Elizabeth

Hey beautiful! God that's so fucking corny, but shit I have no idea what to say. I just miss you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that, but it's true. I mean I shouldn’t say it because you don’t feel the same way, or more to the point because if I do I have to be willing to back it up. 

I would, and that’s the problem. I would find you, anywhere you were, just dump everything and follow you. But you won’t accept that, you can’t deal with my insanity. Because yes, I am fucking crazy, it’s just bat shit insane to say with all honesty and truthfulness that I would be willing to dump everything I have built, though not much it’s something, just to be with someone. You don’t believe that, I know because you’ve opened up to me in a way you haven’t with anyone else. Just like I did with you, and that just scared the crap out of you. It scared me to, but it scared me because I never thought I could feel this way about anyone. But maybe I’m wrong; it wouldn’t be the first time. Yet, I know when you don’t say something, when you choose to say something else, using your words ever so carefully, methodically avoiding the straight answers. Or then maybe you are just a psycho bitch, and I’m just a dumbass who can’t tell shit for gold. And yes, this is me overthinking shit as usual.

See I started this thinking about writing you a letter, one that could help me get out of this fuck-friend-zone shit nonsense. But I have so much to say, things that being the coward I am, I’ll just dump online, like my message in a binary bottle. Maybe you’ll read it, but I’m sure you won’t and that gives me some comfort. So in a roundabout way and I curse my fucking head for just dumping everything on paper, I just proved why you can’t really commit to trying to have a relationship with me. Shit just can’t work out between two cowards. I won’t give up, why? I know what I can do, I believe in myself now, because I have seen myself through you, the same way I hope to help you see yourself.

I could come up with thousands of different scenarios about what the fuck happened, they could all be right, and they are all wrong. I know that you love me; there I just fucking said it because I know you feel it, your eyes, your mind, you opened them to me just like I did to you, and I can read you like a fucking book; just like I said I loved you, and I freaked the fuck out of you. I’m just going to push all the god damn buttons, so fuck it. For us it can only be one of two things, you either feel the same way for me, or you hate me with all your guts. I can’t have it in the middle, I can’t play the friend, and you have to deal with your own feelings. I am not going to let you hide; you aren’t going to be the little coward you can become. Either you face up to your own feelings, or I know at least I helped you grow out of a scared pushover, someone who will realize she is so much more than she believes of herself. And you won’t let people walk over you, not anymore, because I don’t want you to be the kind of woman that needs a man to protect her. I know you can be the woman who can stand next to a man, both together walking forward hand in hand. That way at least I can have the chance to do for one last time, all I have wanted to do since the day I looked into your eyes and let you into my heart; not just help you achieve your goals, but help you become that person I know, the one you don’t show anyone else. So even if I don’t have the front side seat I want, my heart will be filled, and my sadness subdued by knowing you are happy.

That’s all I can say now.

Oh, and I do love you. Even if it scares you, because it still scares me; and that’s why I know it’s real.   

sleeping but not really

I miss you. It should be simple enough to say it to you. But I can’t, because you’ve cut yourself off from me. No, that wouldn’t be completely true; I just stopped trying, because you don’t care or you don’t want to show me you care. More likely all of this is in my head, but when I stay quiet and try to listen, I don’t hear anything. I understand, but I can’t keep hurting myself any longer, for nothing. Because you aren’t even a friend at this point, all we are is two people who got into each other’s pants and went our separate ways. 

Maybe all you did was make me feel good about myself, and all I did for you was give what you needed then. Just company, it’s all about selfishness for both then. Your fear and my ego, volatile and eager for company, guess it didn’t take much for them to match. All I know is we are both too immature to even try, I tried but in a foolish way. And yet it’s all still bullshit, because we could have tried harder, the right way. But it would have taken two and you let your fear beat you. Just as I have let my fear beat me and I continued to swim against all logic. Because I know your heart, your mind, and that’s why it hurts even more than it should to give up trying.

I miss seeing you walk through the door, brightening up anyone’s day with your endearing smile. It’s really the most common of thing, you know, the one’s you miss the most. Things like hearing about your day, or the funny thing that happened with one of your kids. I don’t regret what I said; I just realize that I said it for all the wrong reasons. And maybe it’s just best to let you fly away, because if what I said was true, this really is the only way to show you.

I know I don’t know everything about you, but I know you. You’ve told me about your hopes, your fears, and dreams; I may be lacking in details but the big picture is clear. I know you’re afraid. Elephants, purple (though I’m not sure, I regret not paying enough attention), H.P., your middle name (did you tell me you shared it with your mom?), music, television (like everyone, reality is a guilty pleasure), and underdogs. Like me. It’s the little things that I’m missing, because we showed each other the blurry edges of ourselves. And it’s those little things that keep me up at night, unable to sleep in an empty bed with only myself, and not you. I guess it’s stupid, because I only had a chance to hold you once, but it was enough to hook me. But not enough, and I’ve just been left wanting, even with the discomforts and annoying little shit, I just want all that shit.

All I know is, even if I never hear your voice, never get to see your beautiful eyes stare straight back at me peering into my soul, and never get to hold your hand with mine; I will never cease to think about all you meant, all you mean to me. Because though we may not be together, I let you into my heart, willingly but I can’t willingly cut you out without losing part of myself. That part that you saw, and liked, hated, appreciated, feared, who knows. I know so little and yet I think I know it all. Because I don’t totally know, maybe all you are is a lesson, a painful one though. 

And after these few and meaningless words, meaningless to what I really feel, I just can’t let it out. Maybe I’ll just have to come back to his every now and then and add a little more. Because I want to believe this story isn’t over, it’s all I can do to carry on; otherwise I don’t know what to do. So I guess this is a “to be continued….”. I don’t know why I don’t send this to you; I guess I’m just realizing you don’t give a shit and I’m the real coward here.

Hello? is there anybody out there? don't just nod if you can read me

Would you tell me if you read this?
Is it important that I want to know or even relevant?
Do you like what you read?
Maybe it's not important or relevant, but I'm curious, and I guess also a little nervous.
At least don't steal any good ideas, though they might be hard to come by around here.
And well, if you are interested and in Ecuador, I would be willing to supply coffee in exchange for feedback. It's an open offer, take care and thanks for just stopping by. 

dinner 2

The Peruvian restaurant was small, no more than 6 tables, and our group immediately took over all of them, there wouldn't be strangers around, and that was for the best. And so with a little help from the sparse service staff, we managed to join all the tables together in one long line. That way all 16 of us where able to sit comfortably, though not talk to everyone, but gather in smaller cliques. Everyone seemed so at ease by that time, so relieved of the day’s emotions. 

The tiny restaurant offered something of a safe heaven, where we could each unwind. I always tend to think back to that night with a mix of sadness and regret. It had been a particularly good tournament for me but I had fallen short as usual, and my friends had not fared any better.  So we traveled in small groups to fit better in the taxis, that also gave us time to grow reacquainted with our friends who we seldom had chance to see, mainly due to the distance between the capital city and our own port-side metropolis. Also it was a chance to meet new people, especially an exuberant brunet I had been chatting up for a while now. 

Frank and his son, Frankie Jr., sat on the opposite end of the table. Frank was a large man, with somber disposition when playing but of a loud and jovial character otherwise. We all had great hopes for junior, he was a surrogate son for most of us, one we had seen grow from a tiny to an all arms and legs skinny and sullen 15 year old. Most of us had immense hope, he had started playing as a 7 year old, that he would one day be great as a pro. 

After the corner seats Carl and Sid had sat together and were talking quite loudly of their tournament participation, or rather their lack of any tangible rewards after such a long day. Peter hadn’t been able to make the tournament and because of that I had been forced to room with Carl. But the hotel had screwed up, and put Carl and Sid with Christopher and dumped me. Luckily that would prove to be a stroke of luck later. Carl and Sid were crazy about anime, their respective collections were almost legendary amongst those who knew of them, and so was their interminable bachelorhood. 

Carl was a robust fella, but he had the sweetest face you would ever see on a 40 year old geek. He barely looked 30. His short height coupled with his long blonde locks and shaved face, help his case. Not like me, I refused to shave and my facial hair agreed and failed to grow noticeably for weeks on end. That’s also why I just cut my hair short; it’s easier to pretend to be happy when you don’t have to take care of yourself. We both looked alike, and yet I don't believe I have yet met anyone as different from me than Carl.

Gregg sat across from his wife, Andrea. They had married the year before, less than six months prior, so you could still see the shoot each other longing gazes. They had been dating for about three months, or maybe four, it was soon after she had broken up with Peter. They were that typical couple, everyone knows one like them, the pair that will definitely end up together. But it took them a few years to put all their shit together. I cheered in their direction, and Gregg responded with his own glass of pisco. 

I have a hard time remembering them ever being so happy again. A year after the dinner, they lost their first baby boy; they would lose 2 more before Andrea killed herself. Last time I ever saw Gregg was at her funeral, I don't think anybody else has ever seen him since.

I had cleverly managed to sit next to S, her haunting dark brown eyes covered, and yet perfectly framed, by her glasses. We had just talked a couple of times before I came to the city, she was very friendly, both of us also very flirty. I was feeling lonely and cut off, my job had been overwhelming me for the two months preceding the tournament. Long hours, coupled with continuous loss of contact with people, I was vulnerable. Plus really horny, and this girl had huge breasts. 

Sid had been giving me plenty of crap for not making the best of my chances, but I got one on him though. We had been exchanging messages on our phones, pretty nasty shit. So I just read out his messages, cleverly leaving my parts of the conversation out. It was a riot and S laughed out loud, and I could see a slight twinkle behind her black rimmed glasses, even as she slowly turned her eyes towards Laney. 

Danny sat across us with his girlfriend at the time, Dian, and he was entertaining us all with his travel stories. Danny was a man of the world. He had visited 3 continents before his 18th birthday and saw them all by the time he was 30. Dian was a beautiful woman, whose dark skin heavily accentuated her green eyes. She was Jamaican and they’d met in Mallorca, while Danny finished his first master's degree. I always thought Danny should have married her, though if they had settled down; it's hard to believe she would have been accepting of his taste for slim, dark young boys. Every time I have a chance to visit him in Boston, he and Mike, his partner, always have more stories to keeps us entertained for evenings with no end. 

Ralph sat 2 seats over, his wife Laney was sitting next to S and talking to her quite intently. Sonny was sitting next to Ralph, he was seething in silence, yet his demeanor didn’t betray this to the whole party. I could tell, it was definitely me he was angry with. I was extremely pissed off at Ralph for bringing Laney, she never fit in with the group and worst of all, she was monopolizing S cutting me of. At the time I didn't realize she did it all for Sonny. They had gone out for a while before she got into Ralph, and she knew he had a deep affection for Sabrina. She would have to work overtime to help him, S was easy going and I knew what buttons to push. 

Yuri was talking with Jorge and Jeffrey, all three were cheerfully recanting Jeffrey’s win in the finals over a young man named Robert. Roberta hadn’t been invited; I kind of regretted not insisting he come, since he was something a newbie to the tournament scene.

Failure

Today someone told me a very sad story, it was a young girl who is so vivacious, she can really bring up all a groups mood. She lingered a while until everyone left and asked me if I got along well with my family. I said sure I did, maybe not all the time but generally we were civil. Then she asked me if I thought that all families should be that way, and that's when her line of questioning started to worry me. But I said, that yes I believed families should support each member that the world is a hard place, and a family should be that one constant place you can find safety. She said to me, my parents don't love me you know. I thought she was joking, but the way she said it was so sad, I had never seen her eyes wander so, or her voice trail so dimly. It's so strange why people believe you can be a rock for them, even when you barely know each other, but what truly amazed me was that, even with such heartache weighing over her, she was willing to trust people, and open up. To look for help in trying to understand what seemed so hard to grasp.

Some of the most difficult things of being a teacher has been dealing with stuff like this. Listening to young kids and older people talking about their problems and how they have been affecting them. Sometimes it is bullshit, the just need to get of the hook, and believe they can buy my sympathy with a sob story. But then there's this times, when you look into a person's eyes and it's bare, their soul is pouring out and they just want someone to listen. They don't need me to fix their problems, that young girl was probably happier when she saw my reaction of disgust for the type of people who would treat her like that, than if I had actually had a solution to her problems. She just wanted to see it in someone else, that shit wasn't right, that it wasn't fair to her. 

It's hard to stay mad at the world, or in particular some people, when you can look into their eyes and just see it. They're broken; they don't know how to be at peace with the world. They don't know how to be happy themselves; some just make others miserable because of this. The one's that truly make me sad, are the ones who try to make the world better for everyone else. And the can usually succeed, but they can never make themselves truly happy. It hurts when it's someone you care about, because you know deep down they are lying, you can always see it in their eyes. Or hear it in their voices. Sometimes they just hide, push you away, and that's when you realize you can't do anything for them. No matter how much it hurts you to have to walk away.

an end

Last night i thought i was going to die, and all i could think about was that i would never see you again. 

Last night my headache was unbearable, i couldn't think straight. I had never felt such pain, it was so bad i was begging to die. But all i wanted was to see you one last time, to hold your hand, and kiss your lips.

I'm still alive, though I never did see you. I have no idea what to think of that.

I know, and I know you're afraid. So I guess all I can say is goodbye. I do wish you the best, though I really don't know if you care. Or if I really should care myself.

dinner with friends draft 1

The Peruvian restaurant was small, no more than 6 tables, and our group immediately took over all of them, there wouldn't be strangers around, and that was for the best. And so with a little help from the sparse service staff, we managed to join all the tables together in one long line. That way all 16 of us where able to sit comfortably, though not talk to everyone, but gather in smaller cliques. Everyone seemed so at ease by that time, so relieved of the day’s emotions. 

The tiny restaurant offered something of a safe heaven, where we could each unwind. I always tend to think back to that night with a mix of sadness and regret. It had been a particularly good tournament for me but I had fallen short as usual, and my friends had not fared any better.  So we traveled in small groups to fit better in the taxis, that also gave us time to grow reacquainted with our friends who we seldom had chance to see, mainly due to the distance between the capital city and our own port-side metropolis. Also it was a chance to meet new people, especially an exuberant brunet I had been chatting up for a while now.