After taking a course in human sexuality I reviewed which relationships I’ve had that ended with things left unsaid.
Although most relationships, ended or maintained, always hold unspoken feelings, there was one person in particular I feel I need to talk to.
It won’t be dramatic, it won’t be an attempt to revitalize feelings, but it will be an honest bare letter with anything and everything I feel I’d like her to know if I died in the next day or so.
I’ve been thinking about death lately. If I was to die I don’t think I’d mind. It’d be a cop out for myself. I’m not suicidal, but I do like sleep… and sleep is like death without commitment. I forgot who said that.
My point: There are some things that should be left unsaid, and other things that deserve to be expressed.
It’ll be a letter. Yes, a letter. No one writes letters anymore. I think that’s sad. Also, I read in an article today that childhood can be considered the time from age 7-17. At seven you master spoken language, and at seventeen you master written language. I don’t think that’s right. Childhood can be considered that age period, but I’m still learning how to speak and write at twenty three. I’m sure there’s grammatical errors flooding this blog that fly above my head filled of oblivious satisfaction.
I’m on a tangent now. I wanted to write. I’m writing. Cool.
Fuck it. No one reads this shit anyways. I’ll write my letter here.
To all you followers that chance read this, I hope you feel accepted. I’m sharing my thoughts to you. Things and thoughts and experiences and biases I don’t share with everyone… seldom anyone.
Spelling errors and all…
Ahhh, I took it down. I’ll give it to her first, then re post it.
Slumped on her bed, we shared stories. It was late into the night. We rocked an almost post coital glow from dancing a few swing songs. A sore on my lower lip protested my urge. She was so damn pretty in that cutesy “I don’t really know how pretty I am” way. Ella came on and it seemed like everything and everyone was pushing for it to happen. Then the song ended. I was on my side of her bed and she was on hers. I couldn’t have kissed her. The sore on my bottom lip… but that can’t have been the truth. Through the smoke and mirrors of my excuse I was afraid of her. I was afraid of starting something I wouldn’t be able to finish. I was afraid the moment was too perfect. She lost interest like a child with a ken barbie doll limited in motion. The obvious restraint in arms and legs bored her. We shared stories she had never shared with anyone else, then she disappeared. She disappeared like that night never happened, like it was a memory by accident. She’s still beautiful.
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At the roundabout she stopped the car.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
The pull was bittersweet. No contact to solidify our urges. I had talked to her. She had talked to me. A kiss seemed appropriate, but a hug was the alternative we were forced upon.
“Well, I probably won’t see you again.”
Her smile was weak.
“No, I’ll make time!”
Phil, her boyfriend, would break off their relationship if he knew how much we had talked during his absence. How much I comforted her as a friend, and how it lead to unsettled feelings someplace in-between our shared time.
“No, really. I will. I promise.”
Unable to convince herself, she beamed puppy eyes of apology. I opened the door.
It was the most sincere ‘Yeah, okay.’ I could give. I meant it, but knew it meant nothing.
I stepped out of her life, crossing the street. I didn’t look back.
I had the Mediterranean Pizza with an Amstel Light.
The waitress had a tattoo on her wrist. I couldn’t tell what it was, just that it was. She asked me twice if I was waiting for someone.
“No, just one.”
“Oh, I thought you had said-“
“It’s okay. It reminds me of Forgetting Sarah Marshall. One right?! just one?”
When she laughed her face scrunched up. That’s when she looked best, not while she composed herself, but when she shared her wrinkled smile.
This could very easily offend anyone who takes to heart any literal meaning of the bible.
My professor wrote an interesting story based of a prompt that required a character choosing between two portals. The first portal leads to everything the character wants, and the second leads to everything the character deserves. His story consisted of Judas and Jesus conversing while people entered through heaven’s gate. Jesus informs Judas of a new system implemented that consists of the two portals previously mentioned. Peter(gate keeper) asks a man approaching to choose a portal. The man suggests that he should hold the right to glance at what each portal holds, to make the correct decision. Jesus gives the okay and for a blink of an eye each portal is revealed. In one portal the torment of numerous souls and a basic description of what anyone would consider hell is displayed. In the other portal the same image was revealed. For what we want is always what we deserve. The man was defeated and knew this was how it should be, but asked for a chance of redemption. Jesus granted him his chance. As the man walked away, Judas rambled about how great it was to get that serial killer psycho path the hell out of there. Jesus turned to Judas and told him that the man was not a serial killer, but a priest. Jesus then explains that his second coming was to happen. Jesus then transformed himself into Hitler and proclaimed that instead of preaching love, his new mission will be to preach hate. And in that way the human race will learn. Judas questions his actions and Jesus replies with, “It is the right step for now.”
It was a great fucking story. He consistently talks about the importance to draw on biblical stories and mythology. I have to say, I’m starting to see why. The stories have so much that appeal to human nature that it makes for great stories. (Although I can never take any of the stories seriously.)
During feedback he rambled about how often times happiness is familiarity. That we are creatures of habit who fall onto things that may not be best for ourselves. And it’s just great to hear him talk. Everything he talks about I take mental note of. It actually made my day better to hear him ramble the complexities of life. It’s a weird feeling, but I love it. I assume this is how skilled, knowledgeable writers view life. I hope I can work my way into that rank someday.