P.,

There was a night you were driving me home in that beast of a car of yours. (I think your car is fabulous by the way) I was basically hanging out the window enjoying the scenic route you had taken. I wrote this poem about it when I got home:

Plum velvet, stained silver and candy orange
rippled beneath the caress of gilded fingertips.
A five feathered bird dives, flies in stasis.
Flutters between globes of free fall rain.
Icy bright eyes wink and shift.
A four wheeled comet cuts through the night like a blade.

Sometimes moments get that strange magical quality. It's like things are so perfect they can't be real because reality is just never that good. That was really one of those moments.

P.,

I think I have it figured out or something like it. From day one everyone's been pushing me to just get over it, get over you. They tell me it's alright and I'll find somebody else and other platitudes. I think it's why I progressively got angrier and angrier, why I got so confused. I don't understand what happened and I'll probably never understand. Alright. I can cope with that. Not really much of a choice right? Acceptance is a lot harder than one would think but doable.

I realized that I don't have to have you to love you. Alright, that's a weird statement. A relationship takes two, loving takes one. I can happily love and daydream and whatnot without equal participation. Unrequited, yes, and kind of sad but sadly makes me happy. O.o It's enough to keep me going and maybe it'll fade. If it doesn't? Well, them's the breaks kid.

I tried hating you. Really tried. Found and made up all sorts of reasons and occasionally daydreamed about thwacking you upside the head with a dirty sock full of moldy cheese. Turns out I can't actually hate you. That said, I tried disliking you. Can't. You're too likable. Even when you're entirely pissed off at me and either avoiding me like the plague or putting me down a peg or two. Let me correct myself, I can dislike you momentarily, but it doesn't stick. Enter !Indifference! This is only effective if I run myself into the ground one way or another in which case I'm too tired to think about anything.

Forgiveness. Key word that. It's been ten months or so, something like that and I've finally decided to forgive. You and I both. Because when it comes down to it we never should've gotten back together. Not at that time. Timing is everything and we made a major miscalculation. Who knows? Personally, I've come to the conclusion that if we'd held off then you and I would be happily together now. I would've gotten my act together and not been a raging nut. You would've had time to learn to trust me. Both of us would've had time to get to know each other again in a low pressure situation.

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty right?

Love isn't blind. It's blind, deaf, and dumb. Oh well. ^.^

P.,

I found a poem I wrote you. I thought I'd stick it in here and any other good ones I find. Remember our sweater?


My comfort is this; in loneliness,
woven warm and fitted to me,
I clutch an empty embrace
as I sleep. And I am free to believe
that this knitted touch
will remember love.
That within the weave
there are pieces of love that won't break,
memories of happiness that won't leave,
but always I wake
and dawn is darkening the sky.


Not the best poem in the world, I admit. But it is sincere.

P.,

It's been a while since I've written here. I write to and for you all the time in my hard copy journal. It's a ridiculously silly thing to do all things considered but it helps me function so I don't care. Whatever works, something's better than nothing. Don't I know it.

I haven't heard from you since I mentioned needing to know what to restring that bracelet with. It wasn't some sort of ploy, I really do need to know. I haven't tried to get ahold of you of course because I don't want to bother you.

I believe you'd prefer that I just reach out to you directly rather than journal publicly or privately but doing it this way makes me feel safe. I can't be rejected through a free floating journal. Failure has become the standard for my life and since I already failed with you I can't stand compounding it any more. Besides, I don't believe you read this and that's a comfort as well.

I know. Counterproductive. It's symbolic. Whatever you do or don't feel for me, I love you. There are other less pleasant feelings mixed up in there but there's always love underneath. This is my gesture of that. It reaffirms my feelings and gives me some seed of hope to hold onto. A person can't live without hope. I figured that out somewhere along the line these past ten months or so.

You've started popping up, uninvited, in my dreams lately. It's both a good and bad thing. Somewhat comforting, somewhat painful, and a little worrisome. I always worry about people's welfare when I dream about them. A funny little superstition that I've always had. I'm sure you're happier than a clam on a seabed.

Dear P.,

The ring showed up today. I've decided to keep it to avoid your derision. I'm wearing it on a cord around my neck where it will stay until it seems like the right moment to give it to someone.

I finally stopped wearing the ring you gave me after nearly seven years. I took it a step further. I took it off my finger, closed my eyes, and threw it. I know it's in the house but not where it is so I can't just pick it up and put it on. What was once such a comfort, such an important thing, really is a hollow chain now. I won't say worthless or I wouldn't miss it so terribly but most definitely unnecessary.

Maybe one day I'll decide to really look for it. Maybe then it will be what it is. A ring. That would certainly be preferable to the broken promises and dreams it stands for now.

P.,

I did something that might be construed as something stupid yesterday. I bought you a ring. I know, I know. I don't know why I'd do that either. I was swimming through eBay jewelery looking for something for myself. A nice pair of chandelier earrings or a tiered necklace, but I stumbled on this ring and bought it without even really thinking about it. It reminded me of the one you gave me all those years ago.

So, now I'm going to be delivered of a ring I don't know what to do with. Should I just keep it or send it along?

Impulsive....most definitely.

I can't lie. I'm a little proud of the purchase no matter what I end up doing with it. After looking at hundreds of pieces I picked the right one and paid for it with money I'd earned selling my paintings. I just don't know what I'm going to do with it... it's alright. I'll figure it out.

P.,

You said that you were unhappy but have never told me what made you unhappy. You said that you were tired of doing for others... Sweetheart, beautiful man, was it really me? I am demanding. I'm no fool to think I was perfect in any way. But was I really the source of your unhappiness? Could it not have been your father who demanded so much of you, your friends who never carried through? Was it me? I spent a whole day sifting through garage sales to find you that stupid little tin-man doll. I spent countless hours choosing the 'perfect' valentine's gift. I struggled through every day, I succeeded every day, because I wanted to be good and successful for you. Because when we talked I would have something wonderful to tell you.

My mood swings? Oh heart of mine, I did everything I could to keep my pain out of your life. Those days I didn't talk to you? I was hiding how sad and sorrowful I was at being apart from you. I didn't want you to feel responsible for my hurting. I believed you had enough responsibilities without my problems on your shoulders. I didn't want to be just another problem for you. I didn't realize it hurt you so much. I didn't think you'd have been better off hearing my woes, as it were.

The love and joy I feel for you. There aren't words. I never have felt like I've ever once done enough for you. All those times you said that you just couldn't do enough for me. I felt the same. I could never be enough, do enough for you. I was just always so excited about your plans with the photography. I'm still excited though I can't, or don't, know what's going on anymore. That's why I always pushed to have you talk to my father. People who know people can make things happen and I wanted to see you succeed more than anything. I understood completely that you are a man who does for himself. That you wanted to do everything for yourself. I just wanted to help in any way that I could.

How did I make you unhappy? How could my loving you make you unhappy? Can you understand how confusing and hurtful it is? Things weren't right. Do you hear me? You've never forgiven the hurt I caused you to begin with and I was a disaster after C.. Two spiteful messes coming together is not necessarily a good thing. But heart of mine, I wanted a life with you. I was willing to do and give anything to build a life with you. I know where, in part, your life is leading. I know the RA will outline the structure of your life. I don't care. I've never cared beyond my concern for you.

Do you understand? You pointed to my head and my heart and said 'This is what I care about.' X took me out on her porch and brought it up. What do you want from him, what do you expect, do you understand what life is going to be like? I looked her in the face and said " As P. says, it's what's here" (head) "and here" (heart) "that counts. That's why I love him. Not for what he is, but who he is." She haunts me too. She said "I always knew you two were meant to be together." It's a split second in my memory but I think about it. It hurts so bad.

How? How did my love make you unhappy? Tell me, sweetheart, I'll fix it. Anything. I'm so far from perfect. I think I'm perfectly awful. But if you'll just tell me what you need from me I can do it. I will do it.


 

P.,

I said something unforgivable to you. I said "You're just like your father, you think women are disposable." I've told you how much I regretted saying it now let me explain. I take responsibility! Don't think I'm trying to explain it away. I'm not. I just need you to know where it came from.

I don't trust your father. I'm as jealous of him as I am of your friends. He had a lifetime with you. A lifetime! He messed it up, badly. He hurt you constantly. While I like him well enough as a person I cannot bare that he put you through all that he did.

You left me for him. That's how it feels. You had been here with me. We weren't perfect but we were happy overall, I thought. After all those times you said you were anxious to get some space from him. You turned down meeting my grandmother because you were waiting on him to call you back and tell you what was going on. I was... disgusted with you. Disgusted with him. A potential, once in a lifetime chance, and you flushed it. It turned out later that you could have easily gone to my grandmother's and been back in time.

I was hurt and I was angry over that situation. I'm still infuriated. How could you? You knew how important it was to me but again I fell by the wayside. For no reason, none the less!!!

So while I like your father, I don't like your father. Two months you spent alone with him. Two months away from me. The next thing I know you decide we aren't worth it. My suspicions? That your father talked you out of me. I was worried about it. The longer you were away the more distant you became and while I never said a word I laid the blame at your father's feet. You and your father's.

I've made so many mistakes with you. There seems to be no end to the mistakes for that matter. But I have always, always owned up to saying and doing stupid things. Always I stand up and say 'Yes, this was a mistake and it was my fault.' You, I don't think you ever apologized for a single thing. How many times did you break my heart unknowingly? How many times did I dismiss the hurt because I loved you? Yet you prance out every flaw. You pile the guilt on me until I can't breathe whenever I'm silly enough to try and talk to you about it.

So, that's why I said what I did. You had hurt me horribly with the things you said. You had told me how irresponsible I was despite the fact I thought everything was my fault. I was begging for your love and you hurt me in response. The spite and the anger spilled over. I should not have said it. I know that. I knew it the moment I sent the message. It wasn't entirely true. I just couldn't swallow the resentment anymore.

 

P.,

I was always a little jealous of your friends. I loved them because they loved you. They were there for you when I wasn't. They took care of you when I hurt you. They're good people and I was jealous of every moment they had you.

I remember sitting on the patio flipping through a Halloween magazine. My favorite holiday. I was daydreaming about the parties you and I would have one day. My brain was buzzing with thoughts of dry ice, plastic cauldrons, and homemade spooky baked goods. All day I'd sat in the sun with the autumn air building my castles in the clouds.

I brought it up on the phone with you, about all the wonderful things we could do in the future. Do you remember what you said? "I always spend the holidays at X's house."

Oh honey. You broke my heart more than a little. What about us? What about me? Were they more important than I was? You were saying that I could never have my celebrations. No ghost cookies. No coffin cakes. No homemade spider suckers. And if we had kids? I had a nightmare image of dragging my baby out of bed on Christmas morning to go to X's house. I imagined watching X's family have a great Christmas morning while I sat there feeling like an intruder.

I don't think I've ever told you about this. I felt that you put your friends before your lover. I was terrified that you'd put your friends before your wife. Did I mean so little? Was I always going to be relegated to second, third place? Was I going to have to give up all these dreams so that they could have you?

I'm not ignorant sweetheart. I know how much they mean to you and I wouldn't have interfered for the world. Even when X told me that I'd best stay out of the state if I hurt you again. I'm even jealous that I don't have at least one friend to threaten you. Honestly. They love you, I love that they love you, but I still feel that I lost you to them somehow.



 

P.,

I'm sorry. The only Thanksgiving we've ever been able to spend together and I ruined it. I didn't mean to. I meant it to be perfect and special and with a simple misplaced gesture it went to hell.

You weren't feeling well to begin with and I wanted to make you feel good. So while you slept or puttered around on your computer I made a huge dinner. I was so excited sweetheart. Holidays have always been a nightmare for me since I phased out of childhood. I've told you about it. The worst moments of my life always seem to gravitate around holidays. Tear soaked birthday cupcakes and shame strewn Christmas trees seem to follow me like I'm the pied piper of hapless holidays. Part of me blames hallmark for my problems here.

I really thought you'd be happy.

I knew you didn't like alcohol. Period. You have your reasons and they're, well, reasonable. I also told you I wasn't drinking and I wasn't. You had said that you sometimes had a glass of wine or champagne on special occasions and holidays so I really thought it would be alright if we had wine. I wanted our first Thanksgiving to be special.

All that excitement. All the joy. All the love that I put into everything. After swearing off holidays I was trying again because you made it worth trying. In my head I saw all the holidays we would have together and I just knew that I would remember every one as wonderful and amazing because it was spent with you.

You shut down. The wine made you shut down. I didn't know what was wrong for a while. All I knew was that somehow this perfect dinner had ceased to be perfect. You excused yourself and went downstairs and left me sitting there with the horror, the shame, and the pain. I'd done it again. I'd idealized a holiday and put everything I had to give into it and you walked away.

I don't blame you. Please don't mistake me. It was my fault for not asking if wine would be alright. I should have but it would've ruined the surprise. Considering how the surprise went over, I should have asked. You tried talking to me about my abject misery a little while later and I remember ticking you off. You hate it when people say 'whatever' to you and I did it on purpose. I was wallowing in my pain and guilt. I felt that every time I tried to do something for you, share things with you, I ended up messing everything up. So I lashed out.

I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have broken out the wine and I should not have taken it out on you. I'm sorry.