We are one in the same when it comes to things like talking. I, like you, am much better, more accurate and less choked up when I write. Sometimes over the phone and tragically in person I say the first thing that comes into my head. Or nothing comes to my mind at all. When I sit down and collect my thoughts and transcribe them, I feel like my intent can be grasped more clearly.
Right now, in this moment, I feel like a complete and utter rag doll. I feel like some giant Labrador’s favorite chew toy. I feel out of sorts, a little bit woozy and above all that, extremely exhausted.
I could use a good stiff drink.
This whole “life” thing is so amazing. There are so many beautiful and classic moments that you replay in your head every day and then there are those tragic circumstances that leave scars that you swear will never heal. The trick to the whole thing is that you can never tell which of the two is coming next. Will it be joy or pain? Will it be ecstasy or disillusionment? Will it be a combination of both that you simply can’t unravel until your last day?
I know that I said that we really need to start from scratch on this thing but half the time I have no fucking idea what I am talking about. Is that even possible? I mean, I have known you since I was 15.
How can I look at you up close without seeing scars we both left on you? My wrists have healed but when you hold my hand will you feel the skin from when I tried to open my veins?
There just may be too much history to forget.
On the one hand I think we are completely ridiculous for even considering this. We have been apart for too long and getting to know each other all over again may not even prove to be fruitful since we still technically live with two people who would like to think they are in mutually exclusive relationships which means we are still doing to them what we have done to each other in the past and not necessarily starting off on the right foot, whichever foot that is.
At the same time isn’t it a glorious notion, a rather splendid idea that the person you chose to live this life with you actually get the chance to do so? All else be damned. There is a huge sigh of relief in waking up next your best friend, the person who understands you, makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted and needed and special, who will do anything for you including let you go if that was what it took.
Most people don’t get a first crack at it, let alone a third go around.
Then there is him.
It would be so simple to just flip the kid the bird and bonk out. It isn’t as if I haven’t done that many times. And why have I done it? Is it truly because something was missing from our relationship, or was it because I’m scared of what we talked about, being vulnerable.
Then there is her.
She has done an excellent job of trapping the sun in a jar. Feeding a lion steaks every once in a while so that he fights his instinct and he does not hunt for them but simultaneously keeping him just hungry enough, just shy of starving so that when he hears the dinner bells, much like a Pavlovian experiment, he salivates on cue. You even share little people together too to seal the deal.
I mean they knew what they were getting into. They were starting relationships with people who clearly weren’t committed to absolving their bond because neither one of them could get up the courage to go all the way to the end, no matter how good things were in their faces.
But we made promises didn’t we?
We told them we could let go. That we would let go even. As soon as the time was right or as soon as the other one would play fair or as soon as fill in the blank.
Yet, here we are.
Its that moment, when all of your lottery numbers have been drawn, except the final one and you are in that breath space before they announce it on air, to the world what it is. Is it your number? Are you winning now? Are all your dreams coming true?
Are they still, your dreams?
Sometimes I get so angry, with myself and with you. I think, girl, you are so stupid how many times in a row can you let the same one person dangle happiness in front of you only to yank it away in the end? How could I ever believe that you loved me when you spent a majority of the time we have known each other cheating on me or away from me?
Have I ever forgiven you? Am I taking it out on other men? Have I ruined potentially good relationships with suitable people because I was mad at you? Have you ever forgiven me?
Would it be awkward to walk into a room, the kitchen, the terrace and I am there?
But I’m getting way ahead of myself, a fatal flaw, if you will.
So if I think of the letter to the Corinthians version of love, have I loved you? No. I have failed you because I have not. Not all the way. Not like I should have, And maybe if I had done so, maybe I wouldn’t be here and maybe we’d be at some French Canadian bar in Toronto, while your’e cheering on a hockey game, beer in one hand, and the other one in my lap.
My imagination is exploding.
The one thing more than anything that I loved about Bingo was that I could speak to him intelligently without talking down to him to make him understand what I mean and I can do that with you.
The one thing more than anything that I loved about Adonis was that he would look at me or touch me in such a way that I was just melted butter and we never even had sex. I get that from you too.
The one thing more than anything that I loved about Kane was that he was always ready to have a good time, to laugh or sing or impromptu dance in the middle of the street with no remorse. You do that with me as well.
We probably are soul mates.
I don’t know, I can’t see, It might be, I’m not sure.
But this time around, if its ever going to be more than a friendship ( which is actually more than most people have) you really are going to have to earn me back. This is all really contingent upon how badly you want it before you can be dissuaded.
Please don’t let my rambling and confusion and crazy wandering thoughts and words distract you. If we are supposed to be a family, we will be, and really there is nothing anyone anywhere can do to prevent that.