At some point, I had realized that you were no longer the girl I had fallen in love with. And slowly, I started to come to terms with it. We all grow. I admit, I am probably not the same kid you found yourself loving. For the better and for the worse. A part of me still ached for your care and your adoration, but each day, that piece grew smaller and smaller.
Along the way, I came to understand that I would never get from you the gratitude I felt I deserved. There wouldn't be attention paid to me, as I had done for you.
I had to come to accept that the girl I had known was gone. Erased and replaced, the consequences of too many heartbreaks, far too lonely for the girl I had loved. And despite all my attempts to stick around, to fix you, to be your knight in shining armor, you would never go back to that gracious girl. Realizing that I could always try and be there for you, but that I had to stop giving out piece of my heart to someone who would only toss them away. Someone who took me for granted. And it was blow after blow. Because soon after I recognized that I could no longer love you, I was forced to realize that I couldn't even consider you my best friend, not with the way you consistently treated me.
And as much as I could tell myself to accept it, and as much as it grew easier each day to live with that knowledge, I didn't know what do with that feeling. I couldn't help but feel regret over something that had so narrowly escaped my grasp.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Rich Grace
A woman originating from a Dineh tribe,
"I remember only a small part,
But this is what I remember."
He begged his case to a girl that didn't care.
I love her.
But that was not enough. Those words alone could not encompass the depth of his feelings, nor the span of his emotions.
I can't live without her.
She's all I ever think about.
But the words just sounded trite, like anything he could have picked up from a soap opera.
The feel of her hand when it's grasped in mine. Her skin is the softest I've ever felt, with all the calluses of an artist. Her blonde hair of silk. Her eyes, blue as the piece of sky that rests upon a glacier.
And it's not just when I'm around her that my heart accelerates. It's the very thought of her - the memory of her body beneath mine and the way I felt my very being explode kissing her. It's the imagination of repeating those movements. It's the anticipation to spend as long with her as this life allows me to.
The words of an aghast, exhausted, lost boy who just wants to find his girlfriend echoed in his mind.
"Nothing works without her, none of this.
I need her now.
It fucking hurts, so much."
And while that got close to the magnitude of his emotions, it could not cover all that he felt. The words were not his own; they bore the distinct taste of having been borrowed.
What was his? Well, it had always been her.
She is my best friend, my other half. She sees into the workings of my mind and the strings of my heart, and she understands.
She is every wandering thought, she is every note that graces my ears, she is every taste to pass my lips, she is every vision behind my closed eyes. She is sensation itself.
I've never been one to espouse the idea of the human 'soul', but when I am with her, there is a part of me - separate from my mind and my body - that comes alive. She makes me want to believe, not only in the best of myself, but in happiness and the very vibrations of life.
"I remember only a small part,
But this is what I remember."
He begged his case to a girl that didn't care.
I love her.
But that was not enough. Those words alone could not encompass the depth of his feelings, nor the span of his emotions.
I can't live without her.
She's all I ever think about.
But the words just sounded trite, like anything he could have picked up from a soap opera.
The feel of her hand when it's grasped in mine. Her skin is the softest I've ever felt, with all the calluses of an artist. Her blonde hair of silk. Her eyes, blue as the piece of sky that rests upon a glacier.
And it's not just when I'm around her that my heart accelerates. It's the very thought of her - the memory of her body beneath mine and the way I felt my very being explode kissing her. It's the imagination of repeating those movements. It's the anticipation to spend as long with her as this life allows me to.
The words of an aghast, exhausted, lost boy who just wants to find his girlfriend echoed in his mind.
"Nothing works without her, none of this.
I need her now.
It fucking hurts, so much."
And while that got close to the magnitude of his emotions, it could not cover all that he felt. The words were not his own; they bore the distinct taste of having been borrowed.
What was his? Well, it had always been her.
She is my best friend, my other half. She sees into the workings of my mind and the strings of my heart, and she understands.
She is every wandering thought, she is every note that graces my ears, she is every taste to pass my lips, she is every vision behind my closed eyes. She is sensation itself.
I've never been one to espouse the idea of the human 'soul', but when I am with her, there is a part of me - separate from my mind and my body - that comes alive. She makes me want to believe, not only in the best of myself, but in happiness and the very vibrations of life.
December
It's not like in the movies.
When you realize you love someone, you imagine yourself running to find them, desperately calling them. In your mind's eye, you see a declaration of love, a kiss, and a walk off into the sunset.
Needless to say, that's never how it happens.
You stumble over the words. It's not graceful; it's nowhere the epic, beautiful sentence you had planned out in your head. You can't look at her face, for fear that it will give you all the wrong signs, that you'll know by the look in her eye that this is no longer what she wants.
You should have looked. If anything to save yourself from the embarrassment.
You give up on words, go in for the prince's kiss. Sentences fail me, but there's no way she can mistake my meaning here.
But in this fairytale, you're the frog's fool.
She rests her hands firmly on your chest. Doesn't succeed in pushing you any further away, but the intent is clear. This is not the happy ending you envisioned.
"No..."
You're aghast. You look at her, as if searching for clarification. She must see it in your eyes. She's always had a way of reading the brown that seems to keep everyone else out.
"I'm seeing someone," she continues.
You continue to stare. Absent is the usual response that would come in conversations with other ex-girlfriends. There's no demand to know whom, or where, or when. You continue to watch, because you know no one could mean as much to her as you do. This isn't cockiness, you tell yourself, this is experience. This is four years and falling in love every moment we got the chance. And she knows all too well that her reason isn't good enough.
"Remember what you told me a year ago?"
You raise an eyebrow, cock your head to the left.
"Not too long after I returned, when I came to you, ready to pick up where we had left off."
And doesn't it all come back flooding now.
"I love you, I always will. My best friend, my boy." Her fingers graze your cheeks. In this moment, her contact seems to mean all the more.
"I love you, Nichole, I always will. You're my best friend, my darling girl." One hand in hers, the other under her chin, ensuring that her eyes meet yours.
"But I want to see where this goes, even if it may be nowhere."
"But I want to see this through. I don't think it'll go anywhere, but I started it, might as well finish it."
"He's nice. He's given me no reason to hurt him like that."
"She's nice. I can't fuck with her like that."
It's implicit now, just as it was then: I can't drop everything just because you've come running back, even if that's all my heart is telling me to do.
"But Nich, even then, I knew that I'd eventually come back to you."
And for a moment, you wonder if that was the best choice of words. Because she might storm out in anger, demanding why, if that were the case, you didn't have the decency to let her know.
But as she sighs, you know there won't be anger. Your relationship has never been one of arguments and fights, and it won't start now.
Her hands trail down your cheeks and brush against your sides as she grasps your hands.
"I suppose that somewhere deep-down, I knew that as well."
The pause lasts several seconds. She's looking down now, no longer at you. Her memory is far in the past. You stay silent; even if you wanted to disturb her thoughts, you would have no idea where to begin.
She hesitates, struggling with what she is about to admit, weighing it in her head, then continues slowly, "So, deep-down, what do you believe?"
You nod, afraid of letting your voice betray your disappointment, your impatience, but allowing her to know that you understand. That deep-down, you know - as she did - that you would ultimately find your way back together.
When you realize you love someone, you imagine yourself running to find them, desperately calling them. In your mind's eye, you see a declaration of love, a kiss, and a walk off into the sunset.
Needless to say, that's never how it happens.
You stumble over the words. It's not graceful; it's nowhere the epic, beautiful sentence you had planned out in your head. You can't look at her face, for fear that it will give you all the wrong signs, that you'll know by the look in her eye that this is no longer what she wants.
You should have looked. If anything to save yourself from the embarrassment.
You give up on words, go in for the prince's kiss. Sentences fail me, but there's no way she can mistake my meaning here.
But in this fairytale, you're the frog's fool.
She rests her hands firmly on your chest. Doesn't succeed in pushing you any further away, but the intent is clear. This is not the happy ending you envisioned.
"No..."
You're aghast. You look at her, as if searching for clarification. She must see it in your eyes. She's always had a way of reading the brown that seems to keep everyone else out.
"I'm seeing someone," she continues.
You continue to stare. Absent is the usual response that would come in conversations with other ex-girlfriends. There's no demand to know whom, or where, or when. You continue to watch, because you know no one could mean as much to her as you do. This isn't cockiness, you tell yourself, this is experience. This is four years and falling in love every moment we got the chance. And she knows all too well that her reason isn't good enough.
"Remember what you told me a year ago?"
You raise an eyebrow, cock your head to the left.
"Not too long after I returned, when I came to you, ready to pick up where we had left off."
And doesn't it all come back flooding now.
"I love you, I always will. My best friend, my boy." Her fingers graze your cheeks. In this moment, her contact seems to mean all the more.
"I love you, Nichole, I always will. You're my best friend, my darling girl." One hand in hers, the other under her chin, ensuring that her eyes meet yours.
"But I want to see where this goes, even if it may be nowhere."
"But I want to see this through. I don't think it'll go anywhere, but I started it, might as well finish it."
"He's nice. He's given me no reason to hurt him like that."
"She's nice. I can't fuck with her like that."
It's implicit now, just as it was then: I can't drop everything just because you've come running back, even if that's all my heart is telling me to do.
"But Nich, even then, I knew that I'd eventually come back to you."
And for a moment, you wonder if that was the best choice of words. Because she might storm out in anger, demanding why, if that were the case, you didn't have the decency to let her know.
But as she sighs, you know there won't be anger. Your relationship has never been one of arguments and fights, and it won't start now.
Her hands trail down your cheeks and brush against your sides as she grasps your hands.
"I suppose that somewhere deep-down, I knew that as well."
The pause lasts several seconds. She's looking down now, no longer at you. Her memory is far in the past. You stay silent; even if you wanted to disturb her thoughts, you would have no idea where to begin.
She hesitates, struggling with what she is about to admit, weighing it in her head, then continues slowly, "So, deep-down, what do you believe?"
You nod, afraid of letting your voice betray your disappointment, your impatience, but allowing her to know that you understand. That deep-down, you know - as she did - that you would ultimately find your way back together.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Cycle
It's a cycle.
Of compulsion.
Of terse replies.
Of the wondering.
Of the refusal to beg.
Of everything I didn't think you would become.
It's a break.
Of what we once were.
Of who we should have become.
Of your worst fears infecting my mind.
Of the best friend who can only take so much.
It's a recapture.
Of the hidden smiles and the carefully placed words.
Of all I have ever felt.
Of a rocky love.
It's the inability to admit.
And the way it ruins us.
It's the fact that there is no us.
The inversion of always have, always will.
It's the split in my psyche.
The crack in muscles pumping blood.
It's the creeping up.
Of a distancing, that old familiar friend.
It's the mountains and the desert.
And all the space in between.
It's what becomes all-consuming.
And soon to follow, all-destroying.
It's the clench of my frustrated fist.
And the tears of a girl who can cry no more.
It's the tireless effort, the push.
The lack of reaped reward, the refusal to give.
It's everything shorter.
And soon, I'm gone.
Of compulsion.
Of terse replies.
Of the wondering.
Of the refusal to beg.
Of everything I didn't think you would become.
It's a break.
Of what we once were.
Of who we should have become.
Of your worst fears infecting my mind.
Of the best friend who can only take so much.
It's a recapture.
Of the hidden smiles and the carefully placed words.
Of all I have ever felt.
Of a rocky love.
It's the inability to admit.
And the way it ruins us.
It's the fact that there is no us.
The inversion of always have, always will.
It's the split in my psyche.
The crack in muscles pumping blood.
It's the creeping up.
Of a distancing, that old familiar friend.
It's the mountains and the desert.
And all the space in between.
It's what becomes all-consuming.
And soon to follow, all-destroying.
It's the clench of my frustrated fist.
And the tears of a girl who can cry no more.
It's the tireless effort, the push.
The lack of reaped reward, the refusal to give.
It's everything shorter.
And soon, I'm gone.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Dance
November 13, 2011
It's the same show. You appearing unexpectedly. Down that runway you strut, up the sidewalk you run. Your smirk. Your smile. You pose. You jump up. It's the difference between the confident model and the closest friend. Everyone's eyes are on you. Our hearts aflutter, if only the dress would hitch up a few more inches. Our vision connected. You're the only girl to have ever looked me in the eye. The dancing music blasts, but all I hear is our favorite song. The one that played that last night. It's always an allusion, forever a reference. It's a bond never broken.
The last night. The first night. They all revolve around one big mass, one gigantic mess. Isn't it the not knowing that kills us? What could have become, what should have been done. We're anything but blameless. Faults never spoken of, but they're on the tips of our tongues. We want to throw books, to blame, to cry, and wonder why.
A dance. That's all it took. That black dress of yours, bending knees, and a momentary glance. Partners fall away, forgotten. Air wraps itself around us and we're removed, disconnected. Senses fail. Senses electrify. It's only your touch that does it. The smile is all the same, the hair thrown back. Only we exist. It hasn't changed.
That night, I whispered. Save the last dance for me. You broke all other promises, but you kept that one. It's an instant reflex, a memory that flashes and fulfills.
The phone rings. Your hands never leave mine. Ringing. Body shots and toasts to a friendship. Ringing. Collapsing onto your bed after the longest nights. You were the best part. Sometimes all we need is someone who understands.
It's you. Whatever damning story. Your voice flows out the speaker. Whichever mistake. Your voice never cracks. No matter the pain caused. Except this time. You're always there. Just this once.
Come dance.
Because this is the last one. And you saved it.
It's the same show. You appearing unexpectedly. Down that runway you strut, up the sidewalk you run. Your smirk. Your smile. You pose. You jump up. It's the difference between the confident model and the closest friend. Everyone's eyes are on you. Our hearts aflutter, if only the dress would hitch up a few more inches. Our vision connected. You're the only girl to have ever looked me in the eye. The dancing music blasts, but all I hear is our favorite song. The one that played that last night. It's always an allusion, forever a reference. It's a bond never broken.
The last night. The first night. They all revolve around one big mass, one gigantic mess. Isn't it the not knowing that kills us? What could have become, what should have been done. We're anything but blameless. Faults never spoken of, but they're on the tips of our tongues. We want to throw books, to blame, to cry, and wonder why.
A dance. That's all it took. That black dress of yours, bending knees, and a momentary glance. Partners fall away, forgotten. Air wraps itself around us and we're removed, disconnected. Senses fail. Senses electrify. It's only your touch that does it. The smile is all the same, the hair thrown back. Only we exist. It hasn't changed.
That night, I whispered. Save the last dance for me. You broke all other promises, but you kept that one. It's an instant reflex, a memory that flashes and fulfills.
The phone rings. Your hands never leave mine. Ringing. Body shots and toasts to a friendship. Ringing. Collapsing onto your bed after the longest nights. You were the best part. Sometimes all we need is someone who understands.
It's you. Whatever damning story. Your voice flows out the speaker. Whichever mistake. Your voice never cracks. No matter the pain caused. Except this time. You're always there. Just this once.
Come dance.
Because this is the last one. And you saved it.
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