5:23 P.M. (Same Day)

                Work was painfully slow, but on the bright side my coworker was in fact very attractive. I kept waiting for him to bring up the fact that he had a girlfriend because it seemed too good to be true. The only unfortunate thing is that he didn’t invite me to grab a bite with him after work. He was handsome, he’s in a band, he’s Italian, he’s handsome. Let’s call cute coworker guy Italy.

                As we talked we came to realize we had quite a few mutual friends. He even knew a guy I’d crushed on my junior year. I tried my best not to make my enthrallment with him too obvious, butI’ve always been a terrible actress. A few times I looked in Italy’s direction and caught him looking back at me. Maybe I was just imaging it…but maybe I wasn’t.

                The sad thing about guys is that as a girl I tend to like the idea of a guy a lot more than the actual guy himself. I see an attractive male and think he will match up to my idealistic hopes of how a guy should be. For this reason I am frequently disappointed. This disappointment tends to start shortly after they open their mouth and begin to speak. The words that come out of a guys’ mouth largely reflect the kind of person he is. Certain things a person says can muck up how I perceive their physical appearance. I don’t care how good looking you are – the moment the word “epic” leaves your mouth you immediately drop ten points in attractiveness. 

Wednesday July 24, 2013 2:27 A.M.

                I miss having someone to hold and having someone to hold me. I miss tender kisses and the way it feels to share mutual affections with someone. I can’t seem to find a decent remedy for this, so here I am in the wee hours of the morning typing away on my keyboard, hoping to find some resolution to this dilemma.

                I can recall fond memories of days when C and I were going steady without much feeling now. Like there is a force field numbing my emotions. I’m not sure if I prefer numbness or pain. The obvious answer for most would be numbness, but pain can be pleasant when it’s reminding us of or mortality. I am alive, and pain is just a reminder of that. If I deny pain then aren’t I also denying the perks of my very existence?

                I’m not trying to go all philosophical on you, but I can’t help that my mind is churning with curiosity. Another thought that is occupying my mind is work. Tomorrow I work the morning shift with a co-worker I have yet to meet. My foolish hope is that he is attractive and finds me mutually appealing. Maybe then he’ll ask me to grab a bite with him after work and we’ll hit it off over a shared appetizer and lighthearted stories about years past.

                …But the cynical part of me can’t let me enjoy this fantasy because this part of me is quick to remind me that my fantasies are no more than overly hopefulness. I’ve learned the consequences that come with being overly hopeful and I don’t wish to re-experience these consequences sooner than necessary.

                I spent the last several hours over at J’s house. We caught up on our favorite TV series, smoked some hookah and talked about our dreams. I enjoyed myself, and for a brief time I forgot how lonely I am. But even in the presence of another I can’t seem to completely shake the feeling of isolation.

                I think I like writing because it’s another distraction from those feelings I try so hard to outrun. For a short while I have a purpose and I can feel as though someone is listening to me. Someone can hear me. But of course I’m just talking to myself really. That’s all this is. Me trying to comfort myself. And the thought of that saddens me more than I could have anticipated.

                My life is an indie drama that no one’s ever watched. It collects dust on the bottom of the shelf along with the other VHS tapes that are no longer of use to the video store… by this point I’m sure you’re beginning to grasp what kind of mood I’m in. Introspective. Deeper in thought than I’d care to be.

                As I now will myself not to cry I have the urge to walk down the hall, through the kitchen to my dad’s room and wake him up just so I can have him hold me for a few moments. So I can remember what it’s like to be comforted by someone other than myself. Someone that hardly has the choice to love me. Would he hold me? Let me cry briefly perhaps? Or would he turn me away before I plead my case? This could seem like a cruel response, but I too have been cruel so maybe it would be my karma.

                I know it’s hard for him to see me in a fritz. It makes him feel uncomfortable. Something he can’t fix. I just want him to be my dad for two minutes. Then I could shuffle back to my bedroom, slip into bed and drift in and out of sleep. I don’t know when my dad and I became so afraid of each other. Our relationship is now that of two roommates that don’t really care for the others company. It’s as if I woke up one day and realized I was homeless, yet ironically living in the home of my father. The separation we’ve built up between each other serves as an emotional wall so we can’t hurt each other. Those are two things we’ve both become experts on – hurting each other and building walls.

                It’s strange the way all these feelings well up inside me all of the sudden. I was able to keep them at bay all day, keeping busy at work. In fact I had a great day – even making a decent amount in tips. I keep torturing myself. This self-mutilation only seems to worsen. 

The Science of Falling

Love
Is an active choice.
Not
A passive fall.

The boy that froze.

He was always restless

and his foundations

never held. 

he didn't know how

to love himself 

the way she did.

So he remained wrapped

in the blanket of comfort

she provided 

until her fleece

was no longer warm enough

to keep the cold

from engulfing him. 

raining boys.

He wanted
to be a man
but he was nothing more
than a 19 year old boy
with buttons for eyes
and a claustrophobic soul.

Unloved at First Sight

I remember the precise moment I stopped loving him.
We had gone out to dinner.
I was just getting back from the lady's room.
He looked up at me and smiled.
His eyes, I noticed, were dead and lifeless.
Not even a dull glimmer of light remained. 
I blinked
thinking eyes would appear in the two gaping holes in his face.
They only grew deeper.
He looked at me quizzically.
Perhaps something in my expression had given me away.
I sat down beside him
avoiding looking at what had once been a pair of chlorine blue eyes.
It was as if something had changed in the time it took me to use the restroom. 
When I left everything was normal.
But when I came back he was no longer the man I loved. 
I denied it for a while,
dismissing it as a feeling that would pass just like indigestion. 
But it never did.
It only worsened.
An unexplainable bitterness began to build up inside me.
Today I looked through some old photos of us
and realized that I'd imagined those chlorine blue eyes of his
because he'd never had eyes of his own to begin with.
Funny howI was the one with the eyes and I was blind the whole time.
Maybe I should pluck my eyes out.

An Alcoholic's Affair

His touch was too eager.
Almost as if he was afraid
She would evaporate into thin air.
She wanted to.
But she laid there instead
as he murmured drunken slurs into her ear.
She could taste the bitter fluid on his tongue.
He never seemed to want her when he was sober anymore.
It made her feel utterly repulsive.
Was it her unsatisfactory performance
that had driven him to his alcoholism?
Or had her looks deteriorated so rapidly
that the thought of touching her was sickening?
Perhaps this is why his movements were always so rushed now.
He wanted to get it over with.
Maybe he no longer enjoyed it
but saw it as a right of passage he had worked so hard to earn
he felt obliged to indulge. 
Frankly, she no longer cared
to know the answer to these questions.
She felt his body convulsing on top of her -
a sign that he was close.
So she closed her eyes
and clenched her jaw.
"It'll be over soon" she thought.