June 3rd
Let me try to put one thing dirty dry. I like her, but I forgot why. It started to get annoying when it started to hurt and interfere with me being with her in good terms, whatever they are. Hence I have been telling myself not to like her, seeing why it would be a dumb thing to like her, logistically and personally. She has a boyfriend, we live far away from each other, she has never been romantically interested in me, she is just not for me as I can see. I don't want to like her and I see no reason why I would, but I do. This is all an attempt to let go, but it's more a distraction than an attempt. Now that we have gotten that out of the way, here are the more tacky words.
"People go into a relationship with an expectation for it. I don't do that." Both she and her cigarette knew that it was the perfect time for another drag. The purple line came faster than usual. It wasn't that cold out, so I guess that may have been easier. The time was late and rude as usual, probably around ten, although I have no idea what it actually was.
Across the couple that were kissing in the corner seats, we started to talk about things or more so thoughts. We were good at just sort of, opening our minds and letting thoughts flow out to each other. "I love how everything is like a movie in Chicago. It's like I'm constantly in a movie." It was more the fact that I was with her than the city itself that helped do that. It was more the fact that she did that to the city.
But I didn't really think that through. Didn't really moderate anything. I just talked as it seemed to fit my character in the script. "Well, this is sort of sad," "Pensive, I think." Yeah, you're right. I knew that the night will be a pensive one.
However it was that the day and the years before that have been leading up to, I did not know and did not care. It was going to happen.
Back in the room, I was half lying in bed, knees bent with feet on the floor, but my torso laying on top of the blanket I was too lazy to throw on top of me. I was listening to a jam recorded by my good friends, while drunkenly writing on my arms with a blue pen that worked remarkably well. I was drunk, finally a little oblivious, fortunately incapable of holding onto the thread of my thoughts, and enjoying the free drawing on my arm.
"What?" I took off my earphones.
"You're a mess."
"Haha," I laughed inadequately. 'that's the most hurtful thing that I have heard in a while,' I thought, and perhaps even wanted to say it out of spite. I was, as she knew fully well, a little heartbroken, particularly pensive. We just had a beautiful talk under the peaceful trees and wondrous skies. My lame, childish and unclear utterances about a tacky, sticky topic annoyed both of us, but it was such a nice Summer night that I could not even feel bad. The gentlest breeze wouldn't allow that to happen. It was so annoying. "Can we not talk about annoyance? It's annoying," she had said.
Yes, I still liked you and I do not want to, not for you, but for me. Yes, I understand now how delusional I was, and how really, there is no chance, and I am starting to think that there shouldn't be a chance as well. It's the beginning to the end. It was rough, and it was true, and it was irresponsible but I would even venture to say that it was inevitable. I mean, maybe she was peeved anyway.
Back in the room, it was not cozy enough to wash away the stickiness. Ugh, everything sits uncomfortably in my eyes, ears, skin, and my mind. The air wasn't dense. It was definitely unbearable though. It was one of those nights you would not fall asleep. One of those nights you were completely stuck in yourself. So I drank and half-assedly wrote. She scrolled through Facebook and then played sudoku on her iPhone. We probably couldn't deal with each other, but was stuck in a room together. There was no way to sleep, nor a way to communicate. We just had to ignore each other.
Then that broke when I took out my earphones to hear what she said.
"You're mean," is all that I mustered up to mumble in response. Because I am the uselessly careful guy who rambles in his head: what would that do, how would that help, and do I even mean it anyway? Then I flip it around, thinking, she has something right, it's a little slap in the face I need, I should take it, I should swallow it, hold it in. True, I probably was being annoying, obnoxious, selfish, tacky and not tactful. I was helpless though.
I always put things into perspective as such. Doing that requires stepping back, going into the next layer, perceiving the current state into a part, not just experiencing as the entirety. Then you go far away enough that you lose sight of yourself.
I put back on my earphones. I was shaken to clarity of the situation, but to find only the shaken up dust. Maybe I twitched. Maybe I didn't. I don't remember. I just listened to the next song that was playing already. The only thing I knew for sure was that it hurt. See I was right. You would hurt.
I think I fell asleep around 4 AM, writing on myself. But I woke up around 10 AM. Not because I felt refreshed already. I just couldn't bare to sleep. I was so thankful to find the refilled bottle of water I left for myself before I went to sleep on the window sill by my head.
All I could do is pack up lazily, because I had to move out, as she had to start doing things like moving out and catching up with seniors. I didn't mind this, but I didn't know when I should go out, how, and then do what. I had no idea what her plans were. I didn't want to stay too long, because I don't think she wanted me there anymore. I was a bulk of sorts. Not necessarily despised, but you know, just in the corner of her eyes. But if I left, I was going to stay in Evanston, which was something, again, less desired by her and just, it wasn't well-scheduled or timed. There really was no good way out. In the mildly hungover morning, I was still stuck. "Would a sleep be a period?" I skeptically had asked. It wasn't.
"I'm meeting a person at 12:30, so you can leave whenever." Okay! Then, "Hey, do you want to leave? I am leaving soon, and I am changing and everything, so it's a little weird." Sure. Technically we've done that for three days, but I guess this time around it's indeed a little weird. I muttered some awkward thank you. What a grimy good-bye, see-you-later. But I know that she doesn't care about what she said because she didn't mean anything in particular. She also knows that I am not going to complain or grumble, that I will be fine.
That I don't mind. I decided not to mind as I walked down the stairs.
Out in the dashingly beautiful sun, I realized that with a tee shirt on, all my illegible writings on my arm were visible.
At a stranger café,
Michael
Let me try to put one thing dirty dry. I like her, but I forgot why. It started to get annoying when it started to hurt and interfere with me being with her in good terms, whatever they are. Hence I have been telling myself not to like her, seeing why it would be a dumb thing to like her, logistically and personally. She has a boyfriend, we live far away from each other, she has never been romantically interested in me, she is just not for me as I can see. I don't want to like her and I see no reason why I would, but I do. This is all an attempt to let go, but it's more a distraction than an attempt. Now that we have gotten that out of the way, here are the more tacky words.
"People go into a relationship with an expectation for it. I don't do that." Both she and her cigarette knew that it was the perfect time for another drag. The purple line came faster than usual. It wasn't that cold out, so I guess that may have been easier. The time was late and rude as usual, probably around ten, although I have no idea what it actually was.
Across the couple that were kissing in the corner seats, we started to talk about things or more so thoughts. We were good at just sort of, opening our minds and letting thoughts flow out to each other. "I love how everything is like a movie in Chicago. It's like I'm constantly in a movie." It was more the fact that I was with her than the city itself that helped do that. It was more the fact that she did that to the city.
But I didn't really think that through. Didn't really moderate anything. I just talked as it seemed to fit my character in the script. "Well, this is sort of sad," "Pensive, I think." Yeah, you're right. I knew that the night will be a pensive one.
However it was that the day and the years before that have been leading up to, I did not know and did not care. It was going to happen.
Back in the room, I was half lying in bed, knees bent with feet on the floor, but my torso laying on top of the blanket I was too lazy to throw on top of me. I was listening to a jam recorded by my good friends, while drunkenly writing on my arms with a blue pen that worked remarkably well. I was drunk, finally a little oblivious, fortunately incapable of holding onto the thread of my thoughts, and enjoying the free drawing on my arm.
"What?" I took off my earphones.
"You're a mess."
"Haha," I laughed inadequately. 'that's the most hurtful thing that I have heard in a while,' I thought, and perhaps even wanted to say it out of spite. I was, as she knew fully well, a little heartbroken, particularly pensive. We just had a beautiful talk under the peaceful trees and wondrous skies. My lame, childish and unclear utterances about a tacky, sticky topic annoyed both of us, but it was such a nice Summer night that I could not even feel bad. The gentlest breeze wouldn't allow that to happen. It was so annoying. "Can we not talk about annoyance? It's annoying," she had said.
Yes, I still liked you and I do not want to, not for you, but for me. Yes, I understand now how delusional I was, and how really, there is no chance, and I am starting to think that there shouldn't be a chance as well. It's the beginning to the end. It was rough, and it was true, and it was irresponsible but I would even venture to say that it was inevitable. I mean, maybe she was peeved anyway.
Back in the room, it was not cozy enough to wash away the stickiness. Ugh, everything sits uncomfortably in my eyes, ears, skin, and my mind. The air wasn't dense. It was definitely unbearable though. It was one of those nights you would not fall asleep. One of those nights you were completely stuck in yourself. So I drank and half-assedly wrote. She scrolled through Facebook and then played sudoku on her iPhone. We probably couldn't deal with each other, but was stuck in a room together. There was no way to sleep, nor a way to communicate. We just had to ignore each other.
Then that broke when I took out my earphones to hear what she said.
"You're mean," is all that I mustered up to mumble in response. Because I am the uselessly careful guy who rambles in his head: what would that do, how would that help, and do I even mean it anyway? Then I flip it around, thinking, she has something right, it's a little slap in the face I need, I should take it, I should swallow it, hold it in. True, I probably was being annoying, obnoxious, selfish, tacky and not tactful. I was helpless though.
I always put things into perspective as such. Doing that requires stepping back, going into the next layer, perceiving the current state into a part, not just experiencing as the entirety. Then you go far away enough that you lose sight of yourself.
I put back on my earphones. I was shaken to clarity of the situation, but to find only the shaken up dust. Maybe I twitched. Maybe I didn't. I don't remember. I just listened to the next song that was playing already. The only thing I knew for sure was that it hurt. See I was right. You would hurt.
I think I fell asleep around 4 AM, writing on myself. But I woke up around 10 AM. Not because I felt refreshed already. I just couldn't bare to sleep. I was so thankful to find the refilled bottle of water I left for myself before I went to sleep on the window sill by my head.
All I could do is pack up lazily, because I had to move out, as she had to start doing things like moving out and catching up with seniors. I didn't mind this, but I didn't know when I should go out, how, and then do what. I had no idea what her plans were. I didn't want to stay too long, because I don't think she wanted me there anymore. I was a bulk of sorts. Not necessarily despised, but you know, just in the corner of her eyes. But if I left, I was going to stay in Evanston, which was something, again, less desired by her and just, it wasn't well-scheduled or timed. There really was no good way out. In the mildly hungover morning, I was still stuck. "Would a sleep be a period?" I skeptically had asked. It wasn't.
"I'm meeting a person at 12:30, so you can leave whenever." Okay! Then, "Hey, do you want to leave? I am leaving soon, and I am changing and everything, so it's a little weird." Sure. Technically we've done that for three days, but I guess this time around it's indeed a little weird. I muttered some awkward thank you. What a grimy good-bye, see-you-later. But I know that she doesn't care about what she said because she didn't mean anything in particular. She also knows that I am not going to complain or grumble, that I will be fine.
That I don't mind. I decided not to mind as I walked down the stairs.
Out in the dashingly beautiful sun, I realized that with a tee shirt on, all my illegible writings on my arm were visible.
At a stranger café,
Michael
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