The Cam‘s on, cause we’re bored.
May 9th, 2002:
I am the Luckiest.
I am at an amazing point in my life.
Pieces of me are incredibly happy. Happier than I have ever been, in fact, because I know, at the very least, that I have found someone who shares the same dreams that I do. I have found that person who can recite my thoughts to me, sometimes before I even think them. I have found that person who rattles off my dreams as if they were her own, and when I question how she could possibly know she says, “I just do”.
I don’t get many things
right the first time.
in fact, I am told that a lot.
Now I know all the wrong turns –
the stumbles and falls —
brought me here.
I’ve spent more of the last years of my life than I can count living in a world that doesn’t exist. Filled with fabrications of those times I would share with that one person who would make me more complete than I am alone, I’ve lived in this world knowing that I would never have those things and that someday, somewhere, I would settle for something less. Not because this world isn’t filled with people good enough to make a life with, but because my dreams were set so high they couldn’t possibly be fulfilled. And yet now, somehow, there is a girl who whispers all the things I’ve been dreaming in my ear, and tells me that they will happen, and that they will happen with her.
I’m not stupid. If I sat down with someone one evening and told them exactly what I had been dreaming of and then, a few minutes later, they told me they would give me all of that and more, I would laugh in their face. I know better than that. However, when she’s the one reading my heart back to me like it were written in the pages of a book, I get confused. This isn’t possible. Then she tells me that these are her dreams too, and goes on to finish those that I never bothered to and, in the end, they’re actually better than I could have dreamed myself.
And where was I before the day
that I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday.
And I know that I am the Luckiest.
It could be a trick. It could be nothing but an elaborate scheme built with smoke and mirrors by someone who preys on the hearts of young men, opening them up, giving them hope, and then devouring them. Parts of me are convinced that this is the case, because the alternatives just aren’t possible.
So time goes on. We keep sharing our dreams, and I keep finding myself in a perpetual state of wishing — for what, I am unsure. Wishing for the truth to be known, so that I can move on with my life. Wishing that she were real. Wishing that she were before me in flesh and bone and blood, her lips mouthing these same sweet dreams to me. Wishing that I could somehow reverse time and go back to the point where I knew that I would never have what I wanted — back to the point where I was okay with not having those things.
I tried — I tried like mad — to prove to myself that this wasn’t real. I hit every superficial avenue I could.
“I know she’s not fat, but I bet you she’s ugly. Nope. Fucking beautiful. Okay then, she’s stupid, she must be. Nope, again. Very intelligent. Maybe she has one of those silly squeaky voices that you can never take seriously. Nope. Well, okay, but I bet she can’t hold a conversation with me for more than five minutes. Are you kidding? We could talk for hours and never shut up. Okay, well, she’s probably very religious, and that would conflict with me. Nope. Oh. Really? Nope. Well, I imagine she has some kind of horrible sexual hangup that is going to be very incompatible. Nope. Actually, it that couldn’t be more untrue. Well maybe she’s one of those controlling bitches that likes to play mind games, manipulating you into things you would never want to do. Yeah… that must be it. I pry, I question, I get her to tell me stories. Nope. She’s a doormat, just like me. Okay, but I bet she lives lavishly, requiring lots of money for clothing and makeup and expensive nights out on the town. No.”
I continued this for a while. Creating a flaw in my head, forming the words to question it, sharping it like a spear, and throwing it at her as hard as I could. Did she dodge? No. Did it stick? Nope. I missed. Every time.
So I started thinking that it must be me. Sure, I’d never fallen like this, but perhaps I primed myself for this? Maybe, in wanting this so badly, I set myself up for it — made it happen, when it really wasn’t there. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. I decided I needed to find someone here. A new something, with all of those tingly feelings that come with new somethings. The moment the possibility was even in sight, I knew that all of the thoughts and feelings I had would fade to make room for these new ones, and then everything would make sense again.
So I went out. I had been flirting with a girl for quite some time. I didn’t really want love from her, but she was cute, and I would have had no problems spending an evening making out with her, and enjoying some of the physical pleasures that come with being in a relationship. So I poured it on thick. I flirted hard. I tried to get her. I put my arm around her. I talked to her. I softly traced the tattoo on her back with my fingers. I joked with her. I smiled with her. And she bit. This girl that I had been flirting with for well over a year was flirting back. Heavy. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe not. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what happened next. I turned her down. I shrugged her off. I forgot about her. I started talking to her friend, hoping that she would get the picture. I didn’t want her. Was I crazy? Maybe. I must be. She never caught on. She left that evening saying, “I’ll see you Friday, Daniel”, with a cute “I want you” smile on her face. And then something even MORE unexpected happened. Her friend was flirting back too and I didn’t want her either.
So that left me exactly where I was before: stuck attempting to determine the reality of the situation I was in. I was trying to be rational, trying not to get carried away, trying to not let my head float so high in the clouds that I stopped being able to see the ground. Then she said something that pulsed through me along side the blood in my veins. She said, “I love you like crazy.” No. Not, “I love you”, “I love you like crazy”.
And in a wide sea of eyes
I see one pair that I recognize
and I know that I am the Luckiest.
Maybe my initial hunches were right. Maybe I’m being naive. Maybe I’m being stupid. Maybe I just want this to be real so badly that I’m making it real in my own mind. I certainly wouldn’t put it past me. Maybe one day, I’ll learn that she isn’t who I thought she was, and that I was just making it up all along. But until that time comes, if it ever does, what else can I do? I’ve fallen, hard. I think about her constantly. I sit down and have a interesting conversation with my friends, only to wish that she could have been there. I watch the rain fall from the sky, dreaming that she were there to share it with me. I hear a good song on the radio and want so badly for her to be in the seat next to me, dancing and smiling. I see a cute girl on the street, and I wish that I could have her there with me, just so I could turn my head, kiss her on the cheek, and silently say to that girl, “Why would I want you, when I have my arm around the most amazing woman in the world?”
Sure, If I hadn’t found her, I could find someone here. Someone that looks nice, and makes me happy, and promises to give me the best life she can. And maybe in another body or another time I would have taken that offer… but I can’t now.
I love you more than I have
ever found a way to say to you.
If what we have is real the entire world will envy our love. We wont be two people living together, loving one another, and helping each other make it through this harsh world together, through thick and thin. We will be something greater than this world could ever create, or hold, or keep. We will be that which outlasts the temporary nature of our existence here. In one another, we will be more than either of us could ever be alone.
It is possible that all of the strands and paths and webs of this universe bent on chaos could come together in such a way that something this incredible would be created? I don’t know. I do know this: I am happier than I have ever been, it only promises to get better and I love her more than I am capable of.
I’m sorry that’s a
strange way to tell you
that I know we belong.
That I know that I am the Luckiest.
Like I said, maybe I’m lying to myself, and maybe, in the end, I’ll be the fool. But there is nothing I can do now, but wait and find out.
I love you, Jess. Like crazy.