Thursday, January 28, 2010

Not Love. Blind Obsession.

I'm over it. I don't care. Though I'll admit it burned a little, the two of them. I mean... It's like what a friend of mine posted in her Facebook status: Love does not force relationship.

But as I told myself driving home today, you can't have one way love. There is no one way love. I think what happens is we see, in our mind's eye, that person. And that person... That person is amazing. Incredible. Beautiful, funny, kind, warm, exciting, talented... And we get ourselves to believe that they are it. They are the one. We play in our minds this game of love. Dream he'll one day look at you and realize what's been there all along. And then you'd embrace and be forever. Because you're meant to be. You see it in you head. In you heart. If your heart really feels this much, it has to be the real thing then, doesn't it? But in all reality, you're just with them in the "friend zone"; it'll never be anything more.

But we tear ourselves up in agony as that person looks for love of their own, torn that they aren't turning to us. To me. To you. Because we're so stuck them. We're so in love with them. We'd be so perfect for them; why oh why won't they just figure that out?!?

That's one way love. Why? You let yourself believe the two of you had something, so you develped your feelings accordingly as if you both were truly together. And though every day you knew you weren't, you found reason to believe you could.

Open your eyes, you blind, sorry excuse of a girl.

If this was real, if this was fate, if he really, really felt that way, wouldn't you be able to tell the world (and him) that you were together? That you were in love?

And you can't. Because you aren't.

You played pretend and it got too far out of hand. And now you stand here, typing into Facebook: Love does not force relationship. I keep telling myself "love does not force relationship"...

It's not love, girl. It's blind obsession. And the sooner you wake up from this pathetic dream, the sooner you'll quit hating seeing him with those other girls. The sooner you'll stop crying nothing tears over him. The sooner...

I was there, girl. I was there. For the same boy, nonetheless. What does that tell you, if he's done this to not one girl, but two? Does that tell you he's worth it?

Possibly. If you were like her, the one who is growing her love at the same pace he's growing his.

None of this one-sided buisness.

Sigh. And now I let my heart run this same course with another boy, but am I the object of his own case of one-sided love?

Sadly, no.

"Oh we are like dominos in here, fallin' in one long row now./
I say;/ We're dominos and we're falling head over our/ our toes./
And/ She's fallin' for him and he's falling for me./ And I am fallin' for somebody else;/
Who's fallin' for you./ Oh we're fallin' like dominos./ Oh we're fallin' like dominos./
Oh we're falling way too fast...."
-Dominos, Dawn Mitschele

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

...Or Am I Standing Still?

I raised my hand, seconds from his shoulder. His orange clad shoulder. I had to. I had to tap him.

But after that? After his attention was secured? Then what? Nervous, awkward conversation? A clearly out of the way "Hello", only to turn and scurry off?

Why must I do this to myself? Why must I make simple moments so.... complex?

I let my hand fall to my side, keeping my eyes where it would have landed on his shoulder, still hearing my mind try to articulate what I would say to him. What on this planet I could possibly say to him. I squeezed between other bodies and his, and just as I cleared his presence, the fog left my mind, and I saw how truly innocent conversation just then would have been.

I felt, incapable of explaining how, him look my way. I felt the discontent in his look, saddened I hadn't done what he'd wished me to do. But that, of course, was just me being over-optomistic. As if he could possibly miss what was as simple as that. And, should he truly yearn for my attention so much as I felt he did in that moment, would he not speak to me of his own accord? He's an outgoing boy. He's confident, funny... Wouldn't he do that, if he wanted it that bad?

I abused myself as I continued to walk. It was so simple! A "Hello"! Really? Had I really just run away from that. I turned back to speak to him, I turned back to make up for it; he was accross the room. No longer in the heap of people he had-dare I think it-placed himself among in order to have that run-in with me.

And it didn't happen. Because of me.

The song "Standing Still" by Jewel comes to mind now, as I lay her thinking back to my thick-headed moments of the day. And his as well; he should equally take the blame, right? Was it really on my head to innitiate the conversation? Isn't he just as equaly capable?

But, as Jewel sings in the vague chambers of my mind, I'm reminded that this song is about a boy passing her by. A boy leaving without her. A boy moving on, leaving her love-bent in the dust.

At least, that's what it's always meant to me.

But now, here I sit, unable to do anything but picture him and me standing on either side of the dark dirt road Jewel usually strolls down in my mind's eye as I hear this song. I'm unable to do anything but imagine us, him and me, watching life pass by on this road. Watching everything we're vaguely wishing for just drift right past.

And what happens when we continue to let it? For this is the second day in a row we've both set our paths up to cross, and somehow, and the fault of one or both, at the last moment these paths narrowly miss. What happens when it's gone?


I'm not too keen on letting this slip away before I know for certain it has no potential.

But for now, I guess I'm standing still.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Fit for Fate and Foto Change

I think life is meant to be taken in strides. I think the things that happen to us are not happenstance, but in all actuality determine who we are. I believe in fate, but I believe that fate doesn't take the course we innitially think it will.

But fate is out there. Fate is working. Everyday, every second, every hour.

Fate.

I find it odd how your perspective can change. I feel I've undergone a whole 180, and I'm rightly bemused as to how or why. It just sort of happened. It's nice to wake up one day with those troubles gone, only to see the new list of them staring at you.

I'd like to get inside their heads. I'd like... I'd like to stop for a moment, breathe for a moment, and read between his eyes. What did he think? What does he think? What will he think?-should that be plauseable.

I'd like to take a step back from where I am and see my world spanned out before me on a giant rectangular canvas. I'd like to see the hills and valleys of this art, and be able to take this pen, this black, felt-tip pen, and correct the "mistakes." I'd like to edit this world just enough to make me happy. I'd leave the colors and the patterns, and the pictures you can only see if you tip your head to a certain angle. But I'd like to take out the flaws I've made, the ones that, at this point, I see no growth or overcoming from. The flaws and hindrences that have done only that; hindered me.

Of course, I blame myself. Solely myself.

And my heart/my heart for saying girl it's okay./
And my mind/ my mind for taking reason away./
This jagged cliff/ I was told/ will be okay if I just let go./
And now I'm falling./ My world is falling down.


I love how words I've written in the past fit so well with the now. Like it was... fate that I ever wrote them to begin with.

Friday, January 22, 2010

There Once Was Love

He walked in and I felt this burn. Weeks, no, days ago I would have given anything for him to be there. Forever. Now, oddly, I wanted him gone.

But as he stayed, my eyes kept glancing over, and I could almost sense him glancing to me. Not in any way I had prior hoped; his glancing meant nothing, aside from, perhaps, checking to see if I was looking. Of late I've become the boy's ego booster. Knowing he could make my heart flutter so much fueled him in the most bizarre way.

I'd hate to break it to him, but I haven't been fluttering for days now. And yet, here he is, strutting about as if his power over my heart will never stop. How can I blame him? Until this week, I was certain myself it wouldn't. But I woke up one day and it was gone. I can truthfully see him with her and leave the room, with no feelings of upset remorse or bitter sorrow. I walk away just because I can't stand her, not for "stealing" him, but for being her. I'm perfectly okay with my lot now.

But I keep looking, Heaven help me I keep looking.

I noticed, to my horror, that his hair really does suit him. And I've always liked that shirt, and there he goes, talking. Oh, what does he say...

No. I've passed that, I don't care.

There was another direction I wanted to look, another face I wanted to engrave in my mind, but habit kept me turning to him; habit kept me watching, though that place in me that used to crave these moments now stands dusty and barren. There's nothing there that wants him any more, why must I continue to dwell?!

Finally these words apply to me. I used to be the polar opposite, singing along, wishing they fit. At last they do:

"Maybe it's the way we always stay/ when our hearts have gone./
Just because there once was love,/ don't mean a thing,/ don't mean a thing./
Just because there once was love,/ don't mean a thing,/ don't mean a thing./
Just because there once was love.../
But you just can't be here,/ now that my heart has gone."
-Ingrid Michaelson; Once Was Love

Thursday, January 21, 2010

I Liked You Better

(*author's note: Following poem suseptable to alterations and additions.)

I liked you better when your shirts fit.
I liked you better when the leather jacket was only yours.
I liked you better with your hand on my thigh,
Your soul in my eyes.
What happpened?

I liked you better when you sang bass.
I liked you better before you cut your hair.
I liked you better when we both spoke as pals,
No one's laughing with me now.
Are you happy?

I liked you better when you were pretending.
I liked you better when she was a nameless face.
I liked you better when you respected me as a person;
Now you've made me certain
I should leave.

I liked you better with a deck of cards and talent.
I liked you better walking on your hands around the room.
I liked you better on the bleachers with a book,
And now when I look
You're not you.

I liked you better when you were a Jet.
I liked you better when I was who you missed.
I liked you better when a highfive meant something,
Now it's friendly nothing.
And you're fine?

I liked you better in those ripped pants.
I liked you better making small talk in my car.
I liked you better procrastinating, for me.
Now she's all you can see.
You think I'm blind?

I liked you better when my phone showed your name.
I liked you better when I felt I didn't have to try.
I liked you better when we had to be together,
One show is not forever.
Now I understand.

I liked you better before I knew you.
I liked you better when your existence was "fate."
I liked you better back when you liked me;
If you ever liked me.
If that was true.

I liked you better then.

The Music Hall

I stand in the hall and watch. Disgusted? Possibly. I really can't say what this is.

I'm just stuck here. Watching.

And though my heart has drained every aspect of emotion, leaving me an empty vessel once again, I find myself behaving as the love-smitten girl I was just last week. To the bystander I have not changed. I still pine for him the way I did before, the way, apparently, I always will.

But this is not so. I plea with myself to show it.

He reacts the same, he speaks the same. He glances back my way. The same.

And I fidget the same, I attempt humorous, planned jokes the same. I'm awkward all the same.

But really I am not the same, oh I could never be that person again; but standing there I feel it all coming back, aside from my lack of heart in the matter. I'm not... I'm not in love with him any more.

That frail cardboard box I had willed myself to make sturdy finally faultered under my weight. I spilled to the concrete and looked up in his eyes. And I didn't feel it. It was finally gone.

I walked to my car, a previously self-composed song ringing back through my mind:

"And I lost/ what I had/ and it's not coming back./ I guess it's time/ to let go./
Now he/ is gone,/ it's all been said and done,/ and I'm not in his heart no more."

But the words had changed: "Now he/ is gone,/ it's all been said and done,/ and he's not in my heart no more."

I suppose it took till today to finally emurge from that box for good, to finally look at the crumpled cardboard and realize that I couldn't just stand it back up and make it better again. It truly wasn't what I wanted. It never had been. And seeing that, I took him out of me forever. Finally waking up to what had been there all along.

Or maybe it's his haircut.

Maybe I can't love him with his hair so short.