January 27th, 2009

Again and Again and Again.

I went a few days thinking that it was over; meeting new people and moving onto them right in front of you, right through you, convinced almost completely that I had come home thinking that me and you were inevitable only to be proven wrong almost immediately. You belittled me and that was it, and I knew right there that my hopes had been to high and my expectations had been unrealistic. I must admit that for a few days, you left my head completely for the first time in years. You became old news. You became last year's business. You became just a friend, nothing more and maybe less, for the first time since the day we first met. You became that pile of ashes that every muse is bound to become sooner or later.

Lucky for you, lucky for me, that only lasted until I was stuck inside a few more inevitably failing romances, coming out the other side with your stupid ass still poking and prodding at my sore brain and melted heart with sharpened sticks and serrated blades. My father looked at me and asked me if I had ever known anyone that didn't dissatisfy me from that pouncing moment; anyone that had held my interest and whom I hadn't gotten sick of despite time, distance, experience, and the ability to have. I told him there had been only two: you and Mike, and since the latter had turned out to be a waste of time, you remained the only man standing, for whatever strange reason. He then asked me what exactly it was between me and you; what we were and what I thought about it. I told you that I had responded with an illegitimate answer, and unwillingness to comment, but that's not the truth. I told him that I had been confused for years now, and that there were times when I couldn't get you off my head, loved you to a breaking point, wanted to chase you forever. Then I compared them with all the times I wish you could have experienced something traumatic, something life-changing, something earth-shattering, so that you could feel something and in turn show something. I wondered if you had ever felt something so passionately that you couldn't keep it in for the life of you, and you shouted your thoughts to the world as if the earthquake had made the wall you keep in front of you crumble into a million pieces at your feet and you became a real person. You became one with feelings, one with emotions, one with a need and a want to tell the people you loved that you loved them and the people you hated that you hated and the people who made you think that they made you think and what they made you think about. And to finish it off, I told him about all the times I hated you and just wanted to slap you and strangle you until you finally confessed something, anything, to me. I told him that I hated how void of emotion you were and that I'd give anything to know how you felt about things and what was going on inside that head of yours. I told him that I hated being out of a loop that was drawn right around me because nothing I had said or done in the last four years had gotten you to open up to me beyond the one single time I can remember you telling me that you loved me. And with all of this, all these mixed messages and emotions, Ben Danger, you are the last man standing and the last man I chase even though I have caught you millions of times.

I thought of you again yesterday when the other left and knew that I wanted to see you as soon as possible. The like and the love that I'd thrown out the window so haphazardly came back and bit me in the ass when I knew I needed some attention that I had to really work for. Your compliance to my request showed me that you too had missed my undeniable charm and determination to get you, and I picked you up for another night of mixing messages and juvenile confusion. I fell in love with you all over again the second you closed the passenger side door. This was what I wanted: the nothing I got from you constantly and the satisfaction of spending all night working to turn it into a something. After four years, I'm still intimidated by you. I still want to impress you. I still straighten my hair, put on my best outfit, and make myself pretty for you. I still chase you. But Jesus Christ, you fucking idiot, after four years, I still don't know if you love me. I still don't know if you see me as anything more than your friend. I still don't see how you could be so stupid as to pass me by. I still don't see how you possibly couldn't have fallen for me but it's still so utterly blind to me. I still don't know what you are waiting for. I still don't know why you don't look at me and see the endless list of possibilities, from the things we can accomplish to the ways you can bend me in bed. I still don't know why you can't realize that I'm smart, I'm beautiful, I'm funny, and I love you, after all of this; what more could you possibly ask for? I have a long list of things that I love about you but a list twice as long of the things that I wish I could just slap out of you, things that I wish I had the courage to tell you about without the fear of you actually realizing them, and in turn realizing me as the person who brought them to light. I try subtly to tell you what's in my head over frozen cigarettes and shaking limbs without actually sounding the least bit expressive, and I think secretly you pick up on it but you're too much of a pussy to take it seriously. I'm right here. I'm the best catch you'll ever get. You'll never find anyone else like me, anyone you get along with like you do with me, anyone who will try harder to teach you what she knows about life. I don't want to be with you, I could never be your girlfriend, I just want to know that if I'm working this hard to impress you, to get you, to be seen by you, then I am in fact impressing you, getting you, and being seen by you. Even if it's all unrequited, do me a favor and acknowledge that it's all there somewhere; accept it, appreciate it, and tell me to my face that you understand it. I won't say stop where you are and let me catch up to you, because I'd never want to have you at my fingertips and tire of you, but I will say slow down, turn around, and look at what you've got with me, because it's what every man in the world is trying to get, and at this point at least, it's what you're the sole owner of.