two corpses, caressing

for p.

two bodies traverse the expanse of a bleak surface

turgid tendons, split shins, flayed toes

but still walking

propelled by a hunger surpassing the stomach

as lidless eyes dance among the faces

desperate to find a hollowed out counterpart

two bodies come together with clanging cartilage and vacant stares

empty eyes and lolling tongues

tissue skin sheared from the friction of fingers

gnashing teeth reminiscent of romance

hollow hearts and hands, touching and tearing

clamoring for a clavicle

but only grasping guts

devoid of pleasure but programmed by dim memories

of what this once felt like

two bodies moaning in the murk

assuaging and assaulting, seething and writhing

 falling away from each other in the blood wet world

trying to taste the truth of one body to another

but only tasting tin

drunk on the red wine of blood

full on necrotized flesh

satiated by nothing

one body gasps and screams

and shudders and stumbles
stops

then moves past the other

blood on the mouth, hole in the chest

seeking sanctuary in another skin

one body stands alone

and watches the other shuffle away

filled with a mud soaked memory of pain unidentified
flooding back from the faint fog

no marks on the skin, no bruise to the brain

only an internal hemorrhage

one person bludgeoned by the burden of belonging
recalls the ramifications of respiration
and dies again

 then concedes to the cold dark

and crumbles

be my veins

"Love is nothing, nothing, nothing like people say
you gotta pick up the little pieces every day..."
-Liz Phair, Love is Nothing

"For a heart beats the best in a bed beside the one that it loves..."
-Lady Lamb the Beekeeper, Crane Your Neck

For a while, it felt like everyone else was falling in love and I was just falling apart.  It was like some kind of pheromone phenomenon.  Everyone around me was talking and dating, mating and relating, getting engaged and pregnant and coming together.  Normally, I couldn't care less about people and their paramours but when so many people were coming together in such a small amount of time, it threw me for a loop.

And I kind of felt down about it.

I never wanted to be the kind of person who was happy simply because I was in love.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  you don't need another person to be happy.  I really believe(d) that.  I know my writing and whining about being lonely doesn't always (or ever) reflect that philosophy but even loners get lonely...right?

But what if I'm wrong?  What do I know about love?  I've always thought I had the level head, that my heart wasn't tainted by crushes or heavy feelings and I could dole out decent advice about the topic because I was removed from it.  I could think logically.  But maybe you can only know so much about love from mere observation.  Maybe the best way to know about love is to live it, to love and be loved.

But how do you start to love?  How do you know if you're doing it right?  How does any one of us know?  The heart doesn't come with a handbook.  Love is universal yet it seems the way in which we all come across it and experience it is unique.

And what if happiness, or at least some form of it, does come from love?  If you don't love, are you missing out on happiness?

heterotaxia

"You love, love, love
when you know I can't love
you love, love, love
when you know I can't love you
so I think it's best we both forget
before we dwell on it..."
-Of Monsters and Men, Love Love Love

If someone says they love you but they don't show it, does it really count?

It's like living in poverty with a million dollar bank account no one told you about.  You're rich but you're not rich.  You're blessed but you're not blessed.  You're loved but you're not loved.  

I don't want to say not being in a relationship has been detrimental to my self-worth but I don't think it's helped.  I just keep thinking how I'm 27 and have never connected with anyone on a deep, meaningful level.  And the one time I thought I did, well, it disintegrated and completely changed the way I saw people.  If that strong of a friendship could crumble, there was no hope for me and anyone else.

But stuff happens.  People form relationships and those relationships sometimes end due to any number of circumstances.  And sometimes you're left wallowing in your own cesspool of self-doubt because no one else comes along to help you correct your interpersonal errors.  Sometimes locations and circumstances make it hard to hone in on a partner.  Or even a friend.

There must be some benefit to being told your loved by someone outside your bloodline.  They can be with anyone but they choose to be with you.  They open their hearts to the possibility of pain and see through the marks on your skin and the mistakes in your mind.  Someone out there came to you and decided to stay because you were worth getting to know.  For me, people have come into my life but it's the staying part that seems so difficult.  Do I subconsciously drive people away?  Do they just get tired of my incessant self-deprecation?  Or do they get bored with my personality?

I often feel like a novelty act, a brand new Brannon still in the cellophane and once the protective casing has been cut away and I've been squeezed of jokes and encouragement and conversation, I am discarded.  The newness wears away as the imperfections poke through the shellacked surface that's eventually worn away through long exchanges and lots of laughs and eventual awkward pauses.  Then missed e-mails.  Unanswered text messages.  Phone calls not returned.  There's something about me that hooks people in but once they've penetrated whatever "thing" magnetizes them to me, they realize I am too flawed, too flat, too frail to stick with and they eventually pull out.

I'm not trying to make myself look like a victim.  I know you think I am.  But I'm not.  And I am not blaming anyone who has gone away.  I wouldn't want to put up with someone like myself either!  The novelty becomes a nuisance after a while.  And everyone says they aren't like everyone else.  They'll stick around.  They never do.  Some stay longer than others, but for me, it's just a waiting game.  Classmates never called when class was over.  Co-workers never kept in contact when they found better jobs.  Old roommates haven't written.  It hurts.  It hurts so bad.  But I'm not bitter about it and I don't blame them.  I just take it for what it is: another form of rejection, just a slow kind, a knife plunged inside by inches. 

with guitar strings to guide us

I want to make out to some good music.

I just want to make out.

I really just want to make it through knowing I have no one to make out with.

zombie vomit bag

"I have heard it said love endures all things, now I know that it's true, 
stronger than the grave, death can't put it out, here I am, the walking dead, 
still next to you..."
-Showbread, George Romero will be at our Wedding

We decorated Valentine bags at work so everyone could put goodies in them.  Everyone decorated their bags with sticker hearts and puff paint, which is all well and good but I wanted to do something a bit different.

 I designed my bag around the Showbread song George Romero will be at our Wedding.  It's about a zombie who vomits up a wedding ring and realizes he ate his wife.  He eventually finds her, zombified, and they stay together, despite them both being dead.  It's about how love can overcome all things, even death.  It's actually a really meaningful message beneath all the entrails. 

I wanted to draw a vomiting zombie on the bag but then I thought I'd put Photoshop to good use and designed the zombie dude in the program and printed him out.  I taped him to the bag, which gave a nice 3D effect.  And instead of just drawing vomit, I made it interactive so you can spin the vomit around.

 I also created a QR code which links to the song and on the back of the bag, I printed the song lyrics.  So you've got your physical, visual, and auditory interaction, which I thought was pretty neat.

Here's what the bag looks like.

we'll have our day

Trace the thump thump thump with your finger, feeling tiny reverberations beneath the marsh and marrow.  Pulled together with cotton and cool breezes.  This bed is our island, this room our country, this house our world.  Pay no mind to the comets crashing against our atmosphere.  You're safe now, secluded from the screams and secure in the handcuff of my arms.  We are perfect, lying in the inky black of bundled silk, lip petals and onyx eyes.  We are supple cannibals, one body nourished by the other, fragrant skin and warm throats.   

And we are disgusting.

But only by other people's standards, of course.  We're an aberration born from texts and timid minds.  We were an alignment or accident or maybe a divine delegation.  We don't know and we don't care.  Our lips come together the way the clouds kiss the sky and that's all that's ever made sense to us, all we ever needed to know.  Bursting suns and burning rays of need.  Undulating heat and hunger.

Ignore the bang bang bang at the door and keep focus on the fullness, this bed, this rhythmic flow.  Mind this medicine, unlocked and measured out in mouthfuls.  This is not unholy.  This is ethereal and beautiful and above us all, this gift, this flesh, these nerves and electrical currents teasing transcendence.  I'm inserting the key to God's house, opening the door for us to enter and evolve.  Together.  This is us, pulled apart from the masses and cast into the cosmos.  Mute out the mouths on the other side that tell us we are wrong.  They don't know love, only lassitude.  We are not filth.

But yes, we can still be dirty.

Feel the scratch scratch scratch along my back, marking territory on pale skin.  Red lines of belonging, parallel to past scars.  No one can breach these barriers but you, switching over with soft words and gentle moves.  Waves and waves and waves, blood rushing through my eyelids, feeling fuller and falling deeper in love.  Ignore anything but the bustle of breath, the tension in your tendons, the quickening flood of chemicals.  Snapshot the stars spiraling behind your eyelids.  Revel in the release of fluid and fear, shuddering in sameness.  Now we are one.  I am all you've ever been and you have become all I've ever aimed to be.  My love, lower your lashes to the noise at the threshold of death.  When the fire dies outside, we'll have our day.

in spite of the frost

"You're not alone, you'll never be
just like the stars lay over sea..."
-Jem, You Will Make It

"This could be a movie, this could be our final act,
we don't need these happy endings..."
-Funeral for a Friend, Drive

Hands 10 and 2.

He watched the broken yellow lines slide beneath his car, one after the other, hypnotic in repetition. Gliding through liquid time and space. The drive, the road, the interior reaching different levels of quiet calm. The kiss of wind. The lulling hum of the engine. The soft squeak of leather from shifting matter and a thumping chest. He turned up the music and exhaled as the tempo traced 'round his ears. Steam from the coffee in his cup holder rose and twirled in the air.

He felt the warmth in spite of the broken heater and the frost outside. It wrapped around him. Around them.

He reached across the caffeine and crumbs and slid his hand in hers. He kept his eyes on the road, his concentration on the yellow lines, his skin on the other, foreign skin.  Cashmere atop tendons.  Cool and fragile.  A burst of nerve cell signals.

He had written this scene so obsessively, dreamed this dream for so long, a dream miles away from reality.  Was it possible that when she came to him, materialized in bones and blue eyes, he had willed her into being?  Had he etched her into the interior of his retinas, cones and rods vibrating, crafting her shape and angles? Or had the divine hand peeled back its palm and formed her with featherlight lips and sent her to him?

Did such mercy exist?

As far as his memory could reach, he had traveled with a knife in his neck. It was a pain he knew better than himself. An old companion. A disease he wore like a winter coat. And then she came and withdrew the blade with breathtaking ease. Without the obstruction, he was able to look up away from the dirt and into the sky.  Eyes opened with a mobile spine.  This was how humans lived, how they felt.  This was the way it always could have been.

He was a pauper turned to a prince. A bug into a boy.  He wasn't used to such delectable treatment from anyone. It was scary and unnerving and unrelenting. It was decadence and sugar and flooding. It was a revelation, a religious awakening.  God existed in the space between pressed lips and pounding hearts.

Despite his resolve, he smiled, sank into the seats and into the moment, fleeting pleasures of pavement and porcelain.  The sun was spinning back around to find him but for those moments, the world was asleep and they could sneak away to enjoy the shadow sky, just the two of them, reveling in the moonshine and kissing under the holes poked through the charcoal veil of heaven.

He said if only they could escape the sun, driving off the path and into their own world, from gravel to grass to galaxy, they'd be free of it all.  She whispered something but the music drowned out her words, consonants cut up and lost in the percussion. 

He felt her touch withdraw. He looked down and noticed the cold coffee.  He looked to his right but only saw a blur of green from the passenger's window as the trees rushed past him, felt the jolt of a popped valve, smelled the black streak parallel to the yellow lines. 

He found his answer. 

He watched, suspended, his neck tensed, as the trees lifted off the ground and tumbled in the sky.

thoracic cavity

Wind separated leaves from limbs in the darkness.  They pirouetted down onto the boy and girl as they lay in the grass beneath an old tree.  Ligaments wrapped together, he supported her neck with his shoulder and she slid her hand underneath his shirt.

"You're not as dead as you think," the girl said.

"Oh yeah?  How do you know?" the boy asked.

"Because of this," she said.  "Us here.  Now.  Sharing this moment.  Connected to the earth.  To each other.  Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's sufficient," he said as he brushed a fallen leaf from the girl's hair.  

"You can't fool me.  You wouldn't be here with me, like this, otherwise."

The boy shrugged.

"It's all of us," the girl said.  "You are alive because I am.  Because the world doesn't spin for the dead."

"Oh, God," The boy rolled his eyes, stifling a laugh.

"No, seriously," she said with a giggle.  "Your eyes sparkle like the shooting stars above us.  Your stubble is gritty like the dirt beneath us.  And your chest," she said as she gently pressed on his sternum, "is warm from the blood rushing through us.  I know you're alive because I can feel it in you."

"Actually, I just had a sip of this white chocolate mocha," the boy said, raising his Starbucks container.  "What you actually felt was it pass into my stomach.  That's all."

The girl stared with blank eyes as the boy drained his cup.

vestiges of humanity

"I am so scared of what will kill me in the end
for I am not prepared
I hope I will get the chance to be someone
to be human..."
-Ellie Goulding, Human

"I'm not attached to your world
nothing heals and nothing grows..."
-Marilyn Manson, Great Big White World

What does it mean to be human?  Is it our physical makeup, the fact that we get up and walk around on two legs?  Or is it something more abstract and intrinsic?  Is it logic and intricate thought?  Morals and judgments?  Is it love?  Faith?  Boredom?  Is it the invisible wires and nooses or the concrete machinery and hands that hold us to humanity?

Is it textbook or contextual?

I go through periods of wanting desperately to make a connection with someone, to feel grounded to the earth by love and affection and mutual respect and admiration.  There are also periods when I want to be completely isolated and left alone to rot away inside myself.

The unfortunate fact is I usually get my wish when I don't want it.  When I'm by myself, I want company.  When I'm in the presence of people, I want to dash away.

Loneliness once made me its bitch but one day I turned around and drop kicked it into the ether.  I've been better ever since.  That's not to say I still don't feel pangs of loneliness.  It's an unrelenting feeling always scratching at the skin on my chest, begging to get in and make itself home.  But I keep it away with distractions.  I go through an assembly line of lethargy consisting of waking up, eating, Internet, television, eating, eating, pooping, eating, more television, eating, going to sleep, and repeating it all the next day, all in an effort not to face myself or what my life has become.

I'm going to die and it's just not going to matter.  I don't think I've greatly affected anyone and it makes me a little sad to know I quietly slipped into life and will exit the same way.

To some degree, all of our lives are meaningless, at least when you look at the big picture.  The husband who dies doesn't matter to you unless you're his wife.  The child who dies is quickly forgotten unless you're her parent.  We all come and go and the world does not stop to scream and that's okay.

We all can't be in the history books but because I am not influential to anyone in my personal life, my ambition spread to the world.  What if I could impact the masses?  I always hoped I could leave some lasting impression through my art.  But I'm not an artist anymore.  I hoped I could leave a legacy with my writing.  But I'm not a writer anymore.  Okay, so what am I?  What can I do well?  What can I accomplish?  What kind of mark can I leave on the world?  Wait, maybe I need to lower my standards.  What kind of mark can I leave on people?  Still not so sure.

I'm not the boyfriend who taught the girl how to love.  I'm not the child who taught the parents how to think.  I'm not the artist who taught the world how to see.  No one carries me in their iPod or Kindle or in their hearts or minds.

"He's dead.  That's a shame.  Who's on Letterman tonight?"

I've kept my capillaries to myself and consequently, I've converted into a claustrophobic outcast.  I don't know what it means to love another person.  I can relate to people and their situations but beyond that I just don't get it.  What makes you like someone as a friend, as a lover, as a spouse?  I can't comprehend dizziness over another individual, kisses that weaken muscles, love that causes tears.  Is that what being human is all about?  Is it connecting, sacrificing, giving oneself to someone else?  Or is being human a process, a journey of faith and interaction and giving?

I've given humanity a shot.  I've tried to be kind and considerate.  I've sacrificed my own comfort and happiness many times to improve the quality of other people's lives.  I've been respectful.  I've been a team player.  I've hurt with a smile, cried with a laugh, died with a joke.  I've hugged and held hands and kissed and never felt anything but a sweeping sickness in me telling me it wasn't right.  I wasn't meant for it.  Sometimes I keep trying.  But mostly I'm over it.

I cut people out of my life easily these days.  I used to hang on in hopes something would spark but I see now it's mostly useless.  The only genuine relationship I had was something I screwed up, which tells me I am just not capable of maintaining a connection.  If they don't leave me by their own volition, I will force them to with my frustrating nature.

I'm consistently disappointed with people because they do not carry out the roles I have set for them.  It's not their fault and I don't know why I do it.  Maybe because I never had a group of people in my life who came along naturally to fulfill certain needs.  Now, I have to make up for that lost fulfillment by coming across those with roles to occupy.  These people don't know they are playing a part and it frustrates me when they don't act the way I want.  I construct these elaborate dramas to feel included.  To have a story to tell.  To cover up the truth of my deviancy.

"Yes, I've been involved.  Yes, I've had my heart broken.  Yes, I've loved and I've lost.  Yes, I've experienced."

No, I haven't.

Instead, I fall apart and break bonds.

I can't accept anyone for anything other than what I want them to be and that is selfish and shameful.  But no one sees that because I'm playing a part, too.  I take on the role of human, someone who complies with love and decency and understands the value of relationships.  But inside, emptiness is the only thing I understand.

that's amore, asshole

Yesterday, I talked to my work girlfriend (WG) about a co-worker of ours and her love life.  She had recently gotten back together with her boyfriend, although I never knew they broke up.  WG told me the co-worker found him talking to another girl.

This was after he had already knocked up a third party and then denied the paternity.  And he doesn't have a job (which is understandable in this economy and nothing to scoff at but he's not even trying, which is the scummy part).  But he couldn't deny he was talking to another girl.  Our co-worker walked in on them having dinner together at a Mexican restaurant.

Their interaction, as well as the burritos, got heated.

"What a scumbag," I said.

"Yeah, I know.  I think he's a piece of crap.  I tried telling her."

"But she still took him back?  Why?"

WG shrugged.

"See, I just don't get this," I said.  "People like him get girlfriends all the time.  And look at me.  Good guy.  Single."

"Yeah," she agreed.  "You just have to be an asshole."

"Oh, really?"  I said. 

"Yeah.  Like, if you're mean to us we wanna work harder to make you like us."

So, that's amore, huh?  Treat a girl like crap and she'll come running.  Of course, I know not all girls feel that way but I think the vast majority of them do.  Especially young girls like our co-worker.  I also wonder if she took him back because she didn't think she deserved better.

Sounded like too much trouble to me.  I just try to be as genuine as I can be.  Sure, sometimes I try to be on my best behavior or censor my dark sense of humor around some but for the most part, I'm pretty much me.  I don't go out of my way to deviate too far from my natural behavior.  And I don't feel like changing that to snag a mate.  If it means it will take longer for someone to appreciate me how I am, then that's fine.  I'm not looking anyway.

But I did want to have a little fun.

Before I walked away from WG, I turned to her and said, "Yeah, and by the way, you should probably get your highlights fixed.  They're lookin' jacked."

She gasped, her eyes wide with surprise, an uncontrollable grin spreading across her face.

"Yeah," I said.  "You're more attracted to me now, aren't you?"

She stood still, her hand on her chest, still smiling.

She didn't disagree.

you is we

I'm perplexed.

Sometimes I feel like people don't understand my writing.  One of the reasons I write such long entries is because I try to explain myself so thoroughly so as to be as clear as possible.  As I write, I always try to keep the reader in mind, always try to come up with questions they may have or points they want to bring up and then address those questions/points right there in the entry.

Sometimes I think this helps convey a deeper, more well-rounded comprehension of the topic at hand and other times I think I end up making my thoughts more muddled.  I wonder if, because of the length of my entries, some people just skim to get a general idea of what I'm writing and then throw a note my way, which happens to bring up a point already covered in the entry.  And I get confused because I think to myself, I already covered that.  It can get frustrating sometimes because I second guess myself, wondering if I did indeed properly convey my message.

But then I get notes from diarists who say they can relate, that I wrote exactly what they would have written had they covered the same topic.  And it feels so good.  I think to myself, Hey, I just made a connection there.  It feels good to be able to share a feeling or thought or opinion and even better to know that someone gets it because a lot of the time, I don't think anyone does.

But that's a silly way to feel.  I keep struggling to realize that no one is really alone as far as their thoughts and feelings go.  No one has ever felt a unique emotion.  Circumstances and individual experiences will differ, of course, but the feelings are all the same.  We all feel the desire, the hunger, the joy, the fear, the lust, the anticipation.  We've all gone through that a time or two (or a million).

When you strip away the backgrounds and upbringings, the religion and the prejudices, we are all alike.  We are all human.  We all bleed the same and love the same and hurt the same.  We are all connected.  We are all each other.  Our differences are minimal in comparison to our similarities.  But it's those insignificant differences that drive us apart so many times and it helps us to forget that we all want the same stuff.  We all want love.  We all want to be happy.  We all want to be accepted and recognized and it hurts me when I see those who don't get the recognition they deserve.   

I browse random people's diaries and Tumblrs and other blog-type social websites and my chest grows heavy with all the pain and despondency I come across.  We're all hurting to some degree.  We are all lacking something in our lives and I wonder if that's what's supposed to drive to keep us going.  What if that pain is supposed to propel us forward?  But it often causes us to back peddle.  Maybe we are meant to keep seeking until we find it is what we are looking for.  But do we ever find it?

It amazes we how we can be so mean to each other when all we want is to feel like we belong, to find someone to love and love us and keep us safe.  You want it and I want it so why is it that I ignore you and you tear me down?  Why do we pull apart when we are each others solution?  We tear at each other and sometimes tear at ourselves.

It seems so simple but I suppose we want it all.  People get so specific about their saviors.  They have to act the perfect way and say just the right thing and look attractive throughout.  There's been a few occasions where I could have been there for others but I didn't quite work for them, whether it was physically or emotionally, etc.  I wasn't a perfect match but I was a good fit. 

Even recently, I reached my hand out to someone only to have it slapped away because it wasn't manicured enough.  But what else can I do?  I tried.  I won't continue to seek out someone who doesn't want my help because I can't be their "everything."  There's a good chance you'll never find your "everything" in one person.  Isn't that why humans are social creatures.  To expand their limbs and touch multiple people, to find comfort in one, humor in another?

I couldn't have made all the pain go away but I could have taken away some of it because I feel that same pain.  We're all alike, remember?  I knew what the other person didn't about taking away some of the hurt but it hurt me more knowing they didn't want to hear it from me because I wasn't what they were looking for.  It's pretty typical.  I try to help people and end up hurting more.  And that's the way it goes with a lot of people.  We try, we genuinely try.  And then get torn apart and so we learn to keep our hands and opinions to ourselves.

The trick is to unhinge our hands from our bodies and reach out again, despite the possibility of more pain, despite the fear of rejection.  We can assuage the agony so why don't we?  What holds us back?  Someone else's standards?  Our own?  It makes no sense to stand in a room full of people starved of love and keep our distance with our arms folded across our chests so tight like a flesh and bone straight jacket.

We have hurt ourselves.  We have hurt each other.  We fire off words and weary like machine guns.  We spread the blood and debasement like finger paint.  We don't hug.  We don't help.  We only condition each other to hurt.

We are not monsters.  We are not animals.  We are humans.  With fragile hearts.  With fragile heads.  And the pain sets in and fogs everything until we lash inward and outward.  We separate from each other when we should pull toward each other.  It makes so much sense but it's the hardest thing in the world.    

touch me, take me

"And I say baby, yes I feel stupid to call you, but I'm lonely..."
-Maria Mena, Sorry

"I'm addicted to myself
can't make time for no one else..."
-The Downtown Fiction, Get it Right

I find myself loneliest on the weekends.  I check Facebook and Twitter and all my usual sites and there's usually not much activity from Friday night to Sunday night.  I always assume it's because most people are out and about actually doing stuff.  With other people.  And I sit at home, refreshing every two minutes in a desperate hope for recognition, attention, connection.

I'm usually really good with my loneliness.  When I was younger, I hauled it around like a giant wooden cross on my back but now it's more like a pendent around my neck.  It's always there but much easier to carry.  But there are times when it weighs me down.  It's usually when I'm alone and bored and my mind isn't fixated on some other internal trauma.  The boredom opens a gateway for the dormant longing to come sweeping in again.

Sometimes I want nothing more than to have a good conversation with someone.  But no one seems to be around.  I've even thought about handing out my number and asking people to call me maybe.  The only problem with that particular strategy is I only want to talk to people for as long as I want to talk to them.  I want to fill a void without the obligation of continued conversations.

I fear once I open up certain lines of communication, there's a sense of having to keep them open.  Is it possible to have just one good conversation and leave it at that?

The problem is I don't like talking on the phone.  I never have and don't know if I ever will.  I only ever have small bursts of desire to talk on the phone, and that's really because the ones I want to talk to are the ones I can't see in person and it's the only other choice.  Texting is impersonal and because so many people are so far away, communication by phone is the only happy medium.

But talking on the phone can be frustrating with dropped calls and reception issues.  I have an acquaintance from high school who occasionally calls me and it's always more of a hassle than enjoyable because he always sounds muffled and his words are often lost in static.  Conversation doesn't flow very well.  But when it's my only option, I guess I take what I can get.  I just don't want it most of the time.

I don't want to give someone an intellectual booty call.  Minus the actual booty, of course.  And much like booty calls, I would be using someone, just utilizing their minds instead of their bodies.  I don't want to be that way.  I'd like to be reciprocal when it comes to communication but sometimes I think I just don't have the energy for it.  And that makes me feel selfish, which is the reason why I haven't tried to telephone anyone in the first place.  I don't want to call just to vent or to fill some kind of lonely void and brush them off once I have.

Separation is always slicing through me.  I'm so confused when it comes to people.  I want to like people but sometimes people make it hard for me to like people.  I think I even make it hard for me to like people.  I am a dick a lot of the time.  And I can blame that on the dicks in my own life but there's really no excuse.  I've allowed myself to become so vacant and distant because of a few nasty people and when the desire for human interaction comes barreling through my body, I just try to deal with it because I don't want to unnecessarily hurt anyone like I was hurt.   

I'm stuck in a limbo of lethargy and longing.

Of course, telephone conversations are more practical than a kiss and a cuddle, which is what I really crave when I'm at my loneliest.  I'd love it if I had someone to call up and invite over to stay with me.  But all I have is my extra pillow that I push up against me every night so as to have something filling up the space where someone special should be.  And because I have no physical interaction, I compromise by craving calls.

As I wrote this, I had a realization about romance.  Just like how I'm preoccupied with my image because I know I have the potential to be good-looking, I'm preoccupied with being in a relationship because I have the potential to be an amazing boyfriend.  Despite any hangups I have about people and myself, when you take all of that away, there's actually still a heart filled with love and a boy that wants to give it to someone.  That part of me has dwindled over the years but it's still there, underneath it all.

Naturally, it wouldn't be easy.  As loving as I think I can be, I'm also as jealous and insecure.  What I'm trying to say, though, is when things would be good, they'd be really good.  But I don't want to think about all of that.  I'd just like to have someone to hold.  People have sex buddies.  Can't I have a cuddle buddy?

I need skin on skin therapy.

Or at least someone to call and complain about not getting it.

feline valentine

True love will not falter.  Even through a window screen.

what is love (baby don't hurt me)

I really need someone to occupy my chest.  When it comes to love, I'm the 99%.  (Is it too late to use that play on a phrase?  In my defense, I've been working on this entry for a while so I came up with it way before it became played out.)

I've pretty much eliminated the word "love" from my vocabulary.  I kind of feel bad about it but I guess not bad enough to actually do anything to remedy it.  And, really, what could I do?  I guess I just don't feel comfortable using that word because I really don't even know what love is or what it means to me.  I'm not even speaking about romantic love but just love in general.  I suppose I've always assumed it to mean a great affection for someone or something but for some reason, it doesn't feel that simple anymore.

And I think I used to love.  I felt affection for people, cared for them.  I wished the best for them and hoped they were okay.  I suppose that was love.  But the one person I cared for the most, someone I believe I loved at one point, completely shut me out in an instant and  ruptured my world forever.  And that's when my idea of love fell apart.

Why does it seem like the people that you give the majority of yourself to are the ones who hurt you the most?  I guess it's because you invest your time and your heart into that person so that you are more connected to them than anyone else.  You become vulnerable.  Your defenses are down.  You are allowing someone else to come into the soft fleshy places, sensitive spots that hurt when tampered with.  I suppose the tightest ties bleed the most freely when cut.

And on a somewhat similar yet different strain of thought, why is it that two people who are so in love can end up hating each other so much?  It always perplexed me how girls and guys get into relationships, become partners in crime, then suddenly turn into each other's worst enemy.  Things turn sour, love turns to hate, and it takes a while for that hatred to boil away.  I suppose some couples who split do so amicably and remain friends.  But it doesn't seem to happen often from what I've seen.  The breakup is usually ugly.  And I wonder why that is.  What does it take to get to that point?  Abuse?  Infidelity?  A love that has died?  An understanding that you are on a different path than your partner?  When does heartbreak turn to hate and is it always justified or only under certain circumstances? 

So that whole experience with being cut off from my friend really screwed me up.  Now, I don't believe in love because it feels like someone who loved me wouldn't do that to me, no matter the excuse.  Some would argue that's not real love but I'd hate to think she didn't love me.  I used to have a hard time believing anyone could love a mess like me but she gave me hope, made me feel that I could be loved despite my plentiful flaws.  It wasn't a case of her saying she loved me and me not believing her.  I knew enough of her to know that she did.  It wasn't always in the words but in the gestures and actions, in how she made me feel, how we made each other feel.  I held onto that and it helped me to feel like a real person.  I'd hate to know that it wasn't real, that what I thought was love wasn't.  But what was love to me back then?

She made me not believe in love.  She even went as far as to make me stop believing in friendship.  At the same time, maybe there's a small part of myself that is making me not believe in it, or at the very least, not allowing the microscopic part of myself that still does believe in it to actually experience it because I'm not sure I can go through another rejection like that.  I don't want to work on something for so long, give so much of myself to another person just to have it all torn down one more time.

It's so silly because I used to council people in my predicament when I was in high school.  These girls broke up with their boyfriends and they came to me to vent and said they'd never fall for another guy, never let them get close because it hurt too much when they left.  And I always said that not every guy was going to do that to them, not ever guy would hurt them and they'd be missing out by keeping their hearts so guarded.

Now, here I am, the guy with the guarded heart, eating my own words.  Sorry, girls.

in bed, breathing

"Only the lonely
know the way I feel tonight
only the lonely
know this feeling ain't right..."
-Roy Orbison, Only the Lonely

For the longest time, I thought I had risen above love.  I thought I had defeated loneliness and felt content with just being by myself.  I didn't fool or force myself into believing it.  I genuinely thought I was over love, better off even.  Naturally, the pangs of loneliness would pop up on occasion but I always shrugged them off.  They never lasted long enough to cause permanent damage.  I felt I was already about as hurt as I could be so how much more damage could they cause?  I knew I'd never be able to get rid of the loneliness completely but I was confident I could control it.

But now, I feel the loneliness is crushing me like a trash compactor.  Several factors, such as my crumbling faith in God and realizing the youth at work have close knit friendships, have contributed to my ever-increasing isolation over the past several months.  I looked around at work and realized I was one of the older ones, an outsider coming into this group of teens who all started together.  On the other side of the spectrum we had the older supervisors with families and 401Ks.  And I was this glob with nothing to grasp, too old for the young crowd, too young or the older group, suspended in a timezone that no one could relate to.

When I had people to talk to, I could keep the emptiness at arm's length.  I had people I could connect with while in college.  They were in the same situation as me.  We could all relate.  We were wide-eyed and working toward something.  My roommates were good.  I had a few ginger ladies I enjoyed.  And then there was my special gal Chasity, who was with me from the beginning to the end.  And someone else who was with me long before that.  But my roommates got jobs, the gingers stopped talking to me and Chasity got engaged and moved out of the country.  And as for the other one, well, that just didn't end too well...

And slowly, I dropped off everyone's radar.

I knew communication wasn't a one-way process so I did try to keep up with them.  I called, texted, IMed and Facebooked.  And they reciprocated.  For a while.  And then they all slowly faded out.  I suppose without the college connection to keep us together, none of us really had that much to talk about.  It was a cycle I had began noticing early on.  Fellow students talked to me while in class but once the quarter was over, I never heard from them again.  The trend continued when I started working.  As soon as one of the lucky few were able to move away to college or find another job, they stopped talking to me.  I suppose I'm a good coworker or classmate, but nothing more, nothing anyone would want to continue a relationship with once the job ended or the class was completed.

And even earlier than that, I didn't talk to anyone from high school after we all graduated.  I keep up with one or two people but their schedules are so busy it actually is more convenient for them to get in touch with me since I never have anything going on.  It's not that I don't try but they are too busy with their pursuits, which I understand.  I suppose this is what it feels like to grow up and lose contact with people who once held a special place in your mind.  Maybe there isn't such a thing as lifelong friends.  The beauty in being connected to such a wide variety of people is that they open your world to so many different things.  The beast is that, because they all are so different, they end up going in different directions, scattering out and leaving you alone.  And while it's the natural order of things, I believe I have stumbled on my part of the deal.  Friends come and go and usually people make other friends to fill the spaces of those left behind.  I haven't quite managed to fill those voids.

A big problem with living here is there's nothing to do.  I live in a redneck infested cesspool of pregnancy and narcotics.  Girls grow up to become nurses only because it's a relatively simple job to get into.  And the guy's grow up to drill offshore.  And there is nothing wrong at all with either occupation but the sad part is how people can't see beyond the small bubble of their residency.  And so they take those jobs just to remain inside the bubble.  Dreams and aspirations usually fall by the wayside as soon as they graduate high school because it's time to be an adult, to grow up and raise a family and pursuing dreams doesn't fit into the picture.  And those who do pursue their dreams often leave their bubble and never come back.  I feel I'm in a weird predicament because I am one of the dreamers yet I'm trapped in my bubble with those I have no interest in getting to know.

Most of the girls my age are already married or pregnant.  Most of the guys are douche bag hicks.  I have nothing in common with any of these people.  And therefore I have no friends.  And romantic entanglements are even harder to come by.  As mentioned earlier, most girls are knocked up or knocked around by their boyfriends/husbands.  So, there's not a great selection as far as romantic prospects go.  And at this point in the game, what do I even want out of a relationship?  What am I looking for?  To settle down?  To have a few flings?  And what kind of person will it take to revive me?  Friendship?  Romantic relationship?  Sexual compatibility?  Same cynical attitude?  I've wanted it for so long that I didn't put much thought into envisioning what form it would take.  I always assumed a certain way but now I'm just not so sure.

The lack of friendship, as well as romance, has caused a rekindling of that ache, that need to be someone's number one.  I feel more alone than I ever have in my life.  I have no friend to lean on, no partner to stay in bed with, and barely a God to pray to.  I am immeasurably lonely.  In fact, I think it's hard for most people to comprehend it.  Sometimes I don't think I can, either, but when I say it, people don't seem to realize how deep it sinks into me. 

Maybe this feeling is just another pang, just more intense and longer-lasting.  Maybe this, too, will pass.  But I can't help but thinking by acknowledging it, I'm opening the way for more pain.  I also can't help but to think how I'm missing intimacy in my life.  I need to know someone else's lips and love and life.  I haven't had the best opinion of people in general for a while now but I know there's got to be more than what I've observed.  I want to explore that, to feel something more than surface flushes of heat.  I want to be able to talk to someone on the phone or hold them or have them go with me for a drive.  I want someone I can watch horror movies with and talk about death and dreams.  I want someone I can show my writings to, someone I can share a book with, someone I can kiss and cry to.  I've never had that.  No one has gotten to know me past casual chatter.  And that's driven a wedge between me and everyone else.  My blog knows me more personally than anyone in my life and I think there's a great deal of sadness in that.  There's just no one to turn to, physical, spiritual or electronic.  That's not to say I haven't ever come close.  I've almost had that.  But almost doesn't assuage the agony.

I can't deny it anymore, can't turn it away despite my rejection of love.  I'm lonely.  As much as I thought I was beyond human emotions, I'm not.  When I died, I tried to bury all of that while attempting to remain above ground myself.  I'd love to be in love.  I'd love to have someone to love me.  I walk this path singular, solitary, sick.  I wouldn't mind having a hand to hold along the way.  But that doesn't mean it will happen or that I am capable of having it happen to me.  I'm too selfish and full of unjustified bitterness and hatred to have a fulfilling relationship.  I'm too insecure, too indecisive, and too paranoid.  I can't have it all but I crave it so much.  I want to be loved, supported, recognized.  I just don't want to fall into the fire without anyone ever really having known who I am.

I think about the majestic qualities of love, how it bubbles up and grows on a grand scale.  I think about the power of love and how it can change lives.  And that's nice but sometimes I crave the simpler aspects of it.  Really, all I want is to be one of two bodies in bed, breathing.  I don't know what the warmth of someone else's skin feels like.  It's strange to me when I hear it on television or in the movies, how people curl up together and comment on the comforting warmth.  I guess I forgot that bodies can be that way.  I had simply become accustomed to mine running cold.  I just want to know someone else, to experience someone's chest rising and falling next to mine, to share such a small space, to breathe in the same air, to cradle, to be held, to feel connected to something for once.  I want to feel the function of a heartbeat, to know that something is alive within myself and someone else, to feel it speed up and slow down, a crashing thump thump thump against my ear.  A laugh.  A breath.  A sigh.  I want to tap into the most basic of human needs, desires.  And that's a need to feel warm with someone else, to love, to be loved, to be wanted and cared for.

To not be so damn alone.

I want to dive into humanity, to revel in feeling alive again.  I want to be a part of the population.  To love and be loved is not to make a connection with just one person, but to connect with whole world.  You know what everyone else feels, needs, fears.  Even if the feeling doesn't last, if the person walks out or is taken away, you've been there, you've felt it and smelled it and tasted it and had it wash over you and cleanse you and when you walk down the street or shake someone's hand or smile and wave as you pass by, you know them more than you might realize.  You understand them, have been there before, might be there again, can sympathize with their plight.  Because it is your plight as well.  It is the plight of every creature that breathes and even some that don't.  It is love.  It is lust.  It is an intense attraction.  It is the need to feel, the urge to belong.  It's built into us like our blood.  And once you've known true love, I think you are irrevocably changed.  I've stayed the same for far too long.

I go to bed and breathe in the fan to give my lungs something to do.  I stretch out and bury my face into the pillow, tunneling away from the world, waiting until the darkness sweeps over me for one more night.   And I wonder what it would be like to be escorted into dreams, to have a hand pull me into sleep instead of the television, wonder what it would be like to drift back from dreams, ascend to the surface of consciousness, buoyant in my bed and bound by flesh and bone instead of being flanked by microfiber and flannel to warm me.

Give to Charity, A-Holes!

I thought I would start this month off right by trying to do something good.  As you all know, we've had some epic disasters in the world lately, the most recent ones being the earthquakes that struck Haiti and Chile.  I'm going to provide some links that you can use to donate to help fund the relief efforts there.

Red Cross

World Vision

Doctors Without Borders

Unicef

The Salvation Army

And while you've got your wallet out, how about taking a look at these great causes:

Love Harder
Multiple Myeloma is a cancer of the white blood cells and it's a nasty beast.  Donating will help fund research and hopefully a future cure.  I learned about Love Harder from the wonderful and talented Stacie.  This one is pretty cool because, to the best of my understanding, this was set up within the blogging community.  Correct me if I'm wrong, Stacie!

ASPCA
Come on!  It's aminals.  Your monies will help make sure they don't get get beaten up by bad, bad people.

Self-Injury Support
Because today is Self-Injury Awareness Day, it's only appropriate that I include a wonderful girl named Christie and her advocacy of self-injury and mental health awareness.  I know her personally and am always impressed by her outspoken nature and passion for debunking the myths and stigma of self-injury.  Most of us know of at least someone who battles self-injury and yet I think it's something that's often either kept secret or not taken seriously.  Because of this, there are a lot of misconceptions and speculations about people who self-injury and that's the beauty of Christie.  She educates those who don't understand and supports those that do.  She brings together everyone, from those that deal with self-injury to those who have friends or family that to do those who don't get it at all and she informs, educates and inspires.  I've provided a link to her very successful YouTube channel, which is her main platform for speaking out about self-injury.  From there, you can find helpful links, including her up and coming self-injury support website!

During these economic times, no one expects you to give much.  Your little bit and my little bit creates a large bit.  I'm sure you can find a five dollar bill on the pocket of those pants you haven't worn in a few months or a couple of coins between the cushions of your couch.  Also, it wouldn't hurt you to give up your Starbucks for one day and use that money for a better cause.  Plus, think of all that sugar you'll be skipping out on.  Everyone benefits!

I've made my donations and I'm not even human!  But you are and that means you have a heart so use it, dang it.  Spread that love that you all keep yapping on about.

Do it!!

Bad Romance: The Follow-Up

I got enough of a response from my last entry that I feel I should write my own response. 

I have a second online blog I keep that gets more replies than this one and I got quite a few responses to my last entry.  A lot of people thought I was being cynical in both my "Bad Romance" entries.  A lot of people thought I was love bashing and I was even called "bitter, preachy and judgmental" by one noter.

I'd just like to clarify that I was not bashing love.  The first "Bad Romance" was me saying that it is okay to be single.  People get absolutely freaked out at the idea of being without someone and it shouldn't be like that.  Yes, being in a relationship is wonderful.  It feels good to be with someone, to be close to another person, to be intimate.  It's comforting, safe.  I'll never deny that and I'll never say that no one wants that.  If you're with someone, no matter the reasoning, that's fine.  I'm not hatin' on you or encouraging you to break up.  But it's also fine to be by yourself.  That's all I was saying.

And in "Bad Romance II", I was just trying to examine love from a logical standpoint.  So many people get caught up in the foreplay and fluff that they forget that love takes work.  I don't know if love should be super easy or if love should be super hard but I do know that it does take some effort.  Once again, I'm not saying that people shoudln't be in love and shouldn't be in relationships.  Love is a beautiful thing.  It's the best thing there is and I hope that everyone can find love one day.  I'm just trying to get people to find a better, truer, purer kind of love.  Does that make sense?  I've just seen so many of my former friends go from one meaningless relationship to another without thinking about what they were doing and I just don't want others to go through that.

I wasn't intentionally being pessimistic, just realistic.

As I mentioned, I could very much be wrong about my ideas of love (as many of you have pointed out) and part of that could be my age and another part could be my inexperience.  I think we all have our own idea of true love and I think we all find it at different points in our lives.  And my ideas might not mesh with yours and that's okay.  I respect everyone's opinions on the matter but I just don't want people to think that I was being overtly negative.  And I don't want people to think that I'm poo-pooing their current relationships because I'm not.  I wish you the best of luck.

As far as the above noter's terse and mean-spirited labeling of me, I'd like to say that I don't think I was being preachy.  I have a certain writing style and maybe sometimes it's rough around the edges or rather sarcastic but I wouldn't necessarily classify it as preachy and if it is, I apologize.  It's never been my intention to shove my ideas down anyone else's throat.  Who am I to tell you what to believe?  I don't have that right and I hope I never made anyone feel that way.  But bitter?  I sure am bitter!  I won't deny it.  Long time readers will recall how full of love I used to be.  I was a romantic at one point, believe it or not.  Throughout the years, things changed drastically and maybe I'm still holding on to some of that hurt but that just gives my writing a personal touch.  I still think the things I said could be applied by anyone, bitter or not.  And judgmental?  Well, who isn't?  Moot point.

Of course, I'd love it if everyone agreed with me but that's obviously not always going to happen and this is such a case and that's okay.  It's always been my goal to at least get people thinking, to open people's minds so if you did or did not agree with the things I said in my last few entries, I hope I at least got you to thinking about why you agree or disagree with me.  If I can make you see things from a new perspective, if I can get you to think and maybe open up your head a little bit, then I've done what I set out to do.

Just to reiterate, really all I'm trying to say is that love is a beautiful thing as long as you use your head and heart simultaneously.  Also, if you aren't in a relationship, it's okay!  Take the time to improve upon yourself so that when you are in a relationship, it will be more fulfilling because you will know who you are and what you want.  Does that clear things up?  If anything, I was trying to be positive.

Or have I just become such a curmudgeon that I don't realize when I'm being bitter?

I have a little assignment for you, if you choose to accept it.  Respond to my "Bad Romance" entries with what you agreed or disagreed about what I wrote.  Or if you don't want to include me at all, just write about what love means to you.  How do you define love and what do you believe it takes to be in a healthy, successful relationship?  As much as I try to open others' eyes, I always try to keep an open mind myself.  I'd love to read what you have to say and maybe my perspectives might change.  If you do this, obviously let me know so that I can read it and we can have a discussion.

Let's talk about love.

Bad Romance II

I went out Friday night with an acquaintance of mine.  It was the usual coffee and conversation.  What I really liked about it was how refreshing the conversation was.  I barely speak to anyone anymore and conversations are few and far between for me these days and it felt good to talk to someone.  Even more than that, it felt good to have an intellectual conversation.  She was telling me about a friend of hers who ended a six year relationship two months ago.  Afterward, she met a guy, they dated for a month, and several days ago they got engaged.  It's like love in warp speed, no?  She thought it was ridiculous and I agreed with her.  She reasoned that this girl had been with her boyfriend of six years, ever since she was fifteen, and she didn't know how to be without someone so when this guy proposed to her, she thought it was comforting because that's pretty much all she's ever known of love.  I congratulated her on her insights because I was thinking the same thing.  Our discussion segued into me bringing up my "Bad Romance" entry that I wrote a few days ago.  She agreed with what I was saying and that was reassuring.  She even added, "Single is not a disease!"  Preach it, sister.

It felt good to know that a regular human can understand things the way I do.  Just like myself, she has never been in a relationship but she has to offer counseling to her friends who seem trapped in doomed romances.  While sipping our spiced apple chai teas and white chocolate mochas, I made an observation that, although we've never been involved with anyone romantically, we seem to know way more about relationships than those who have years of experience.  Funny how that happens.

We basically spent the entirety of our time together elaborating on the things I discussed in my blog.  It felt great to have a back and forth about the topic, to be given ideas to work off of and to provide the same for her.  It was nice to actually discuss with someone the things I write about instead of just sending it out into cyberspace and that being the end of it.  She's a smart girl and I admire her for having the intelligence to realize that her being single is not a punishment or a deformity.  We used to be in the same position, wishing God would send someone along for us to love but we've moved past that point and we are better for it.  We now spend our days trying to love ourselves instead of a ghost.  I think that's much more productive and is the easier path to peace.

Maybe because I've never been entangled in love, I can sit back and investigate it with an objective eye.  The fact that my heart has never blinded by my brain has allowed me to use my head when it comes to my heart.  I am logical, clinical.  And yes, maybe sometimes I'm a bit cold but at least it provides a better understanding.

Throughout my observations, I've realized:

Love is not perfect.  Love is not a fairytale and love will not solve sadness.  I used to be one of these hopeless romantics that fell in love with the way love was portrayed on television and in books.  You know, the whole "love cures all" thing, the whole "love changes everything," the whole "happily ever after" thing.  It's just not true and I hate to burst everyone's bubble but the sooner you realize that, the sooner you can get over those naive notions and start looking at love in a realistic way.  Love is complicated and messy and never cut and dry.  Now, I'm not saying that love isn't the best thing in the world because it is but love alone is never enough.

You cannot change people.  And girls, you cannot "fix" guys.  You can love someone with all of your heart but that will not alter their behavior or make them see the light.  They have to be open, receptive to that love for them to change and you cannot make anyone be open unless they want to be.  Yes, love is transformative and love can change people but only if they are willing and you cannot make anyone willing.  People are too stubborn and set in their ways for an outside influence to divert them from their norm.  Change starts from within themselves, not from you.

Love is a dance, a negotiation, a collaboration.  All parties involved have to work together toward that common goal of satisfaction.  Love hurts but I don't think it is supposed to.  Aren't there so many other things in the world that hurt?  Love is supposed to fix the hurt and yes it does if everyone does their part.  Love is the end of an equation that makes up the addition of partner one and partner two.  Love hurts because you love someone who doesn't love you back.  Love hurts because you aren't being treated with the respect you deserve.  Love hurts because you are being used or maybe you're the one doing the using and you aren't as fulfilled as you think you should be.  Love hurts because it's really  not love at all.  That's loneliness, that's desperation, that's impossible expectations that drew you to the relationship or is keeping you in the relationship.

And most of all, love is more than a feeling.  Love is comprised of passion, loyalty, trust, friendship, selflessness, and most importantly, choice.  Love isn't going to make him pick up his dirty clothes off of the floor or stop her from nitpicking over her appearance.  Love isn't going to make him share his feelings (until he's ready) and it isn't going to stop her from being clingy (until she decides to stop).  You have to accept that the other person is not perfect and you are not perfect and that two unperfect people are coming together.  You have to realize that this will cause friction and you have to choose to be with that person anyway, not to overlook their flaws but to be able to handle them and support them.  There's nothing wrong with encouraging people to improve and open the door for change but just don't expect that it will happen.

The idea of other people completing each other is all nice and good and romantic but I think it's kind of crap.  I think we all have the capability of being self-sufficient.  Love shouldn't be about completing, but complimenting.  To me, completion suggests perfection which only sets up an impossible expectation.  Partners are not like puzzle pieces.  You will never find anyone shaped perfectly to fit your vacancy.  But you will find people that you can be compatible with, which is where the whole choice thing comes in again.  I can't say if there is just one person in our lives that we are meant to be with because that goes back into the dreamy fairytale thing.  It's more likely that there are a wide variety of people that we could spend the rest of our lives with but we just have to make the right choice.

Obviously, I don't know much about love.  I've never been in love.  I've never been in a relationship so maybe I'm completely wrong but I do feel like I'm on to something.  I feel like I'm getting closer to finding out what love means to me.  I know I'll never stop learning but I keep making progress every day.  And maybe I've been able to do that because I am not so tangled up in someone else that I have the time, energy and resources to contemplate something of such magnitude.  I just wish other people would slow down and do the same thing.  When one relationship ends, instead of jumping into the arms of someone else, maybe people should take the time to reflect on the relationship, find out why it didn't work and what they can do the next time around to make things better.  But people are too afraid to be alone, too scared of the pain of heartbreak that they have to find someone else to cover up that hurt before it has time to absorb.  People don't want to think anymore.  It's simply too hard.  But for me, what I find harder to deal with is the idea of trapping myself in dead end relationships with girl after girl and never knowing what I wanted or needed, just keeping someone around to fill my holes.  Love sure isn't easy but is it really as difficult as people make it seem or are we simply confusing ourselves?

Bad Romance

"It takes a lot of work when two people connect
Thought love was a beautiful thing
But it feels like a shackle around my neck
Feels a lot like suffocating
Hey, can someone say to me
Love feels like freedom and not like slavery.."
Showbread- The Great Emasculation

I noticed a status update on Facebook from an old acquaintance that shocked me.  She’s in a relationship.  I was floored because she’s about as exciting as a box of crackers.  It’s like, how can someone like her find someone and I can’t?  I mean, I can understand if the dude wanted to date drywall but her, really?  Even more surprising than the news of her boyfriend was how much it affected me. 

I feel like my love for people died long before my body did but sometimes I do have pangs of romantic resurrection.  And when I see stuff like what I saw on Facebook, it brings back long dormant desires.  Desires for passion.  And sometimes that passion likes to percolate inside of me but you know the thing about suppressing passion?  It’s a lot like holding in a fart.  Unlike farting, however, it’s not so much fun when it comes flapping out against your will.

In the past, I have attempted to ride that Love Rollercoaster but every time I’ve tried, I’ve experienced nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach and diarrhea, not to mention a fresh crack in my ceramic heart.  So, it came as no big surprise when one day I felt the clay crumble inside my chest.  It was a relief, actually.  It felt liberating not to have to worry about love and loneliness.  After so many years of wanting a girlfriend, wanting someone to give my love to, wanting to feel the way other people my age were feeling, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t make a good boyfriend.  I realized that I’m too insecure, too young and too troubled to be in a relationship.  All this time, I thought God was punishing me but He wasn’t.  He was actually saving me from a lot of unnecessary hassle, protecting me from something I wasn’t ready for.  While I was trying to find a relationship with someone else, I neglected the relationship I should have been nurturing with myself and with Jesus Christ.

So, during college, through some soul searching, a date that led nowhere and a few crushes that left me feeling deflated, I slowly rescinded the romantic in me.  I stopped trying to love girls in a romantic sense and instead began trying to love everyone in general.  Of course, trying to love my former roommate, Keith, didn’t work out so well.  It didn’t matter what kind of niceties I threw at him, he shut me down each time.  That, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t make good friends with any of my other roommates and the frustration that was my relationship with Chasity culminated in cutting me down so much that I bled out all feelings for anyone.  I couldn’t make it work with girls.  I couldn’t make it work with friends.  The final nail in my coffin was losing someone I never thought would lose, someone who left me for dead during my college debacle.  After her, I gave up on people entirely.  Gah, I know that sounds so emo and it’s so easy to classify that type of behavior as dumb (because I’ve done that classifying myself a time or two) but when you’ve reached that point, you understand where they are coming from.  And believe me, now I do.

And so, a few weeks later, in a test of my newly battered, tattered and smattered heart, Beau, a former roommate, came up to me one day and said, “I know someone who likes you!”

I didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Really?” I said, not so entirely enthused. 

“Yep.”

“Who is it?”

Turns out it was some girl from our portfolio class.  Beau said she’s been into me all quarter.  He found secondhand through a mutual friend of theirs so I don’t know if it was really true.  I tend to be skeptical about those sorts of things, especially when they don't come straight from the source.  It didn’t matter anyway because I was not attracted to her in the slightest.  And even if I was, what was I gonna do about it?  I’d never see her again.  And it was the end of the quarter.  It would have seemed silly to try to start something so close to graduation.  I won’t deny that the thought of someone taking a fancy to me was nice but it didn’t interest me to pursue her.  Besides, I don’t even understand why she liked me.  We had approximately two conversations and both of them involved homework.  I don’t know anyone who gets all hot and bothered over business cards so she must have based her feelings on my looks because she did not know my personality.  Two problems with that: if she’s basing her interest in me based on my looks, then she has bad taste and I don’t want to be with anyone who has bad taste.  And since she does not know me personally, she would have ultimately found disappointment when she would have found out I was a nut bag.  I’m saving us future heartbreak.  It felt really good to dismiss her so easily and that might seem cruel but really I’m just not going to waste my time on something that I know is not right for me.  If only other people would do the same thing, they’d save themselves a lot of trouble.

I mean, really, what has become of us that we are all so obsessed with love and finding someone to be with?  Let’s not be so codependent, how about that?  Here’s a radical thought.  How about let’s get ourselves together first, start loving who we are, start relying on ourselves, start being comfortable with who we are as individuals!  If we can all do that, we wouldn’t need anyone else to make us happy or validate us because we would already be secure enough.  Sure, love is all nice and good if that’s your thing but really, it’s just a bonus.  The real satisfaction comes from ending the day knowing and loving yourself.  Loving someone else should the icing on the cake but it shouldn’t be the cake itself, the one thing we all strive for to gain happiness.  You can be perfectly happy alone but most people don’t seem to understand that.  I know people who absolutely rail against the idea of being single.  It's not even that they run from the thought of loneliness.  I suspect they run from the fear of being alone if single.  Everyone thinks love is the key to happiness but I’m here to call bullshizzle.  If anything, being in a relationship will make you more miserable.  I’ve seen it happen with enough people to know this is the truth.  And you know why?  Because these people thought love would make them happy.  They weren’t happy enough with themselves so they sought it out in others.  And not only did they realize that love was not the magical cure-all they had expected but they also had to deal with the disappointment of their sky high expectations.

But isn’t love supposed to make everything better?

Maybe true love does.  But these people, and most people in general, aren’t in true love.  They are in true dependence.  They are in a “love” that makes them think things are better but nothing has changed.  They stick with these relationships because being with someone you don’t particularly like is better than being alone.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this poor excuse.

"Oh, she's a total whore but I won't break up with her 'cause I don't wanna be alone."

"Oh, he is verbally abusive but I wanna stick with him 'cause it's better than having no one at all."

I am absolutely astounded by these people’s insecurities.  And I thought I was bad!  So, you’d rather be in a toxic relationship that is slowly killing you than freeing yourself of all that baggage and just being alone?  People act as if being alone is the equivalent of having cancer.  And this is why people are so screwed up and lost.  They’ve never been on their own, never had to depend on themselves to get through tough times.  They’ve always had someone else to comfort them, to take care of them.  They’ve always intertwined themselves with their partners and along the way, lost who they were.

People tend to forget that we all have a lot of problems.  We seek relationships so the other person can either fix our problems or make us forget about our problems.  But they have their own problems.  You hope they can fix your crap and they hope you can fix their crap and pretty soon everyone is too busy dabbling in dookie to nurture the relationship and allow it to bloom.  There’s plenty of fertilizer but where’s the water and communication and sunlight and trust?  Nothing beautiful can blossom if you get your hands dirty for misguided reasons.

Everyone gets lonely.  Everyone gets angry too but that doesn't give them the right to punch people in the face.  So why is it okay to go out and grab yourself a lover when you're a little lonely?  How about exerting some self-control.  I get lonely too but I don’t go out and find some random girl to make me feel better about my own problems for a few weeks until everything eventually goes south.  No, I just lie in my bed and eat a bag of chips until the feeling passes.  Way healthier.

Loneliness is a feeling, a lot like being hungry.  But did you know that thirst is often mistaken for hunger?  When you thought you wanted that Big Mac, maybe you really just needed a glass of milk.  Feeling lonely?  Maybe you don’t need a girlfriend or boyfriend.  Maybe you just need a good friend.  Maybe you need God or maybe you need to do some yoga.  Maybe you just need someone to talk to and that’s totally okay.  You have all kinds of love inside your heart to share with people and it doesn’t always have to be romantic love.  Talk to your friend, talk to yourself, write your frustrations in a journal.  Get lost in something healthy and productive instead of masking your mayhem by making out.

In some ways, I'm glad I died because it has given me brand new eyes, allowed me to see love from the outside in, just the way has allowed me to see all things that way.  I realized that love is like a pool that we are dropped into from birth.  We grow up and use our limbs to learn about love and swimming and as we doggy paddle our way across the pool, we come across all the various kinds of loves available.  We love our parents and then our teachers and our friends and as we keep swimming, we encounter crushes and first kisses and a fluttering in our stomachs that keep us afloat.  And when we are rejected, we swallow a lot of water.  When our hearts are broken, it feels a lot like drowning but we have to realize that we are more than the water we swim through.  And since I've been plucked from this pool and the chlorine has been cleared from my eyes, I can see this now.  I just wish everyone else could keep their heads above water so they could see it, too.

Now, let me just say that I am not bashing love (entirely) and I'm not saying everyone should be single (entirely) because if you have yourself reasonably together and truly feel you are ready for a relationship or find yourself already in one and it's a good, healthy relationship, then congratulations, do your thing.  I'm happy for you.  And you don't even have to be perfect to be in a relationship.  No one is perfect and you will always have things to work on but just make sure you're at least somewhat stable.  Don't go into the relationship thinking this person will fix you or that loving someone will make your problems disappear because that will not happen.

I don't advocate love but I don't admonish it.  I just wish people weren't so averse to being single.  There is nothing wrong with being single.  You are not a loser if you are single.  You are not unworthy of love and you are not undesirable.  It simply just isn't your time so take that time to improve upon yourself, to let go of the idealistic notions you have attached to being in love because more likely than not, it won't be as magical as you've hoped.  Make yourself happy.  Love yourself and the rest will come easily.  Take it from me, I've been single my entire life and I'm trucking along just fine.  Well, as fine as a dead guy can.  Sure, I'm a little loopy but that has nothing to do with girls.  You will not explode if you are without a partner for longer than a week.  You won't drown.  Don't rely on someone else to be your arm floaties.  Learn to swim on your own and love the freedom of being unattached.

Corpse Crush

A work of fiction, written February 2007.


I knew he’d be here. He always adored football. He’s with his friends now, practicing. And he’s just as handsome as when I saw him a few days ago. Or was it a few weeks? I forget. Time seems meaningless around him. Actually, everything seems meaningless around him, except for his arms around me. I love to watch him play. I believe I could stay here forever and just watch his body move. It’s hot today. Maybe he’ll peel off his shirt. He is so gorgeous. Brown hair. Beautiful brown eyes. Tall. Dark. Handsome. What more could anyone ask for? So strong, too, the way his muscles flex when he moves. And that tooth. Cutest thing in the world.

Millie had repeated Greg’s description in her mind a thousand times. Although her head was fuzzy, she knew she’d never forget his face or where to find him. As Millie would repeat the specifics of Greg’s face, she would always find something new about him that made her fall in love all over again. This time it was the trail of hair that bloomed on his bellybutton and snaked its way down his abdomen and into his underwear. Millie had caught a glimpse of it when Greg had jumped up and extended his arms to catch the ball, his shirt lifting up in the process. Millie had seen him shirtless before and always noticed the hair but something about this time made it particularly sexy. It was the teasing aspect that turned her on. Just a glimpse of that hair that lead to other places. Millie found herself falling in love with every inch of Greg’s body, even the inches she didn’t know about yet.

Millie stood on the outskirts of her high school football field, safely behind the diamond patterned fence. She watched as Greg played football with a few of his friends. This became a routine for Millie. At least three times a week, she would pass by the football field after school to see if Greg was there. Sometimes he was and sometimes he wasn’t. He and his friends didn’t have a set schedule to play, only when the mood struck them or one of them didn’t have to go to work. When he wasn’t there, an ache of disappointment would fill Millie’s insides. Sometimes other girls would stay after school and join Milie in watching Greg play, although they never actually joined her. They would stand in her general area, sometimes smile at her, but never talk to her. Millie didn’t mind. She knew she was Greg’s biggest fan, that the bubble headed blondes could never love him like she did. No, not in the slightest. It was this fact that kept Millie from getting jealous of the prettier, skinnier girls.

Not that Millie was ugly or fat. She just lacked a little self confidence and thus, only felt that way. In fact, Millie was quite cute, if not a little plain. She kept her strawberry blond hair a little past her shoulders, mostly always straight and parted down the middle. Millie didn’t wear makeup as she always felt fake under it and a bit clownish. The reason could be that Millie was never taught how to apply makeup correctly. She wouldn’t dare ask her mother because she was prone to applying too much makeup herself. And Millie didn’t have any girl friends so she never bothered. And she didn’t need to. Millie’s complexion was fresh and creamy, a welcome change from her bout with acne she had had a few years before. Millie always looked neat and clean but never went out of her way to look gorgeous. If any random stranger were to comment on her style, one might say she’d be a very gorgeous girl if she would only fix herself up a bit more. A little blush, a little mascara. Some would even say it seemed like she tried to underplay her figure. And they would be right.

Millie went through all the typical teenage trauma: terrible skin, awkward growth spurts that left her body out of proportion and gawky, bad fashion choices. Middle school was a terrible time for Millie. Her fragile self-esteem couldn’t carry the burden of her braces so she became a hermit. But, once Millie hit high school, she had outgrown her problem skin and no longer needed her braces. Something else happened to Millie as well. She grew breasts. Big, round, beautiful breasts.

While other girls were developing early, Millie remained flat and frustrated. Millie’s mother swooped in to save the day with a typical Mom’s “when I was your age” speech. She assured Millie that one day she would develop and that she was just a "late bloomer." Millie always cringed at that awful and outdated expression.

“I didn’t develop until I was fifteen,” her mother told her one day. This did make Millie feel a little better and even more so when she looked down at her mother’s chest. Despite being a forty-two-year old woman who breastfed both Millie and her little brother, Billie (which consequently did lead to a bit of sagging) Millie’s mother had quite an ample bosom.

Those will be mine one day Millie thought to herself in wide eyed wonder.

Sure enough, that summer, Millie began to grow. It was as if a signal were sent to her breasts telling them they were lagging behind. And they were catching up very fast. A few weeks and several trips to the mall for new bras later and Millie had a beautiful new figure. She could only imagine the surprise on the faces of all those she knew when she came back to school with one new hairdo and two perky breasts. She was even asked by a few envious girls if she had a boob job over the summer!

Millie’s beautiful new body did backfire to some degree. Not only did she feel good about her new body, so did a lot of the boys in her grade. Millie’s new look lead to lots of attention from her male classmates. Some of it was good but most of it was creepy. Millie would sometimes catch guys staring at her chest in class. This made Millie very uncomfortable and so she withdrew from people again. She also began to wear the most unflattering clothes she could find. Millie was insecure in middle school because she felt she wasn’t pretty enough and now, in high school, she was feeling insecure for being too pretty. She wondered if she’d ever feel good about herself like the other girls.

To get her mind off of her troubles, Millie would draw. It seemed Millie had a hidden talent for art, a talent found while seeking solace from the cruel world when she was “ugly.” As Mille battled through her awkward period, her weapons were pencils and paper. Millie expressed her emotions through her art. Even Millie’s mother was surprised at her daughter’s talent, as she could barely draw a stick figure man. Then, she remembered Millie’s father used to draw when he was a very young child. Perhaps it was another gift he passed along besides his nose and deep gray eyes.

What once was a passion for Millie fizzled itself into a hobby once school started back. She wasn’t able to draw very much until she was able to take an art class. Her teacher, Mrs. Bentley, was thoroughly impressed with Millie’s work and encouraged her to enter the different local art contests that were held in the area. She entered in several, placed in many and even one a few first prize ribbons. Not too bad for an amateur artist.

Millie fell in love the day she was harassed by a group of football players in front of her locker after fourth period. She was exchanging the books in her backpack when Peter (known as Pete the Perv to all the girls in school) walked up to her and put his elbow on a locker next to hers. Standing next to him was his right hand man, Kent. There were two other guys standing with them but she didn’t know their names. They were in a grade below Millie and the only people Millie knew were people with which she shared classes. But, Millie knew that collectively they were known as the Circle Jerks, not only because they were jerks, but because a year earlier they were all caught by Coach Bowers in the locker room engaging in a mutual masturbation session. No one dared call them that to their faces, though, as the few people who did ended up with bloody noses and bruised bodies. But, when they weren’t within earshot, people would say under their breath, “Watch out, the Circle Jerks are coming!” Then, people would scatter like dropped marbles. And they scattered for good reason. Pete the Perv was the leader of the sleaze gang and he was the biggest womanizer to ever enter Green Hills High School. He was a serial cherry popper and was proud of it. His two passions in life were football and sex, not unlike other men, but Peter just took it way too far.

Peter relied on his good looks and fake charm to bag the girls. He wasn’t a stunning looking guy, but he did have a boyishly handsome face and a decent body from all those years of being on the football team. It also helped that he was rich. He went through condoms like Kleenex. Peter would find a pretty young (and naïve) girl, make her feel like she was the prettiest girl in the world, then, just as he would gain all of her trust, he would have sex with her and then dump her. That is, unless she was a great lay. In that case, he would bang her a few more times and then dump her. His philosophy was “befriend 'em, bed 'em, then beat those bitches to the door!”

Peter left a seemingly endless trail of broken hearts and broken hymens. After being used, the girls were confused and more than anything, they were angry. Despite his experience, Peter wasn’t very good in bed. He wasn’t very well endowed, either, and didn’t know what to do with what little he had. And although these poor young girls were virgins, Pete liked it rough. He would mount them and then drive himself into them as hard as he could, pump a few times and then climax, releasing the most unattractive squeal of satisfaction. But, the girls were never satisfied. And because of the way he had viciously violated their insides, they were not only left with bruised hearts, but with bloody bed sheets as well.

Millie silently groaned to herself when she saw Pete the Perv and his gang come up to her.

“Hey, there, Millie,” he said it a sickeningly sweet voice. He barely knew Millie and had never even spoken to her until he noticed the two attractive growths on her chest.  His glassy brown eyes zoned in on the buttons of Millie's cardigan, the way the fabric stretched across her breasts, the way they slightly rose with her breath.

“Hi,” she said in a politely dismissive tone. Millie quickly zipped up her backpack, crossed her arms over her chest and gave Peter a politely dismissive smile.  She tried to walk away but Peter stopped her and softly grabbed her arm. The spot where Peter put his hand sent ripples of goose bumps up and down Millie’s arm.

“So, I noticed you’ve done some growing over the summer,” he said in a cocky manner. His tongue poked out of his mouth and slid across his thin lips, leaving them wet and shiny.  Kent and the other two were leering at Millie. She could actually feel their eyes fondling her chest. “Can I squeeze them?”

Peter wasn’t good with tact.

“Okay, I’ve really got to get to class,” Millie said firmly. She shrugged off Peter’s arm and started again when he stopped her again. He grabbed her arm once more, this time a little harder.

Peter stepped closer to Millie, his thin, wet lips only centimeter's from her ear.

“I don’t think you answered my question,” he said, almost hurt.

“The answer is no,” Millie said flatly.

“No one says no to Peter Caravelli,” Pete said, as if she should have known better.

“Well, I just did.”

Peter’s grip on Millie tightened until he started to hurt her. Millie’s eyes grew wide with fear. Peter started to say something else when a booming voice interrupted his own.

“Hey! Stop it, Peter!” Greg shouted.

Peter looked over and saw Greg walking up to him. He let go of Millie and then smiled a sickeningly sweet smile at Greg.  It was the kind of smile he'd flash anytime he got in trouble or if he was trying to impress a girl.  Millie could see how his smile would soothe anyone he angered and trap any girl he wanted to conquer.  It was a good smile, an attractive smile, one that lit up his whole face and invited his eyes to become brighter.  It was deceiving.  If she didn't already know what a sleaze he was, she might have been charmed.

“We were just having a nice conversation,” Peter said.

“I highly doubt that. Now, why don’t you and the rest of the Circle Jerks go away,” Greg said.

Fire rose in Peter’s eyes. The sweetness on his lips dried up into a frown.  If it were anyone else but Greg, that person would have been paralyzed. But, Greg was probably the best football player on the team and Peter looked up to him for his skill, respected him. Peter let it go because it was Greg. He and Kent and the rest of them slinked off down the halls and out of sight.

Millie and Greg locked eyes. In that split second, Millie felt something she had never felt before.  She felt love for a man. Her father died when she was three and she had no memories of him.  Any that she might have had when she was younger slowly faded away with age. She had no uncles and only a few male cousins but they lived out of state so she never saw them. It was mainly just her and her mom. Millie never had a male figure in her life. Millie had never loved a man before. That was, until now. And in that split second, she not only felt love for Greg for saving her from Peter, but she felt a lifetime of love for him. She fell in love with those brown eyes of his and fell in love with his heart.

Millie knew of Greg, just like she knew of a lot of people without ever actually knowing them in person. Millie knew that Greg was on the football team and that he did well in school. She also knew Greg wasn’t a typical dumb jock. His name was always found on the honor roll and he would speak to everyone in the halls, no matter if they were rich or poor, black or white, gothic or preppy. Greg was just a friendly guy who had love in his heart for everyone and he spread that love around. And now Millie was catching some of that love and sending some back to him. Millie had always found him attractive from far away, but now that he was closer, she could see what a truly handsome guy he was. His short, cocoa colored hair shined like glass under the florescent lights. If Millie had to define its style, she would have said “just after sex bed head.” Greg was tall, over six feet Millie guessed, and quite lean. He wasn’t muscle bound and he certainly wasn’t skinny, but just the right amount of muscle. His tight t-shirt defined his toned arms perfectly. He was a shirt and jeans kind of guy, wearing his letterman jacket on cold days. His sparkling eyes always gave off a sense of warmth and openness. The brown reminded her of hot chocolate and she was instantly comforted by them, warmed by their gaze. Greg’s skin took on a golden hue due to his many football practices outside. And now that he was smiling at her, Millie noticed his teeth. They were pearly white, but not perfect. His right canine tooth slightly crossed his lateral incisor. This broke Millie’s vision of his perfection at first, then only reinforced it. That slightly crooked tooth showed that Greg was real, not some unattainable Adonis. He was genuine. His imperfections made him perfect. Millie called them his “unperfectly perfect” teeth.

“Sorry about Pete the Perv,” he said.

“Oh, um, it’s okay,” Millie stammered. “I guess it’s a good thing you came along. Since he’s your friend he listened to you when you told him to leave.”

Greg laughed and Millie melted underneath the sound.

“He is not my friend! He is on my team, but that’s where our relationship ends. He’s a total jerk and treats women terribly.  Actually, he treats everyone terribly.  Listen, if he ever gives you trouble again, just let me know, okay? I’ll have a talk with him. For some reason, he listens to me.”

Millie fell a little more in love with him. He not only had a beautiful face, but a beautiful soul as well.

“I’ll do that, thankyousomuch,” she said way too fast, a huge smile spreading across her face. The intensity of his beauty was too much for her to take and Millie had to look down at her shoes.

“Well, I think the bell is gonna ring soon.  I gotta get to class before I'm late. I’ll see ya around, Millie. It’s Millie, right?”

Oh, my God! He knows my name! He knows my naaame!

“Right!” she said in a high pitched giggle. Millie heard the word reverberate in her ears and quickly realized how stupid she sounded. She wanted to die.

Greg only smiled his “unperfectly perfect” smile and then waved goodbye to Millie before heading off to class.

Millie’s smile only grew as she closed her eyes and sunk in the events of the last few moments. She thought to herself, I just talked to the man I’m going to marry.

Although Millie had never had a crush on a boy before, she knew that this wasn’t just a normal crush. She knew this was real, true love. Millie never doubted her feelings for one second. She was enamored with this Greek god, this beautiful being who had swept in and swept her off her feet while protecting her from Pete the Perv.  The shrilling sound of the bell crashed inside Millie's head and brought out of her daydream romance with Greg.  She practically floated to class.

Memories flooded back to Millie as she stood on the football field. She recalled her first meeting with Greg and the encounter with Peter. A streak of hatred ran through her body at the mention of Peter’s name, although she didn’t know why. Millie had forgotten a lot of things over the past few days. Or weeks, or months? Millie put one hand through the chain link fence and pretended the material between her fingers were Greg’s fingers. She caressed the fence in hopes that somehow she could transfer the sensation of her fingers over to Greg just by the power of her heart. Millie looked down and noticed a red card in her other hand. She turned it over and looked at it. A Valentine. Suddenly, Millie remembered. It was Valentine’s Day. And she remembered making the card for Greg.

After meeting Greg for the first time, the next few weeks were filled with Millie seeing Greg in the hall and he would always wave and flash his flawless smile at Millie. Millie would drink up every drop and feel full for the rest of the day, satiated by the daily slices of Greg she would get to indulge in. They never had time to talk as they were always walking to their next class. Not that Millie would have spoken to him, anyway. Millie was painfully shy despite her beauty. And she doubted Greg even thought of her more than just another victim of Peter. But, she loved him regardless, whether they talked or whether she’d silently see him pass by. As long as she could look at him, she realized she was okay. He was her link to her world. And her world was Greg.

Millie decided to use her art to show Greg just how much she loved him. Millie didn’t have any pictures of Greg and would feel way too awkward asking for one, so she dug out her old yearbook from the year before and found Greg’s picture. He looked younger in the picture. His face was a bit fuller, his hair a bit longer, but that smile was still the same. And those beautiful eyes. Millie decided to take Greg’s proportions from the yearbook and draw him as he was today, more mature, more chiseled, more beautiful. Millie never had a problem drawing people. Sometimes she was so good the drawing would look photo realistic. But, knowing the picture was going to go to her future husband, Millie put herself under a lot of pressure and she had a hard time getting it right. After several nights of crumpled paper and broken pieces of chalk, Millie finally finished. She stood back, her cheeks and forehead smudged with charcoal, and was happy with the final product. She just hoped Greg would be as well.

Millie had planned on giving the drawing to Greg the next day, but before she could put the picture away, she had second thoughts. Would that be weird? Would he think I was a creepy stalker? We’ve only talked once. What if I scare him away? No, I can’t do that. I can’t give him this picture. Milie put the drawing of Greg away in one of her drawers.

Now, looking down, she remembered that she realized it wasn’t weird or creepy at all, but a beautiful thing to do for someone else. And she felt in her heart he’d think so, too. Millie was struck with many realizations in the moment that she glanced down at the Valentine card with Greg’s picture in it. Millie remembered her newfound bravery in the decision to give the picture to Greg. Her head began to spin with memories and realizations.  Millie wanted to express her love for Greg even though she knew he would never fall in love with her. Without the worry of wondering about his reaction to her declaration of love for him, Millie knew she’d be able to give him the picture with a little Valentine thrown in, in honor of the big day. Millie knew Greg wouldn’t fall in love with her. Everything was coming back. It was very clear in her head now. Millie wasn’t feeling insecure, only certain of this. She wasn’t worried about her silly problems she used to have. It’s not that Millie didn’t feel pretty enough or thin enough. No, Millie had a much bigger problem.

Millie was dead.

Click "Read More" below the links to finish the story...