Regina Spektor on the Juke

You have meant more to me than I will ever say aloud again.
I am grateful to you in so many ways for so many things that even now,
sitting down to try to express them is overwhelmingly difficult.
It is hard because it requires me to have the simple courage to be honest,
something I try very hard not to become vulnerable enough to ever do.
But it’s time.
It’s been time, for a very long time, ten years in fact, to let you go and I have been stubborn and very protective of the man that I imagine you to be in my mind.
He is everything.
He is ten times greater than the real you could ever be.
And I am madly in love with him.
Terribly and completely.
I remember when I knew that I would never get to be with you.
We were at the Art Museum.
And as we were strolling through the exhibits, I was doing everything in my power not to squeal, or faint or belch or blink too fast. I couldn’t hide being the real me.
I had left my child 1800 miles away with a dude I was living with
so that I could be alone in the Museum with you that day.
There was a statue with wooden shoes there and you said something to me,
something that I didn’t have a chance to look up,
something I should have known and I stood there frozen unable to actually play the part that I had designed in my head for me to play for you.
The look on your face is etched in my mind,
it was sort of an I told you so …she isn’t good enough micro smirk of sadness.
I had failed.
And I knew right then.
We have tried, haven’t we, to just be friends, I have tried, I know.
I have tried to separate you from the version of you that I created
to shield myself from the pain of not being good enough for the real you.
You were just a dude. But him, he was my one true love.
The problem with you is that I had fashioned him after you,
he looked and smelled like you, spoke like you and so whenever I had an encounter,
or a conversation or a laugh with you,
it felt eerily like I was having it, with him.
And after, I would go home, thinking of nothing else but
every time you breathed and every word you said
and every time that we accidentally touched
and I would fall in love with him even more intensely to the point that no one else has been capable of breaking into my heart.
I feel like I am telling you things that some where deep down, you already know.
Ever since I have started the blog
with the exception of Kane
the majority of the pieces that I write about love, are about him.
My version of you. The one who loves me back and very much so.
The book is finished and of course, I used the title that you thought was best
because if you think that its best then, he does and so it is.
Thank you for being my inspiration and muse and confidant for so many years,
even the years that I couldn’t talk to you, because I had confused friendship with love
and let you cross lines that you knew that you shouldn’t have
and I have never regretted them for one instant because it gave me so many things to write about.
And now we are here.
You have long since moved on and are living every bit of the life that you want to be living
and on the very fringe of it, like a pretty knickknack you got out of a vending machine in Hawaii,
I sit right on the edge of the mantel in your heart as a reminder of what was and what could have been.
Knowing that there is someone out there in the world incredibly in love with you and who sees in you no flaws has got to make you a better man. And for that, you are welcome.
But now, I am tired.
I am tired of kissing men and saying your name in my head.
I am tired of listening to your stories about how you love someone else so desperately
and that person is not me.
I am tired of reading your e-mails and text messages and digesting them like food
and regurgitating all of the parts that can’t easily be double or triple entendre.
You are my Marius.
I’ve met people along the way who had the best intentions
and I have discarded them like trash the very instant
they fell in love with me because I was still waiting for the you that I had invented to come back for me.
I was still waiting, up until I realized it, last night.
I was told the most true shit that I have ever heard,
I was told that I have put you on a pedestal because from up there you can’t hurt me.
I’ve put you there and worshiped you and built a whole back story
about how if it’s real you will hold on until your dying day
when I knew at the museum what we had, was a moment.
I’ve never seen you cry.
I’ve never had to clean your vomit or have to shower for work right after you had taken a massive dump.
Those are the things that people who are really in love, for the long haul, go through.
But you have seen the worst of me and the best
and you have talked me through some terrible times
and it only made me love you more and yet I am still so very grateful.
But like Harry said in when Harry Met Sally, we cannot be friends.
I have tried, I swear to god that I have, with every ounce of pride
that I could muster, but it’s false because I loved you.
I thought that I wanted you.
I thought that I needed you because no one else could ever be as perfect for me as you were.
At least, the you that I made up.
I’ve met someone and I am in pain.
I am in pain because he is erasing my version of you
and I hate him for it. He is showing me in real time,
in real ways things no one is allowed to show me but you
and I have punished him severely for this.
I have used him, tried to abuse him, made him jump through hoops
even forced him to meet you so I could see how much better you looked to me side by side.
I have been tortured every night since, I haven’t slept or hardly eaten,
I have been worried and scared because loving him means
that I have to let go of you, like kindergarden means I can’t carry my binky into school.
He is a good man, a real man, and I did not write him.
He is not perfect, he is not rich, hell he isn’t even very tall
but his heart is massive and his vibration is on point with mine
and every second that I love him I know that it means that
I have to love you less and because I wasn’t ready, I pushed him away.
And yet, he doesn’t even hate me for this.
And yet, he still wants to be in my life.
Maybe he is crazy and maybe we are all fools and maybe none of this even matters,
because you will never care enough about me to even read these words so like per normal,
Eponine is speaking to herself out loud, alone.
I know that you don’t want me to let you go, not for real
you are very careful about letting me know that my spot on the shelf is the best spot on the shelf
and I look good up there away from you and real life and real love.
Sometimes, I really do think that you want me to be happy
and that you want me to flourish and be amazing but at the expense of keeping my torch lit.
I have beat myself up trying to figure out if it was time to put the fire out because I honestly don’t want to lose him and I have not felt that for many years about anyone but the man I made in my mind out of you.
I look at my phone and say to myself, but what if he calls?
What if he calls, right now and says hey I love you
and we should be together and you are off gallivanting around
with your ringer on vibrate with someone who isn’t him?
It’s the same as worrying that your lottery ticket numbers
will hit on the day that you didn’t have enough cash to play the game.
So as I take you down from the pedestal, I hope that what is happening here is me growing up.
I hope that it’s me, willing to do the work that it takes to be with someone real,
alive, unimagined, who is right in my face willing to brave hell or high water,
even jail, just to be in my presence.
And I hope that the man that I made up and fashioned after you forgives me for giving up hope
before it was too late for me to feel anything at all.
And I hope that you know that you will never be a footnote in my life,
that you are volumes and you are etched within.
And I hope that you are aware that I will try my hardest to give him
every bit of the love that I have given you, without pretending that it is you that I am giving that love to.
If we don’t speak as often anymore, if I don’t show up to your housewarming,
if we don’t stay on the same comic book page from miles away,
please don’t forget me because I will never forget you.
This is not your fault, Marius, I am just tired.
I’m tired of hoping against all hope like the underdog in every major motion picture teen age film from the 80’s.
I’m tired of picking people that I don’t like to spend time with
because they can’t compete with you so I have no need to be afraid that their love might seep through to my soul.
I’m tired of pretending to be in love with a figment of my own creation
just because I am so scared of the pain of being hurt again,
the way that you hurt me when you said we could be together in another life.
A raging couple, no less.
But it’s time.
So today, I am going to try.
Today I am going to cut my losses and actually give in.
Today I am not going to care any more if you or if anyone else approves of what I do.
Today I am going to love him, just a little bit more than I love you,
until loving you is a beautiful childhood memory.
And thank you. Thank you for playing along ,
thank you for letting me go through this on my own,
thank you for never kissing me again so that I still had something left to linger on.
I needed you tremendously and I am a better woman for having known you.
If am being completely honest now, you are still an amazing and intelligent man
who any woman would be lucky to actually get to love.
And now, I have found one of those of my very own, to come home to.
o

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