Promise Me

Promises made
Were never meant to keep.
You swooned me.
Stolen.
Ripped.
My heart is a playground
And the children who play it are rough.

The Best Days

The best days were the ones when we could spend hours tumbling across our bed; hugging, kissing, rolling away and toward one another as fingers tickled and lips met flesh as raspberries. We had fun.

Hardly would it ever be sexual; though, of course, sometimes it did. Our rumbling was usually much more innocent, however. We were just two boys enjoying the company of the one we cherished more than any other thing in the world.

We could spend half a day in each other's arms, staring into the deep brown eyes of the other, tracing our hands across the other's body, hair, face; exploring the being that enveloped everything we held dearest in our heart.

Almost every encounter ended with a nap; our heads resting somewhere on the other's body. I usually picked his thighs. They were firm and supported my head well. And when I would wake up, I'd be able to look up across his body and see him resting peacefully. The most beautiful sight on Earth.

Eventually, we'd migrate into two spoons, for comfort's sake. I'd try to be the bigger spoon, so I could hold him; so I could breath gently across his ear, and kiss him gently on his neck. I loved his neck. It was warm. It was the softest part of him, and I imagined we were wolves and I were nuzzling into his mane. He smelled like graham crackers.

These were the best days because they were love. Love, affection, tenderness, care; all words that describe our feelings for one another were defined and made physical by our being on the bed. Everything I enjoyed about my world, about humanity, about life, was real and warm and present.

I'd give anything to have it back. Nothing else compares to that. No chocolate could be as sweet; no wine as intoxicating; no movie as entertaining; no piece of art as thruthful. Life existed strongest in those moments. I will always remember how it felt.

Those were the best days.

Suicide

So, I want to kill myself sometimes.

But it's not because I'm sad. I mean, how do I know that? I have chronic depression. I have no idea what it's like to not have a black veil over the world. Maybe it is because I'm sad.

But I just had this thought: what am I even living for? I have no plans, no goals, no life. What's the point of me taking up the space right now? There isn't one, so why continue?

That's a serious question. Please always give me reasons. Constantly.

But apply them to me. I know people would be sad. I know people would miss me, or anyone who is depending on me would be hurt. However, as awful as it sounds, that just doesn't matter to me at this moment. 

And that's how my depression works. Sometimes I get so low that I don't even consider my connections to people to be of any value. 

It's rough. I'll probably be fine in the morning. I always am. But Lordy McBuddah, are these feelings heavy. 

Anyway. Cherish your sanity. 

Spoiled

At night, when it gets quiet and cold, and the loneliness creeps into my heart, no question blazes brighter in my mind than this:

How can anyone toss away companionship?

Lingering Fears from Jordan

A year after the break up, one would think I'd be completely over it. Well, at least, I would think so, because I'm super emotional like that. But, annoyingly, no, I'm not; not completely, anyway.

I still have small feelings lingering in the closet at back of my mind. They like to jump out and scare me every now and again. They keep me on my toes. These are the feelings of jealousy/envy for Jordan's next guy; the feelings of fear that I will not find love again; and the feelings that I may be forever comparing every man I see to the idealized image of the Jordan I fell in love with.

I like to envision them as spiders hanging in my bedroom corner. Normally, I don't notice them. They're just there. But if I see them, I can't stop thinking about them. And eventually I go out of my mind and run away screaming; hoping that my cats eat my feelings.

Now, I know a lot of people reading this blog are people who know me, love me (read "put up with me") or tolerate my ramblings enough to read them while, say, waiting for the bus. So, for you, I will make this as entertaining as I can fathom. I will use music to introduce my points.

Now, this song, "Ponytail Parades" by Emery (for those who can't click the link), is generally a great song for any break up, as it describes the torment a person goes through when everything they trusted in suddenly dusted off the mantle piece. But the lyrics I want to bring attention to for now are these:

It scares me to think,

That you could

Find takers

Other than me.

And better than me,

This is a real fear, admittedly irrational, that I have and can't seem to shake. What if I wasn't the only person who could love Jordan? What if there's an even better Prince Charming out there than I was? I mean, I was a pretty damn good boyfriend/fiance. I had lots of love to give and was ready to "sacrifice" anything at the drop of a hat so long as Jordan needed it. And I'm awesome in bed. 

But what if I'm not the pinnacle for an exceptional lover? I realize how awfully arrogant that sounds. But that is me: I am awfully arrogant. I'm humble when I need to be, but I'm proudly proud of the things I do well. But that's the fear I have. 

Someone is going to love Jordan better than I did.

Here's the second spider, spinning it's awful web. This one looks like a black widow, because it scares me the worst. What if I can't love again? What if every time a guy reaches out to me, I shoot up a wall and walk away? Run away, maybe? I lose track of how many times it's happened so far. Here are some names!

Steve

Chris

John

The Viking

Paulo

Michael

Other Michael

Levi I & II

Antonio

Jesse

All these listed guys opened themselves to me and I turned off my porch light. How do I keep it from happening?

Will I let myself love again?

Probably not, because here's the next arachnid:

Jordan,

No. Not you: the piece of dirt I've stepped over, But you: the man I loved.

There's never going to be anyone like you, and that cripples me. There was so much about you that I just adored more than anything I've ever known in this world, and I want it back. I want your black hair. I want your dimple and a half. I want your crooked teeth. I want your full lips. I want your laugh. I want your shallow insight. I want your compliments. I want your passion for video games. I want to listen to you drone on endlessly about your stories and characters. 

Etc. Etc.

Frankly, though, those are gone. Forever. There will not be any man like you again. That'd be crazy. That'd be weird. I've accepted that. 

So why can't I stop looking for it in other guys?

So, those are my fears on this near anniversary of the worst day of my life so far. Hope you enjoyed the music. I've never actually listened to the David Archuleta one. I like it. Gonna add it to my ITunes when I get the money. So, my parting question:

Is this normal? And will this go away like the rest?

Whom I'd Save

There are two trains, on two separate tracks, barreling down upon people tied to the rails. It is up to me to save them. I cannot stop the trains. I can only untie the intended victims. I can only save one track, however, because the trains will arrive to them at the same time. One track has three strangers tied down. The other, has a friend of mine. Whom do I save?

I save my friend. But not with any ill will to the three strangers.

When faced with this decision, I ultimately have to make a subjective decision based on an objective measuring: who is most worth saving? Who is, essentially, more valuable? In my opinion, and as a matter of fact, since it's my decision to make, I choose my friend.

The fact is that I don't know the value in the three strangers. I don't know anything about them. I don't know their talents, I don't know their virtues, and I don't know what they contribute to my life. I simply don't know. So, they are virtually valueless to me.

My friend, however, is my friend because I value him. I know enough of his talents, virtues, and certainly what they contribute to my life. I wouldn't choose them as a friend if I didn't. Friends become friends because they are a positive addition to our lives, and we choose to keep them around us for the sake of our own interests.

I choose to save my friend, as opposed to three strangers, because he is ultimately the most valuable person, and the most worthy of saving.

Whom would you choose?

Our Song; New Hope

The first time I heard this song, a young lady's piano cover of Hikaru Utada's "Passion", I was sitting in the passenger seat of Jordan's car, outside a Chic-fil-a in Kansas City. It was October and rainy, with a slight chill in the air. It was just before sunset and we were just getting some dinner after spending a few hours playing Magic: The Gathering. It was a typical day for the most part. Except for one detail.

It was the first time we told each other we loved one another.

Well, more specifically, it was when we told each other we were willing to love one another despite the challenges coming up in the relationship. A year or so after we said it, we would be seperating and moving to different parts of the country. This fact scared us to death because we were developing deep feelings and "knew" we'd "have" to say goodbye. So, we acknowledged that we wouldn't say goodbye. We would accept our love and fight for it.

If only someone had told me where I'd be today.

Sorry about that. That's not the point of this entry. It's not a pity party, and I'm not trying to be sad. I'm actually incredibly happy and content sharing this memory and sharing this song for one big reason:

It's just a memory, and it's just a song.

Since he and I split a year ago, every time this song came on my IPod or ITunes, I would cringe, cry and crack my fingers trying to shut it off as fast as possible. The pain this song would bring is only out done by another song (one which I still can't mention or hear), and would bring up every good and bad memory of the relationship until I would be in tears and cathartic on the floor.

It just accidentally played on a youtube playlist I accidentally clicked, and do you know what I felt? In fact, can you guess what I said?

"Man, I really like this song. This girl has talent."

Never mind that I said it to my dog, and not an actual person. Never mind that the sound of my voice made me jump because my house is very quiet.

The point is that I heard this song and nothing happened except I had an appreciation for it. That amazes me and tells me that I've grown and got more past the pain of the break-up.

To quote the ending of the song: "My fears are lies...underneath a blue sky."

Hope :)

The Ex

The Ex

There is a greater tragedy than when a long-lasting relationship ends. The greater tragedy is that I have given up on him. I gave up on my ex. I finally turned my back on him after months of suffering to continue feeling something. Likewise, I gave up on love.

I held on to the truest kind of love I could fathom, and the strongest love I have ever felt in my life for another person. I held as long as I could. But eventually, I just couldn't anymore. The bitterness, resentment and regret that came from the break-up warped whatever love I felt into hatred.

I can not bear to hate him.

So, I gave in and I cut him off and out. I would rather forget him than hate him. The five years of love and good times deserve to be remembered and revisited with fondness. He gave me deep love in return for mine, and I will remember that.

But I will not be angry.
I will not be sad anymore.
I will not hate him.

I loved him, and I'm thankful it happened at all.