Dreams of nurturing bleed into my memory. Fantastic thoughts of silence educate my loss. So it was, and so it will be till I die. When I remember my place in a historical moment, and forget my place in the warmness of her heart.
Well, I guess that’s a very dramatic way of saying that I love someone who may or may not love me and I’m holding on to something that may or may not make it worth it. I guess there’s no way of explaining it to someone who has never experienced it before. Take my advice: be glad you haven’t.
The truth is for someone who likes to believe that anybody can make their lives anyway they want, I sure as hell like to criticize myself.
But in the end, dreams are–and shall always be– the eternal function.
Well it was only then, after beginning to write my love story I found I had nothing to tell. The whispers of the heart were naught but mere fantasy; a worthless charade; the ramblings of an unwelcome muse.
So I stopped—and never began again. Until. . .
I lost my mind when I was in high school. I turned into a walking monument to Freud. I laughed inappropriately and said extremely weird things to people. I even gave my guitar away and told my friend that I was his father. That was a typical Summer; yeah right.
And then, while still recovering from my stay in a mental hospital, my friend died. He was hit by a car when he was walking on the sidewalk. I heard all the details and I was certain that there would be no coming back from this one now. I had lost someone important. Someone who I thought I couldn’t live without. I was left to continue on the road of life without him.
I thought he would always be there. I thought I would always have a Guinness in my house cold and ready for him to stop by and drink it with me. Instead, I saw him in his coffin—one last time—before he was buried in the ground. And why? What for? What is my place in all of this? What is the endgame?
Selfishness is my number one trait. It’s funny because I try so very hard not be selfish and always end up forgetting other people. My friends would disagree—and maybe they’re right—but deep down inside I still feel like I could give two shits. Perhaps even my friendships are superficial,
It all seems so very real though. I find that even when I’m down, I’m tried and tested for discomfort of a higher level. So my only solution to that is to keep true to my dreams. It’s all I got.
Maybe that’s why I hold onto this bastion of unrequited love; this furnace of ‘the friend zone’. But is the friend zone really that bad? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe if you have the deadly combination of sexual attraction and feelings. Sex is on my mind and I can forgive but can’t forget the transgressions of my favorite soap opera.
So where has this all gone? And where will it all end? I don’t know, but if I find out I’ll let you know.