De-preciation

A text around 7pm on Valentines Day…

“Go to your front door please.”

I put some jeans on.  Wiped the tears from my eyes.  I could barely breathe.  It had been a day of harsh reflections.  This Valentines Day, as cheesy as it sounds, I was going to be my own Valentine.

Sitting in the corner were a few things: the newest issue of The Walking Dead, Batman #686, a sticker, and a heart shaped locket.

“Where are you?” I texted back.

“I thought I was ready to see you.  Waited for a bit for someone to open the door.  But then lost my confidence.”

It’s been a month.  And time does not seem to heal these wounds for so much bittnerness hath been created.

Against all other judgement.  Against my own judgement.  I started to fall deeper into an abyss.

A man who once showed so much strength and conviction to get through the days that it kept me moving… was a shadow now.  And for a craftsman of light such as I, it stung that much more.

He didn’t understand.

Months and months of him having little to no time for me.  I found myself losing myself.  Many nights, I cried myself to sleep wondering why this man who claimed that he loved me, and showered me with matierial affection, failed miserably where it counted most.  I stopped seeing friends as often.  Part responsibility.  Part sacrifice for him.

But then it became petty.

He was working so hard for that picket fence he said.   Toiling away for that bottom dollar.

Until the day where my best friend came back into town.  He’d been overseas for 6 months.  I wanted this boy to come meet him.  I wanted to have an evening out with 2 of my best boys.

I was thrown more bitterness.

I went through it anyway… the way I always knew how but didn’t always show I knew better.

I spoke to friends.

I went out.

I went to work.

I saved my money.

I cut back on the excess.

I cut back on everything.

I needed the time for myself.

To reflect and appreciate what mattered most.

“I’m raising my standards with people each time they piss me off… and they’re dropping like flies more and more.  I used to have 60 phone numbers in my phone.  It was all the people I’ve met in my life.  I now have 12.  So consider yourself lucky.  You’ve outlasted some amazing people.” my friend from a small town in Alaska (the same Sarah Palin is from) told me.

Because life has to go on.

Because you always have to be moving forward.

I stopped waiting around for someone who did not value my time.

I was alive again.

“Where are you?” I texted back.

“I thought I was ready to see you.  Waited for a bit for someone to open the door.  But then lost my confidence.”

Dear the grip,

I feel that you do not appreciate me.  When you truly love someone… this is not the proper way to behave.

I want to thank you for everything that you have done for me.  For everything that you are doing for me with the coorespondence we are still having.

You say you do not have confidence.

You say I hurt you by having… whatever moments that I have.  They are my moments.  They are the moments of the people I share them with.  They do not belong to you.

You choose to not be part of them.

You chose not to want to be here.

These, are… yours.

Free will.

Live the way you want to.

But live while you are living.

Lest you miss out on something wonderful.

Where the road will take us, for that I am uncertain.  I will be forthright and honest… I do not know if we shall walk this road together or if we shall part ways.  Perhaps for a little while.  Perhaps forever.  Perhaps for many lives to come.  For I cannot make promises or guarantees of anything.  That is something I have always been constant in telling you.

I love you.

I love you as a person.

But lovers we shall be?

Perhaps we both know the answers.

I guess time will tell though.

Because life has to go on.

Because you always have to be moving forward.

Free will.

Live the way you want to.

But live while you are living.

Lest you miss out on something wonderful.

[To be continued…]

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Because of his disdain

Eight months have passed since I’ve seen them last.  This is a pattern.  A horrific unchanging sequence.

It’s been almost 3 years.  The ’09 looms carefully creeping up slow. slow. slow. faster faster faster faster.

He wants to forget me.  And I struggle for some sort of acknowledgment that I exist.  He’s kept me from them.  He’s keeping me from them.

Last night I was accompanied by a bottle of wine as I held back the tears.

I find myself in the same place I was when it first happened all those years ago- at a desk, in front of a computer, writing to the air.

It’s Thanksgiving.  I’m thankful.  But there is this longing in me that yearns paramount.  I don’t need anything than the air and some pen and paper, but yet I feel incomplete.

Pieces of me. A faded memory of what I once was.

Evolved. Stronger.  Ever pressing.

He will not conquer me.

I’m getting dressed now.  It’s almost family time. Of cranberry sauce, turkey, stuffing, and sides of hypocrisy.

Two ghosts shall be at the table.  Smiling little faces. Growing.  Giggling.  Without their real mother because their father refuses to overcome himself.

In my dreams, in another life (can it please be this one) we are all together.  We are this modern age “Leave it to Beaver” sitcom.

Mom, the tech entrepreneur and entertainer.. Grandfather the Banker.

Like a Mother duck and her line of babies, except mom has a briefcase and stilettos.

Of little hands and finger turkeys.  Of silly nervous faces as they stuff the turkey.  Of asking why the cranberry sauce looks like jello but doesn’t taste like it.  Of sneaking that last bit of vegetables to the family dog and playing video games with mom.  Of the big kid poker game with pretzels and marshmellows… of sparkling cider “champagne just like mom…”

We miss you my babies.  Come home.  Please let your father come to his senses… and just.. come home for Christmas since you can’t come home today.