that’s all you know. Falling out is hard, but not impossible. you’ll always have memories and more than what you see or feel. that’s when you think. you don’t think when you fall in love.”

This is how it started, how a simple question triggered me to write this.

I’ve been in a block, a horrible disease cursed on writers. this passion in every word I use to write about had a start. It was always about a boy. This muse and inspiration that believes in me more and more as the years go by. An ex-lover by society’s titles. A boy, who is now a man, that continues to this day to be there for me. Even at the end of the day, a boy who gives me the emotion I need to write. The courage to face my past, more strength to realize what I’ve accomplished, and the sense of a bigger purpose for myself in this universe.

I wish I could tell him the truth, this horrible tangle of secrets.

Because regardless of technicalities, he told me the truth about her and killed me worse than imagined.

Because of technicalities, I never told him about them. There was no title in my situations, no one died.

I want to start from the beginning, when I first laid eyes on him 6 years ago when we were just strangers, to lovers, to friends, to a love that expired the use of labels.

how I used guys, and how I may have mentioned names but he never knew it all. Never knew who I slept with, who I kissed, who was there to help me forget him. It’s silly for this to even come up, it shouldn’t be an issue…yet it is.

I can’t fall out of love no matter how hard I try. No matter whose bed I wake up in.

I woke up in his bed this morning.
I woke up easily. no guilt. No dirt to be washed from my hands. I keep these little details hidden and tied the ends I needed and cut some along the way. That was easy for me. They were all there to help me forget. To replace. I wanted to feel, if I may be honest. I wanted to feel something new and took a piece from everyone I could.
…but in his bed. I felt new. A new feeling that evolved from the old. A new feeling that could only come from a previous one and no other replacement could get me that high.
Nothing else mattered on that mattress. I could count to you the problems that happened that day. The world fell apart, luck struck down…and there we were.
…because nothing else mattered.

The look I gave my mother, was a look she understood. She knew who I talked about when I looked down, replaying incidents in my head to produce those words. They all know who every word was written for, and the obvious battle in this war of love. When he showed up today, the murmurs and the assumptions that I felt from them couldn’t shake this smile that will carry me on to sleep.

She knows me well, my mother…she knew who I spoke about as my eyes looked down, desperately searching the back of my memories for a distraction. For reassurance…for him.

She knew it was about a boy…

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