cry

Well, it finally happened. I kissed her last night. Granted, we were drunk. She, for the first time, actually, so she was plastered. But I did it. I couldn't have been more happy. I just saw my chance and I took it, and she didn't mind at all. She kissed me back, and we cuddled on the couch for the rest of the night until I went home. Her blue eyes were focused on me the whole night. It was amazing. I called her this morning and asked if she remembered anything.

And of course, she didn't.

I almost laughed out loud at the irony of it. Of COURSE she didn't remember anything. After 2 years, I finally kiss the woman and she doesn't remember a damn thing. But, politely, I dropped the subject. Why bring it up now? Alcohol is the perfect redo button, after all.

Honestly, I'm glad she doesn't remember. That way, I don't have to bring it up. It would just be one giant mess that neither of us would know how to clean up. When She told me she didn't remember last night, I kind of paused for a minute, deciding on how to react. She noticed. She asked me if I was okay. I told her I was fine.

Everybody is always so fucking "fine." But we're not. Sometimes, we are hurt and bruised and nearly completely shattered. And this, sir, is not what one called "fine."

But we say it anyway. Why? Because it's all we know how to do. It's basically human nature, at this point. There are some people who go through life headfirst, all balls. Never missing a chance to take what they want and go for it. Then there are people like me, who hate change. I don't go through life. I've merely adapted to it. I work at my minimum wage job, I sleep, and I sit on my computer, talking to a stupid journal (no offense). That's all. I don't do anything else. I've never done anything else.

She told me once I needed to go back to school, and get a degree in something. I asked her what I needed to get a degree in. She said she didn't know, anything would be better than wasting my life away. I told her I'm not wasting my life away, that I'm exactly where I wanted to be. She told me I should be a psychiatrist. I told her it would be impossible, I don't have the grades for it. She said, excitedly, nothing is impossible!

Who says nothing is impossible? I've been doing nothing for years.

Either way, going back to school would mean moving away from her. And she has no desire to move anywhere else. She sees nothing wrong with our little Podunk town. I never liked this city until I knew she was a part of it. Now, I never want to leave.

I've decided that I'm going to toss a coin. Heads, I tell her, Tails, I don't. Both ways have their major downfalls. If it's heads, I have to tell her I love her. That's not only terrifying by itself, but what if she doesn't feel the same way? Would she just laugh it off and humiliate me? Or would she call off our friendship and ruin my life? If it's Tails, I don't tell her anything. Nothing will change, and I will keep on living in this miserable secret. That's all.

When faced with two choices, simply toss a coin. It works, not because it settles the question for you, but because, in that brief moment when the coin is in the air, you suddenly know what you are hoping for.

Here it goes.

...

...It's tails.

I feel like crying. This is ridiculous. I'm going to tell you something, Journal. You want to cry? I think about her. I remember the promises we made together, the seemingly endless stream of cliches we spilled to each other, the secrets we shared and the moments we kept. I think about how I stare into her eyes. They're beautiful. You want to cry? I remember when it went wrong. How my dreams shattered and my heart broke, and every day I see her and I realize she's not mine. I can stare at all the little things she's given me, but I know it'll never be enough. I miss her, and I never had her. I want to talk to her, but I can't go through the pain of it. You want to cry?

Then fall in love.

captivated

She called me today and asked if we could hang out. She seemed a little down, so I made the 30 minute drive to her house. It's nothing special. It's small, has 2 bedrooms, one bathroom, it's old, and it smells like vanilla and Lysol. It's hidden in the middle of nowhere in the country, but it's what she can afford, though I've tried numerous times to get her to move in with me. The welsh corgi puppy I got her for her birthday was at the door, waiting to greet me. She named him Beowoof, "Bay" for short. I didn't have to wait for her long. She came out of her bedroom tying her hair in a high in a ponytail. She was wearing shorts for a change, but she still had on one of those damn plaid shirts that I love so much. I could tell she was wearing a swimsuit underneath it all. She grabbed her purse off of the couch and followed me back to my jeep.

She told me she wanted to go to the creek so we could talk. She's having boy troubles again. Her current love interest works at our favorite coffee shop, and he's clearly after one thing. And she's not stupid. She knows this. But she can't help it. She's really into him, but he barely bats an eye at her.

On one hand, I'm hurt, because once again, I have to listen about how much she cares for a man that is not myself. On the other hand, I'm outraged. He should be jumping at the chance to be with her. She's beautiful, she's smart, she's funny. She is everything I've ever wanted. And he has the nerve to think he can do better.

We got to the creek and she stripped down to the swimsuit I caught a vague glimpse of beforehand. A one-piece. How modest she is. I watched her jump several times from the tire-swing that hangs from the large oak tree right on the bank of the creek. She asked me several times to join in. I declined each time. I would much rather watch her than be distracted by my own fun. After about an hour, she pulled out the beach towel she had in her ridiculously large purse. She laid on it under the oak and I sat next to her.

She started to explain about Mr. Coffee Shop, and how he'd asked for her number after seeing her so many times and never knowing her name. She said they'd hung out before and, after a while, she started caring for him. She told him about her feelings, and she explained how awkward he looked when she told him. He apparently fidgeted for a little while and told her he didn't think it was a good idea. That he liked her, but not like that. She asked him if it would have been different if she'd "put out." He changed the subject and dismissed the comment.

She started crying again, and I couldn't do anything but hold her. She was still wet from her swim in the creek, and this May breeze made her cold to the touch. For as long as I live, I will always be there to hold her and listen when she's upset. She sobbed about how much she loves me and how she's so sorry for everything she puts me through. How she values our friendship, and how she wouldn't risk it for anything in the world. In other words, how she puts a knife in my heart every day and twists it. And like a sick masochist, I welcome it, because I love her. And of course she'll never know. I couldn't do that to her. She kissed me on the cheek after it was all said and done, and I wanted to grab her face and ruin her pretty little lips with my own.

Instead, I kissed her forehead and led her back to the jeep. She apologized for crying, and promised to take me out to eat later tonight. She'll be here in a half an hour, actually. I am slowly going insane. I hate her for what she does to me, but I love her for those same reasons. I hate/love how she makes my chest feel like lead and air at the same time. I hate/love how much I want to kiss her when she's close to me. I hate/love how all I can do is think of her when she's away from me. I hate/love how many little things I notice about her. I hate/love how my breath hitches every single time I see her smile. I'm looking in my mirror and I wonder, maybe this is what crazy looks like.

I am captivated in her presence, and crippled in her absence.

she

She is an artist and I am nothing. We met at a party on New Year's two years ago, and I have yet to get her out of my head. Her black hair falls below her shoulders in gentle waves, leaving her bright blue eyes unobstructed. Her smile is crooked, but I love it because it's hers. She wears too much mascara and perfume, and all of her sunglasses are too big for her face. All of her jeans are ripped and she always seems to have a plaid shirt readily available. She wears about ten-million jelly bracelets on her left wrist and she always has "LOVE" written on her right hand in permanent marker because she's too afraid to get a tattoo. When she laughs, I am jealous of whoever gets to hear it, because it is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

Her favorite video game is Left 4 Dead and her favorite movie is Fight Club. She watches the Colbert Report and the Daily Show for news instead of CNN or FOX. Her favorite color is green and she has a slight addiction to coffee. She doesn't drink or smoke but she can party with the best of them. She never wears high heels because she's uncoordinated, but when she walks, I swear to you I've never seen anything more graceful.

Her paintings are mostly faces and birds, and she always wants my opinion. And I always think everything is amazing. She'll stomp her foot and tell me to be honest. And I'll always look her straight in the eye and say I think it's beautiful and I love it. She smiles and tells me thank you, and she has no idea I'm talking about her. She's always beautiful. Even when she cries.

Her eyes well up and her cheeks get red, and her mascara runs. Her sobs are so painful to witness, but they're wonderful in that I didn't cause them. I can only cure them. I am who she comes to when she's sad, when she's angry, when she's lonely, when she's helpless or afraid. No matter who she takes home at night, I will always be the one she comes back to. And once she is happy, she will always leave me again.

I know I can never keep her here, but dammit if I don't want to try.