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. 

What you mean

I love the way you look at me when we haven't seen each other in a while, like the rest of the world isn't there and you and I are all alone.

I love the way you laughed, a crazy "I don't care who's looking at me" laugh, and how you would look at me and not feel self-conscious about it, at all.

I love that when we saw an action movie together and there was a really sad part, I felt chocked up and you didn't make fun of me, you just smiled and cuddle closer to me.

I love how you would leave your hand lingering if I didn't or was hesitating if I should hold it.

I love that, while you think yourself to be gullible, you are completely sure of being one of the most prepared and hard working women, more than any other I have ever known.

I love how lust would slowly burn in your eyes as I put my hands on the bed on each side of you and looked upon their depth and beauty. 

I love how you want me to know everything about you, who you are, what you like, and are interested in me in the same way.

I love seeing you close your eyes and pucker your lips and come close to me just waiting for me to kiss you.

I love that you’re always aware of how I look, being so careless, and go out of your way to help me look good.

I love that you see the world with wonder, how it all can be great and how your enthusiasm makes me see the world in the same way.

I love that you also believe in people being good, and that everyone just needs a little encouragement to let out the goodness within.

I love that while you show yourself to the world as being a strong and independent person, one who doesn’t need anyone to live the life she wants, you still let the walls down for me and shared yourself in a way you never have with anyone else.

I love that you make me feel strong enough to do the same, to let down my guards and allow you to know the true me. 

I love you, these are just details, I love that you make me realize I don’t need to overthink life. 

I love how being with you has made me want to be better, not just for you, or because I can be, but because I deserve to be better for myself.

I love that for you and I to meet, so many things had to happen, and yet if even a few of them change, I honestly believe you and I would have meet someway, because some people just click in a way I never thought possible until I met you.

And I love that we both accept who we are, maybe we won’t end up together, but I know and you know that if we ever need each other, the other one will be there.

I wish you would read this.

untitled unfinished

why did you open the gate if you never wished to enter the yard?

why share yourself so easily and accept so freely, just to forget as quickly?

what game were you playing?

what did it all mean to you?

why ask for a person to open up, just to leave?

what scared you to leave so quickly?

do you even think about me anymore, or was i as easy to forget as a useless fact?

why won't you let me back in?

unfinished letter

I write this letter because I am a coward, and this is the most cowardly way of screaming all that burdens me. Here where no one will probably read it, I can just unload all my fears and anxieties, all the shit that has just brought me down so badly. I love her, and she doesn’t feel the same way. At least that’s what she told me once, before I just had to stop. Before I did I asked her once more if she ever felt anything, and once more all she could muster was a connection.  It hurts, because I refused to believe her. I am that stupid. 

I don’t know why my heart (and for a while my brain) refused to believe her. But she was in a way telling me the truth, and I wasn’t entirely wrong. Because I know her, she has let her pain define her. Why do I know? I did the same thing, for a long time I closed my heart to anyone, if someone got as close as the gates, I’d run the other way. I never gave anyone a chance to pry too much into me, I liked it that way. I was pretty good at pretending to be open and transparent, but it was all a ruse, just me playing at being normal. 

But then I met her and it all changed. Slowly she pried my heart and soul open, bare for her to judge. All I wanted was to get laid, sex was all I thought I wanted and hoped to get. But that’s not how we work, and like the best plans of mice and men, I failed. I got laid, but I fell in love. Knowingly, why do I say that? I knew, always, that she could probably never reciprocate my feelings; and the more I got to know her, the deeper I fell. And my certainty grew. She can’t love you, I told myself, she has issues, and she doesn’t want your help. I know you can’t change people, but you can help them try to be better, but she won’t let me. That’s why I know she’s not being completely honest about us. 

And I can’t do anything about it, but vent here and cry myself to sleep. Because I can’t leave her out of my life, all she can offer me is friendship. And that’s going to have to be enough, but it’s difficult to live with this pain. I am constantly lashing out at people, hating everything, except her, that’s not a way to live. Even if she’s far from perfect, there’s just something about her that makes me want to be with her; she’s really the only one who makes me believe I can be better. 

I fucked it up; because I told her I loved her. Not that I lied, but all I did was out of fear. The fear of losing her forever, I thought it could force something. And all I did was push her away. What could I really offer her?  Nothing, I was nobody. All I could do is give her promises. After all she, as well as I, had been through, promises where nothings that would only make us suffer more. But I was desperate. And stupid, and I fucked it up. 

Every night it’s the same, every morning a rerun. I want to hold her in my arms, feel her warm lips on mine. Feel the heat rise as our body inch closer, and look into her eyes and see that fire again. Those eyes that you see only when someone has a deep desire and want for you, and more, truly a connection; then just see that smile as our lips pat for a moment, that smile that my heart knows that I am one of the lucky few who have had that favor bestowed upon them.

All I want to do is be next to her, why everything makes sense when she’s around is something I can’t really understand. But she calms me; with her I can stop over thinking this fucked up world and just live. But live, how? Just as coward laying in bed and feeling sorry for myself? As a fool who asks others to sacrifice themselves for him, when he isn't willing to do the same? Wait for life to bring us back together? Those are not the answer. But I do have to fight, I do have to risk it all. I will find a way, because I'm tired of running away from humanity, I want to be with her.

awkwardness

I would climb a mountain. I would work in ways I have never done so in my life. I will sweat, sacrifice and leave it all on the table. I would follow my dreams just to follow you along yours. I would conquer my fears, leap ahead of the rest of the pack, all to be able, to be honored, to be with you. 

I don’t want you to sacrifice your dreams so we could be together; I know I would hate myself more than you could hate me if I asked you to do that.

I want to be someone, someone who can offer you something. I’m not there yet, but I will be, and maybe it’s for the best for now. 

I want to come home, go to your house or whatever our living conditions are; take you out, and just listen to how your day went. Then just take you home and fuck your brains out, make you just loose it and then just look into your satisfied eyes and see that fire you show no one else but me.

I remember the first time I saw it in your eyes, the fire, that sly smile of desire. Your head laying gently on my chest, maybe that’s the moment I felt I would need you. And I was scared; I didn’t want to open myself to heartache. 

Every afternoon, without even thinking I would start to look at the glass doors of the library every time the opened. I told myself I was looking at the visitors that came every day to sloth around the library. But I was always looking for you, and as the days passed my heart would slowly sink if you didn’t cross those doors. 

When you sat near the coffee area, reading a book or checking papers from work, all I could do was just look at you. Gaze buried in pages, sometimes even of books I had recommended. Your hair hanging loose and fanned across your shoulders, fiery, and all I could think about was throwing you on my bed and ripping off your dress. Such a desire as I had never felt, a desire never tamed by just lustful passion or intercourse. 

Our chests one against the other our hearts beating, escaping the clutches of our chests in stupidly repetitive phrasing, so... Arghgh. I can’t, it’s so, so, all I can do is regurgitate stupid clichés, pre made phrases. All I really do know is that I need you, like I have never needed anyone, that I closed my heart because of fear and you inspired me to pry it open myself. And yet I don’t know if I will ever have you again. Actually I may have already lost you. And yet even if I never listen to your voice, the one that slowly dissipates from my memory and keeps me awake at night in a vain effort to hold onto it; you’ve taken a sliver of my soul, my heart. And if I never see you again I will never get it back, and that is what heartbreak is to me.