I did love her. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. Call backs were posted. Her name was there. I didn’t know what to do. I made my commitment already. I wasn’t about to drop out. Besides, this was the show I was waiting for. This was a song, a few lines. It was perfect. It was the step I needed at the time I needed it. I couldn’t drop out. But I couldn’t go through that again. Not again. I needed to make a mends. I needed to forget my pride. I needed to try to be a friend. She didn’t want to be awkward either. If I had asked her she would’ve dropped out of the show, for my comfort’s sake. I couldn’t ask that. That’s friendship. True friendship. I needed to at least try to be as good a friend to her as she was willing to be for me. So I make a mends. In my heart. Lose my pride. Do my damnedest to let it go.
It took a few days. But I did it. I swallowed my pride. I let my heart forgive. I let my ideas of what should’ve been go. I want to be friends I said. She does too. J All is good. All is great. She doesn’t know I love her. She hasn’t known that. I wonder if she should. But I’ll wait. No need to bring that up.
Finally at peace. This show is all I wanted it to be. I love the cast. I love it all. And all is great. For the first time since Pirates, I can simply focus on my nerves and original goals. I feel free.
Time once again passes by too quickly. And I once again try to make things evolve sooner than what is natural. I can’t help it. It’s just the way I am. The world doesn’t operate on the same time table as me. We are always out of sync it seems.
We are so close now. Too close. Way too close. I have to tell her. But I can’t. She inspires me. For the first time in years I allow art to flow. I can write music again. I want to write music again. I want to draw. I want to paint. I can’t touch my guitar without playing her song. I feels sad. I don’t know why. This will not do. So paint. I paint. It’s free. I can’t contain it. This is my expression to her of how I feel. A visual expression. A pure un-adulterated expression of emotion without the bastardized word attached. It seems safe to me. A way to say something without having to say it. I really did love her. I can’t explain why. So many reasons. Far more depth than most people allow themselves. Fun, kind, thoughtful. I couldn’t say much when I gave it to her. I didn’t know what to say. I think I might have told her it was how I felt. I think she knew. Somewhere inside, I think she knew. It seemed good. We got closer. Closer than before. Again, too close.
It became too much. I couldn’t be the same friend to her that she could be to me. It wasn’t in me. I didn’t know how. It all seemed right. It all seemed good. I wanted another shot. I figured things where different from before. We were so much more than in the past. I asked again. Or, I thought I did. I am careful. I wanted to be clear. I don’t know anymore. Date? I’m not sure if I said the word anymore. At the time I was sure I did. But it doesn’t matter now. I set myself up for it either way. Even so, the circumstances alone should have implied it. Never mind that. Kind, considerate? It seems so. Except when it came to me. Is that cold to say? Maybe. It seemed so at the time. But I really just don’t know anymore. I . . . well I wasn’t really in sync with the world at all it seems. Not only was I in a different timeline, I seemed to be in a different line altogether sometimes. I can’t remember. But I know myself. I know what I do. A misunderstanding at least. On both our parts. I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I guess she didn’t make herself clear. I thought it was sure to happen, just later- I left myself open in anticipation of it. She must have meant maybe, later if at all. But there was a window of time. Clearly. So I wait. And wait. Hours pass. And more. Maybe not so clear a window after all. I am broken.
She calls me. What reason should I hear? None. I should hear no reason. No excuse. They don’t matter. They only hurt. Any words fire like arrow stating the plain to see. Even in the back of her mind, the reasons do not matter, it is not me. Crushed. Vulnerable. I can only ask. Would we still be friends if I love you? Silence.
Such a thing to confess in a text. Are you alright? No. I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. I thought you said. . . . I thought you meant. . . . I am so sorry. Would we still be friends if I where in love with you? Silence. I thought we were past all that. No. I thought I could do this but I can’t. More silence. And more.
How could she not have known? Did I really set myself up so blindly? It doesn’t matter. It hurts, but it doesn’t matter. Here we go again.
Yes. It will be weird. I already went through my weird phase. I think I am over it. Won’t it be hard for you?
Yes. But I value our friendship too much to not try.
So I tried. We stayed close. With boundaries. At first. Then less. Then more. And at times we both stood on that line, carefully balanced, tilting to each side but never stepping across. I need to fall. One way or the other, I need to fall. I can’t do this. I need to fall away. I need to be hurt. I can’t love you. I need to fall elsewhere. For our friendship. For my sanity.
And so I seek another. Timid. Fearless. Hiding. I found comfort in an angel.
It took a few days. But I did it. I swallowed my pride. I let my heart forgive. I let my ideas of what should’ve been go. I want to be friends I said. She does too. J All is good. All is great. She doesn’t know I love her. She hasn’t known that. I wonder if she should. But I’ll wait. No need to bring that up.
Finally at peace. This show is all I wanted it to be. I love the cast. I love it all. And all is great. For the first time since Pirates, I can simply focus on my nerves and original goals. I feel free.
Time once again passes by too quickly. And I once again try to make things evolve sooner than what is natural. I can’t help it. It’s just the way I am. The world doesn’t operate on the same time table as me. We are always out of sync it seems.
We are so close now. Too close. Way too close. I have to tell her. But I can’t. She inspires me. For the first time in years I allow art to flow. I can write music again. I want to write music again. I want to draw. I want to paint. I can’t touch my guitar without playing her song. I feels sad. I don’t know why. This will not do. So paint. I paint. It’s free. I can’t contain it. This is my expression to her of how I feel. A visual expression. A pure un-adulterated expression of emotion without the bastardized word attached. It seems safe to me. A way to say something without having to say it. I really did love her. I can’t explain why. So many reasons. Far more depth than most people allow themselves. Fun, kind, thoughtful. I couldn’t say much when I gave it to her. I didn’t know what to say. I think I might have told her it was how I felt. I think she knew. Somewhere inside, I think she knew. It seemed good. We got closer. Closer than before. Again, too close.
It became too much. I couldn’t be the same friend to her that she could be to me. It wasn’t in me. I didn’t know how. It all seemed right. It all seemed good. I wanted another shot. I figured things where different from before. We were so much more than in the past. I asked again. Or, I thought I did. I am careful. I wanted to be clear. I don’t know anymore. Date? I’m not sure if I said the word anymore. At the time I was sure I did. But it doesn’t matter now. I set myself up for it either way. Even so, the circumstances alone should have implied it. Never mind that. Kind, considerate? It seems so. Except when it came to me. Is that cold to say? Maybe. It seemed so at the time. But I really just don’t know anymore. I . . . well I wasn’t really in sync with the world at all it seems. Not only was I in a different timeline, I seemed to be in a different line altogether sometimes. I can’t remember. But I know myself. I know what I do. A misunderstanding at least. On both our parts. I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I guess she didn’t make herself clear. I thought it was sure to happen, just later- I left myself open in anticipation of it. She must have meant maybe, later if at all. But there was a window of time. Clearly. So I wait. And wait. Hours pass. And more. Maybe not so clear a window after all. I am broken.
She calls me. What reason should I hear? None. I should hear no reason. No excuse. They don’t matter. They only hurt. Any words fire like arrow stating the plain to see. Even in the back of her mind, the reasons do not matter, it is not me. Crushed. Vulnerable. I can only ask. Would we still be friends if I love you? Silence.
Such a thing to confess in a text. Are you alright? No. I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. I thought you said. . . . I thought you meant. . . . I am so sorry. Would we still be friends if I where in love with you? Silence. I thought we were past all that. No. I thought I could do this but I can’t. More silence. And more.
How could she not have known? Did I really set myself up so blindly? It doesn’t matter. It hurts, but it doesn’t matter. Here we go again.
Yes. It will be weird. I already went through my weird phase. I think I am over it. Won’t it be hard for you?
Yes. But I value our friendship too much to not try.
So I tried. We stayed close. With boundaries. At first. Then less. Then more. And at times we both stood on that line, carefully balanced, tilting to each side but never stepping across. I need to fall. One way or the other, I need to fall. I can’t do this. I need to fall away. I need to be hurt. I can’t love you. I need to fall elsewhere. For our friendship. For my sanity.
And so I seek another. Timid. Fearless. Hiding. I found comfort in an angel.
WOW! I have to take my hat off to you for being so open. I guess my comment would be to tell you that from my own experience it's not who reads what you write that is really important because even though you think you are writing for others to read, the truth is that you are writting for the same reason you write music and paint, writting is just another way to express yourself. I enjoy hearing the story and seeing the depth of your soul.
ReplyDeleteThanks
DAD