Words

I read these words in another blog today and my thoughts immediately went to you.

unedited

Continued from part I. As in read that first.

The moment is frozen. My limbs are leaden, and I feel the blood draining from my face. I close my eyes again hoping it was just my imagination and you will be gone when I open them.

No such luck.

You face is frozen, stuck in the same moment. Stuck in a moment, I think.

"And you can't get out of it."

I shake my head and shrug it all off. I find my feet and stand up. I can see my goal: the entrance back to the central lobby. I can quickly lose myself in the maze of corridors and crowds of people. But you've already moved to the bottom of the granite stairs.

I am panicking. I am a cornered animal. Fight or flight.

Flight.

I try the large, ornate doors behind me into the historic building in desperation but they don't budge, not that I am surprised. So I stand there; still holding the handle, my forehead against the glass, and I wait for the inevitable. It's like seeing the tidal wave coming at you; there is only submission. I feel all the blood in my body leave through my feet as the approaching wave sucks it out and gathers it up in preparation to completely engulf me.

Your breath sounds like a freight train. And again it seems like we’re frozen; you behind me, now not knowing what to do next, and me with no escape. So I do what any honorable man would do: I turn to fight.

In front of me is not a monster but a young woman biting her lip with tears brimming, and stocking feet. You never put your shoes back on.

I open my arms and you fall into them.

Just not today

I have writer's block, and it's all your fault.

Yeah, I know, it can't be your fault when you haven't even spoken a word to me in nearly eighteen months and you don't even know where I am or what the hell I am doing. Actually you know exactly where I am, I never go anywhere. It's me that doesn't know where you are or what the hell you are doing. I can guess, imagine, (fantasize! Bwah!) but I am not allowed to know. Technically I am not allowed to wonder. Anyway, none of that is here nor there, or relevant. My pysche or muse just doesn't seem to want to let me write anything until I come here to do a little purging. It's pushing me here---like Modell! HA! Oh how I wish I could just be Linda Bowman again.

Gee, that sucks. I get to purge but never got to binge first. What the hell fun is that?

Yes, so you have been creeping around my mind again. I felt like I was shrugging you off for a while, I even survived the b-day, albeit barely. Something happened a week or so ago---I don't even know what it was now, but it hit me like a brick. It was like that song by the Indigo Girls: "you rush right through me 'til I start to drown..." Since then I've been trying to shove you back down under the bed, into the trunk, where I don't think about you... It isn't working.

Then it was the Whitman. I listened to a program on him. It was so thrilling and inspiring, and I wanted to talk about it with someone, anyone who would get it or at least want to try to. Sadly there is no one where I am like that. I even tried. It made me so sad.

It was then I began to cry again. I have no control over it sometimes. I just try to do it in secret---silently so no one catches me. When I think about what I'll never have again. No one will ever see me the way you did
or listen to me
hear me
respect me
want me
and I don't mean sexually you pain in the ass. (ok maybe sometimes it meant that)

I know it isn't pretty, and it's demeaning and counterproductive, but there are moments---ones like those that I just can't help it. I would give anything to be able to talk to you again, to be your friend. Having you in my life was just a joy and a gift. Then I watch a stupid television show, and see McDreamy say, "Oh I walk the dog every morning at 'such and such a place', meet me for coffee we'll be just friends" and I want to throw things at the TV because he is an asshole and knows better and so does she.

You can't be my friend.

I thought at least you'd note the date. It hurt so bad that you didn't even come look, or peek in on me, maybe even send a innocuously veiled wish through an acquaintanceance.

You probably don't even think of me anymore.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of you.

I wont give up. If anything just to prove something to someone. I am strong, and special, and I really do believe in myself. Most days. Just not today.