Chapter 13 Misery Loves Company

People say you'll get over it. But I know it's not true. Oh, youll be happy again.. But you won't forget. Every time you fall in love it will be because something in the man reminds you of him -Smith

So a year went by. I tried to see other people. I tried not to see other people. But really the only person I saw was him, in strangers and in the subtile actions of those strangers. 

People say you should write your pain or paint it or some other form of artistic expressionism. Why can’t I just lay on my kitchen floor for several days? What do you do when you're logical enough to understand that you’re behaving illogically? I am a mad man. At least there will always be tea. He’d gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend (that apparently existed, who knew) not that he had deigned to tell me that while dragging me out of the bar. So I guess I wrote my pains, which every time I read forces me to remember  things I will never not forget to forget. I had plenty of epiphanies this year, some which you think might assist in my forgetting- chalk full of logical and insight into the human condition, hell: I even started writing this book, or parts of this book. I’ve documented a few specifically for the purposes of this novella.  

« I would never go out with anyone looking for something, its absolutely absurd. » I looked out the window, mesmerized by the glowing lights.

« You’ve lost me madame, please do explain. »

« Why on earth someone would ever go steady with someone who was looking for romance is just beyond me. » 

« If you would blue pencil it my dear, or perhaps just disambiguate » The guy I was seeing at the time sat quietly after he spoke. 

« What I’m saying is, if I can break it down enough into layman’s terms for  you, I don’t understand how someone might intentionally walk into a relationship where they become the boring circular peg to someone’s hole, and if you can excuse my innuendo » I turned me head to look at him, flashing a dazzling smile. « If someone wants to be with someone, forgive the vagueness of course… they will be, but I think I’d rather be the square peg they weren’t looking for but stumbled upon anyway. »

« But think of all the sanding »

« Oh don’t be drôle and I don’t mean it in the French way, fitting in is so boring, everyone likes a sharp edge »

« Don’t generalize, not everyone does »

« And I’m not interested in those types .»

« I thought you weren’t interested in anyone, as part of your character. »

« Now you're catching on »

« I’m confused »

«Part of your character it would seem » 

That year I also met one of my closest male friends: Timothy. Tim. I called him all of the time and he always listen to my tirades, diatribes, rants, and tangents and only fell asleep during one once. 

“I’m feeling rather idiosyncratic.”

“Is that a verb or a noun? Can you feel that way?”

“I thought it was an adjective, regardless, what should I do?”

“Stop feeling that way.”

“Thats pretty simple”

“I’m a logical person.”

“Who doesn’t believe in Global Warming.” He shot me a look and I produced my most angelic smile. He bought us coffee, as happened every Tuesday and we walked around campus discussing things, me mainly monopolizing the conversation. He thinks God is the equivalent of a flying spaghetti monster. He was an amiable friend and distracted me at times from the ache in my heart when I thought of Him. Tim understood that I knew I was ridiculous but felt the way I did anyway. How trivial I found myself sometimes. writing about someone who so clearly didn’t care. I knew my other friends found me ridiculous for clinging stubbornly to my memories. However, its who I was and probably always will be. It was the clear and honest truth so I couldn’t deny myself it. 

I never give up one anyone, but I can never truly forgive them either. That makes things complicated. So months passed, and I still thought of him every day -convinced myself he didn't matter- just start over the next day. I knew I could never be with him, after all, my mind had warped him into something that he was not. The man who had said on april 26th at 12:57 AM that he wanted to be my person did not actually exist in reality. Sure, someone had said those words, but they were a shadow now.  It still hurt thought, John Greene taught us that pain demanded to be felt. So I felt it.  Because it mattered.