I believe in the future. I do. Some days, I might unleash some unabashed honesty about my foundation that could sting the eye or the hearts of people it involves. However, I wont apologize. This is my story. If you've become a character, these descriptions are just how you've been caste. I didn't ask for your role or your torment or your wisdom or your absence or your friendship or your toxins. I am not the director. I am not the producer or even the make up artist. I am simply the film. If you want to erase whats printed, you will have to set fire to me first.
Last night, Vegas reappeared. I had thought she fell off the world somewhere between messy relationships and college vandalism, but she didn't. She's still alive. I IM'd her and said 'woooowwwww... you still exist!?'
We had a short conversation. I always find myself talking more than I should when I'm dealing with the ones who have rejected me or never gave me a chance. I'm kind of a bug that way. I know that their light is possibly going to kill me but I keep throwing myself at it because its just so damn attractive. Thats probably common though. Theres something about the act of denial and being looked past that draws the rejected soul to acceptance. Doesn't make much sense but I just call it a bugs life. We've all been there.
I watched myself ask her about all of her moves, progress, meals, surgeries- everything in the past year. 'Tell me your hips doing better? I remember how much that bothered you..' - ' So are you still with good old Brandon'- ' Hows school going'- 'Hows your mom doing'- 'Hows your dog doing'.... I think I received one slightly forced interest question in response.
She doesn't like me much. She never really did. I was just a guy she worked with, who would meet her at Barnes and Noble and drink coffee with her and listen to her boy problems, who would come and wait with her in her battery deprived car in parking lots during monsoons and laugh about how fucked she is and how she hates her car. I was just the cuddle buddy who would watch endless hours of House or watch movies like the Traveling Sister Hood of Pants ( or whatever that brain damage was called). I was just the guy who would come over and talk to her mom while she was getting ready about how amazing her hockey game was the other night and how Brandon didn't show up but I was there. I was just the guy to give her a few of those 'floating, I dont know what you did' type orgasms and never once felt her touch in return. I was just that guy. I think I'm always going to be that guy.
Ironic that I would come in contact with her after revisiting a 2 year old bread crumb in the previous post. I had almost erased all of the importance from her existence until that blog. But she still has her marking. I just had to rewind a little and pause to make sure it still mattered.
It does matter and that's partially why my chest still lacks rhythm. I haven't been ready to feel a pulse again. I wont be for a while. I need to mature past alot of those self hatred moments before I can grasp what a good person I am and have been and how lucky someone would be to have a guy like me. I still get pulled into that reassuring light of ' you suck, I dont care that your breathing or that you're still breathing or that your care if I'm breathing at all.' I've tried flying away from those fatal attractions but... thats an oxymoron for a reason.
Even through all this sickness and darkness and digressing, positivity has had its shining moments. More so in the form of opportunity and thought. I've recently received acknowledgment from another local artist who I grew up with, who wants to combine thought with me on some work. Its outside of my comfort zone and its something that would tie me to this mitten for longer than I had projected, but... I've always said... I would rather do something I love and be broke then be doing something I'm not sure about just to make money. I have money. Enough to eat with. Maybe my path is meant to go this direction... maybe I'm meant to just heal for a few months and not hurry the process.
Please let me remind myself that there is absolutely no destination.
Please let me remember that there are people out there who believe in me, even if I have forgotten to believe in myself.
Please let me know that a bugs life is a better movie than it is a practice.
Please let me hold onto these bread crumbs and not forget that my purpose
is bigger
than this.
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