Burying the Hatchet

Several weeks ago, I had a lot of time to reevaluate some aspects of my life that had kind of faded to the background. So here it is, with all of the names I used replaced for security reasons.

          

            I need to bury this hatchet once and for all.

 

 

 

            I honestly believe that Senorita A was the last person that I truly loved. Beyond family, beyond reason, beyond calculation, I loved her for all that I believed her to be. Despite the powerful circumstances of my emotional attachment to the wonderful feelings inside me at the time of my path crossing hers, I still have trouble believing that it all happened, or could happen again.

 

            Every time I begin to feel something for another person, each time I feel my heart flutter at the mere thought of another's presence let alone touch or conversation, I take a step back and examine the facts for what they are. I place my left foot outside the doorway and peer into my very soul and see how black it has become. Hardened by life itself, higher understanding of everything and somehow more frail then ever, its safety has become the top of my priority list. I mean, its so hard to feel anything anymore when my memories of failure are so vivid.

 

            I can still see myself back in April of 2014. She was so beautiful in my eyes. I remember what I thought about her feminine grace in the way she moved, the way she talked and moved those lips with that skin! I wanted to hold her and I didn't have the power to stop the monster of my imagination from making all that and so much more possible when I closed my eyes. Her golden hair and that caramel skin.... Oh how I thought I loved her. I used to listen to Just like Heaven, and imagine us together, just doing the things I have always dreamed I would do with a woman. We used to sit together, talk, cuddle. I remember once on the bus to school I had been listening to Just Like Heaven and a beautiful thought crept into my mind. In that moment, in that second, I created a reality that was so much more wonderful and full of color that the one I was faced with, I escaped there. I used to wish we could be together. Just me and her, alone with all the time in the world to love each and every metric millimeter of the other. And I miss those dreams so much.

 

            One of the biggest reasons why I look back at those hard times and fear, is because that dream was just as real to me as writing is. And for a time, it was beautiful. The docks rolled by from my narrow window seat and the bleak colors of New Bedford's North front street were complimented some how by the pillows of clouds that rolled by, And I really honestly believed that Senorita A was the woman that would bare my children and that would give me security in the one place I hadn't been able to find it; my heart. Yes, yes, say what you will. Its cheesy and it plays on the love at first sight mumbo jumbo, but I really, really thought I had found her.

 

            I recall my routine from one of the rougher weeks. I went to school, dreamed of her, dreamed of her some more, didn't learn anything, and most of all was confused. Oh, and I played a lot of Tetris while I listened to a pretty wide variety of emotional music.

 

            Let me put this into perspective; I had just come out of the fling with Senorita B, and I really genuinely had a love for her. I mean, that was the real deal. She hugged me tight and for the first time, I felt so safe in her embrace despite our size difference that I could barely rationalize it. I would come to learn that she was crazy and had a boyfriend the whole time, but in reality, in the emotional cockpit of it all, we had a time together. Not one full of sex and drugs, yelling or anger, and maybe not even passion. We talked. And talked. And talked some more, and to this day I believe that she loved me during the time we spent on each other's doorstep to the others heart. Up until the bitter end, I have only good memories of Senorita B. And it pains me in a way I cant really describe anymore. Because those feelings died long ago.

 

            The road has been so harsh. Jagged with rocks and cliffs of hope and plateaus of desire arcing forth with relentless urges, and I cant really place Senorita A's time on the road of my life anywhere else. It wasn't just infatuation with her. It was an unhealthy obsession of sorts, and I know it. I just know it. Its only that way because it wasn't mutual, and when she didn't want anything to do with me it destroyed me. It partially was my fault for placing her on a pedestal like that, but like I said, I believed in what I was doing with a divine purpose.

 

            I can still see her now, beautiful as ever. But then I remember that the image is black and white before it corrodes into the empty space where my heart used to be. The person I loved didn't exist. She wasn't real, or at least wont be for years to come.

 

            Her golden hair, her perfect figure. All of it. I wanted so badly to take her into my arms and love her for my own. I wanted to show her that trick and share my world with her, show her the glorious spectacles my mind has to offer and let her see the world through a lens not known to anyone but myself. I wanted to be loved and to love, with all my heart and my body and my soul and my mind and the whole goddamn show. I would have thrown all of it away to have had that back then, and I wish I had that ambition today. I wanted to love her like we were stuck in a love song where we had only each other and that was all we needed to survive while the earth spun merrily on its way around the sun once more.

           

            I wanted to wake up next to her and see that smile stretch across that face, and I would know that no matter what it was that troubled me, no matter what lies ahead that I would have a beautiful woman by my side to ride out the s**t storm with me for all of eternity, until we hit the cusp of infinity and the sun explodes, forcing our everlasting love to resonate throughout the universe until we are reincarnated into another life. So we may repeat the whole thing once more, playing our part in the grand symphony of everything one more time before giving a final bow and falling love again and again, in a cycle that only proves the hierarchical order underlying the whole universe and you know what? Even if their is a god, even if their isn't, even if its just evolution working its cruel magic on the top of the food chain, even if I sound selfish and arrogant and stupider then the real case, I don't care. Because I can safely say that buried somewhere inside myself, is the girl I created that I loved once. No matter what the form was, I loved something enough to sacrifice myself to be with it, and when I tried to connect that piece of the puzzle with its only counterpart in the physical side of things, it was spit in my face over the computer and I haven't been the same since.

 

            Even if its pointless, even if I will die and so will she, and the entire universe will spatially collapse in the big f*****g crunch after the sun explodes well after I've expired, I want to be "the apple of my girls eye". I don't give two flying f***s what the rest of the world thinks, but as long as she loves me more than I love her, then I'll be alright. Now that I have grown up a lot more, I know that I can safely say that the next time I love someone else, it will not be a waste of my time.

 

            Sometime in the future, it really will be "just like heaven", and I can show that special girl a trick or two. We can look through each others lens not separately, but together, in a pair of binoculars fashioned from the purest of love. Love transcends gravity and nuclear force, Darwinism and the whole  goddamn theory of relativity. All of those things are the most beautiful in the universe, but nothing compares to love. Because no matter how much higher understanding I comprehend, no matter how many books I write and no matter how many I read, No matter how much pointless things I share with the world and no matter what I create, what is any of it worth if I have no one to share it with that loves me for me, and for nothing else?

 

            It'll be so perfect when my dreams are realized. I will see her and just know. When thinking just now, I realized that in order for our love to blossom and take flight, I must build the airport. Instead of trying to form cocktails of mashed fruits and crude oil into high octane gasoline to fuel a school bus with wings and retrofitted clothes washers for turbines, I need to build a bell bowing seven forty seven and plan the biggest most glorious flight ever devised. We will watch the sun rise and set, watch the universe unfold just as our love surely will take the greatest flight ever flown. For the rest of our lives, we will be able to look at each other and know that we don't need to humor anyone else with the trials of our commitment, because it isn't any of their business.

 

            That's who I thought Senorita A was. I didn't know it at the time, and I haven't really thought about it since, but its a chapter of my life I cant explain. I mean, that beautiful love of my life that I long for that I just spent however long it took to describe was who I filled her shoes with. When Senorita A hugged me at the tournament, what in reality was a friendly gesture I believed to be a sign indicating that the love department had finally called my number. It had been a hard road to that point, and I had sunken deeper than ever before in those times.

 

            And it scares me. Time heals all wounds, but my heart really has been a different place since that happened to me. I spend sleepless nights wondering whether or not I'll be prepared when the time comes to act accordingly and not screw around. If I'll be able to step outside myself and truly care for another. I want it so bad, but my inapt emotional capacity lately has hindered positive dreaming useless.

 

            With each passing day, I grow more and more apart fromm the man who could love a women, and closer to one that I don't know. Senorita A marked a point in my life that made me grow up in a way no one should ever have to. I still haven't even kissed anyone for Christ sake! Sure, my sexual urges haven't gone anywhere, and maybe because I haven't been meeting new people the outlook feels especially bleak, but is it really that colorful? What am I even missing out on?

 

            A hopeless strike at something I have yet to discover? My current philosophy is that when someone wants me, they will not hesitate with that want. Because that's just what I would do. I would try my very best, just as I have, to show that person affection almost without thought. And that theory may fit the facts, and sadly, those are usually the worst kind theories. However, in this case, stepping out onto the plank and doing a little dance is the only way to show that special someone who I am inside. Because if not love, then what else? For it truly is love that makes people more than just another face in the crowd.

 

            Senorita A stripped me of my confidence and left me frazzled in my bed listening to "Save Me" by Queen, and I have too say, that is as bad as it sounds. Could anyone else imagine that? What really fucked me in the end was the idea that she was an Idea the whole time! I knew I was dreaming the whole time, but I chose to deny it because lets face it, sometimes dreams are better than what we are faced with here on planet earth. I spent hours and hours trying to probe my head, searching fro a reason this magical goddess of a woman had touched me with her grace, when in reality she was just an apparition of my deepest dreams manifested into the shoes of a real live person!

 

           

            But Senorita A did give me things too.

 

            She initiated something deep inside me. Something beyond explanation, and a true anomaly at heart from the innermost depths of my brain. She managed to force me, on my own, to discover what love should be like and better yet, changed my life to one of a writer! And I have not looked back yet! Sure, I had already begun my career when I met her but she ignited a flame that I fuel to this day with cords of knowledge so that I might become even more of a self actualized person! And I still do genuinely love her for that. The rest might be blackened, and chances are that the odds are fairly against her actually knowing who the awkward big dude that washed out of her martial arts class in high school was. She probably barley remembers me, because for all its worth, we hardly exchanged many words. Not enough for me to have a clear picture of who she is, and definitely not enough for her puny mind to conceive even the slightest notion of who I am, and have become as a result of my knowing her. But why do I give half a f**k if she were to know anyway?

 

            All she does is prove just how intoxicating attraction can be. That's what it was when you strip away the variables of the individual. What I believed was love, was nothing more that me wanting to f**k her brains out until I couldn't bare the sight of her anymore. Believe me when I say that I would still gladly engage in intercourse with her everyday of the week and enjoy every minute I would spend pleasuring her while that golden voice shouted my name, pleading for a result that I had control over. Complete control over. And even now, I'm getting all excited just think about smelling the salt of her skin and feeling the warmth of her body next to mine as I held her in my embrace, her firm breasts pressed bare on my chest as I stared into those eyes while I did things I haven't actually done yet but wouldn't mind doing at all.

 

            In fact, its too bad that the woman of my dreams isn't Senorita A, because it  would be f*****g amazing to have her bed on cold nights and to make disgusting sex jokes with. To be able to force her to bed with no clothes just for fun while we explored every crack and crevasse of each other, together. Plunging into the depths of her while she got excited at the slightest touch of my hands as they ran down her sides, while she clawed at my back in a passionate agony that would never leave the bedroom. An aggression that was purely sexual, deriving all the tension from our muscles into each other as we loved each and every atom in the other.

 

            Man I would love to have a crack at loving her for real.

 

            I love the Idea of her, not her , because she is just a woman with a body and a face, and in reality that doesn't matter because the person rocking those assets is no more than what her flesh entails.

 

 

 

            Writing this last night was more cathartic than I thought it would be. This initiated the reactivation of parts of myself I haven't felt in a long while. At some point today, I realized that one of the over arcing reasons my female ambitions have subsided as of late, pertains mainly to the idea that I have long forgotten what the goal was. What the dream of true love looks and feels like. I have brutally squashed any attempt at feeling that train wreck of emotion, because its governing power over my being in substantial.

 

            It pains me to say, but I cant really see it anymore. So now, right here at seven forty eight on march the twenty-second, I shall paint the glorious picture envisioned by yours truly on the car ride home from our New Hampshire vacation this summer.

 

            Instead of being shackled by the ties of reality, opposed to being distraught in the face of absolutely wonderful emotion, instead of conjuring a false woman to love, I created an oasis within my mind and my mind alone to which I can love the one metaphysical representation of what I desire most with the fullness of my being.

 

            Instead of beautiful skin, marvelous hair and dimples that make me smile, I can get high on life via the only drug that counts; the female one. She has hair made of question marks, skin made of question marks and I cant even see body, and I don't bother giving her a face. She has no name, no binding element to be tethered by. She is the accumulative resolution to the female question. The one of true love, the one of an endearing soul that is mine to reap the benefits of and I hers. Together, we shall conquer the world and slay all who stand before us, because our love will be just that powerful.

 

            She, the lovely woman that I have created is the perfect fit for my imagination's every desire, for she can become real. If the soul I love has no face, then it cannot therefore be locked into gear by the layers of social conditioning surrounding it. I don't have to worry about her not loving me, or about whether or not she likes me because it could be anyone!

 

            Now, that merely is just a device to give myself hope during the days when s**t really hits the fan emotionally. Some days finding that special someone is all I can think about, and the severely emotional music that I listen too much like the main character of "500 days of summer" are just nails in the coffin.

 

            Loving the person that I placed in Senorita A's shoes was one of the most confusing things I have ever had to experience, and in the end, it got the best of me. I kept imagining her as this goddess of beauty on a scale I could hardly understand, but then all the rest of my big mind seeped through and posed big questions about the nature of my endearment to the predicament. If I lover her so much, why isn't she loving me? If I am so distraught over this girl, why haven't I done anything about it? Have I failed already? Where is she now? Why isn't she talking to me? Will she ever have it within herself to love someone as crazy as me?

 

            One of the things that really fucked me, and still leaves me wondering what the hell was racing through my head (both of them). One time at the (location we met), we were sitting together and I asked her a question I never thought I would. In a previous excursion, she had discussed her interest in pathogens and some biology. Some biology. Jesus Christ I thought I loved her so much. I would have taken a three hundred round belt of fifty cal in the chest for her back then, and what did I do with the farm I bought?

 

            I discussed in thorough detail with her, thinking her opinion could mean something to my research, about the nature of my book. I love those fuckers and I would die for them, but for her, not so much anymore. With utmost confidence, I confessed a portion of myself to her and expected a miraculous set of variables to unfold and that we would build a relationship off of her little interest in science, which in reality, doesn't compare with my own at all. Now, you have to know, that I don't normally talk about my book with anyone. Nobody. barely even my best friend, but he has nothing to do with why I prefer secrecy. Yes, I ask questions but lock my own ideas into ulterior motives so nobody has to know about my plans to overtake the world of science fiction with nothing more than my brain, a keyboard and a computer.

 

            On that day, I dodged my whole regime of awesome undercover badass research with the hopes that she would receive my knowledge and be able to regurgitate and see something that I hadn't. What the F**k. What was I thinking? Yes, that would have been the hottest thing in this whole goddamn sector of the universe if someone as hot as her had the brains to back the Braun, but that is what I was testing. I exposed the one thing I  love most in the world to her. I have never done that with anyone before.

 

            Obviously, this whole epidemic was a one sided catastrophe covered in s**t and bears before it exploded after Rufus and Noah killed us both, but seriously, this s**t fucked me good.( reference to one of my stories. one of the more... ridiculous ones at that) I really, really haven't cared about anyone as much as I cared for the person I imagined, and that bothers me to no end. Fearing that you will never find something as monstrously beautiful as love is something I wouldn't dare wish on my worst enemy. And I live with that s**t everyday. A sickness of great scale is constantly eroding my insides to dust while I sit back watch my youth dissipate into tomorrow.

 

            How am I too live, when I have no real love for life anymore? Sure, I love creating and building universes other than our own and writing especially, but I feel strongly as though I have been dissuaded out of  the dreams I once had for my role in the continuation of the human species. I don't want a one night stand. I want to love some amazing woman who will want me to be a part of her life just as bad as I want her too be in mine. OK, so maybe my plan of attack has been all wrong.

 

            Perhaps I'm to come to terms with my prolonged exposure to what I want most, or is it even that? Maybe that's why I have let the desire turn to stone. Maybe I have become so in love with my work, that I don't feel the need to find that special someone is as powerful as it once was, for as fucked up as it is, someone else who isn't the right person is just a waste of my time. Time that I could be discovering the universe with, squandered on emotions I never needed to feel. Its interesting how much sense that side of the argument makes when you consider the ladder. But nonetheless, the desire for love has placed an aura of caution around my heart which may have preserved it thus far, but clearly something is fucked because I'm here writing this, when there are about a million other things I could be doing.

 

            Man. What have I learned in the past year since this Senorita A escapade? A f**k load that's what. I have learned a nearly impossible amount of information this past year. I have grown into a man, breached the peak of higher understanding, hell, I'm soaring high above the clouds with the greats. But when I look down on the world, when I see the flashing lights and the colors of everyday life clap me on the stomach as I glide by on my dragon bear of life and love and knowledge, I look around. I look too my sides, I look at the sun and the stars and the planets and the galaxies that spin so magically just the way Newton implied they would, careening around each other in a cosmic ballet so much more beautiful than anything anyone else has ever experienced, and I feel hollow. I feel alone inside.

 

            So I go to the sun. I visit the farthest star and watch as it spins wonderfully avoiding collision with yet another star among so many and I fling around Jupiter and dance across Saturn's rings before I return to my desk and write my adventures down for all to see them burned into time itself. But etched across my mind is the burning feeling that its just me against it all. Yes, I have Best Friend, and we are going to be blood brothers until the whole goddamn world turns into Bears, but he is my Best Friend in the whole universe, and although I am lucky to have him, I want more. I need a female companion to share all of my adventures with, and as much as I love that f****r, he's got no tits, his laugh sucks, and has not much  of a looker. At least not to my standards. Sorry nick name, but your freckly a*****e is not a vagina, and it never will be. I'm sorry.

 

            Its an odd kind of lonesome, because as much as I would like to have something like love, I want to focus on my work so badly that the rest of the world just becomes less important most of the time. All of the time actually.

 

            And I must say, I'm at a crossroads men of my caliber rarely face because I am of my own caliber. Who ever needed to decide between love and life before? Its entirely possible that I just haven't met the right woman yet. Man I cant wait for that day. Perhaps that's the answer to my infinite questions down the sights of love? In order to lock and load once more, maybe I'm to clean my gun all the way first. Maybe I need to become self actualized first, let my life take its course instead of deadpanning about what I want when I could be seizing each day by the short hairs and shouting that one Latin phrase that sadly is just a tad under used by my generation.

Author's Note

Ok, well cautious reviewers, I made this account hoping for the feedback I can get about my work. Yes, there are grammatical errors and such, but please do keep in mind that I am usually quite busy for someone sixteen, and more often than not I have difficulty finding time to strip my work to the core and rebuild it the way I would like to. Also, everything inside this text actually happened. I am absolutely ecstatic about hearing everyone criticism, as I can take anything anyone can dish out.

Reviews

[Henryglass]

This so wonderfully done. Such a profound piece that explores many facets of the human experience. So amazing. Thanks for sharing.

[Emunah June.]

Wow. Holy cow. This was so deep, so incredibly riveting that you had me from the first word to the last. It's so great to see you thinking from all aspects of basic humanity. Wonderfully done.