Aug 062005
 

I keep wanting to write to you, about what? I have not a clue. There’s too much and not enough. I keep re-reading those typed letters you sent me, God; they’re at least 15 years old. Why do I keep them? Why do I keep reading them? I guess it’s because they are the only connection to you that I have left. I know you’re out there. It wouldn’t take much effort to find you, to call you even. I’m not that difficult to find either. But there are important people in the way. Wasn’t that always the case with us? Wasn’t that always the huge wedge between you and I? Whether it was a secret love/lust mind affair (E) or your enabling pot smoking shroom-doing friends…. there was always someone in the way. Even your family…Only now can I appreciate the hatred they had for me, well, not so much me as for minorities in general. I still don’t understand why I held it in, held the anger in at that fact. Just so that you feel a little better about that, I’ve exploded plenty since then. If anything, I had a right to feel outraged at that bullshit. I have to wonder if they remember the truly assinine crap that came out of their mouths. I can only hope they’ve evolved somewhat, I realize times are tough at this point, but still, there is no excuse to hate or be cruel to someone because of their background. End of topic. Back to writing to you…I guess it’s that I feel there is so much unfinished business between you and I. I’m wondering if you feel the same. I’m wondering if you think about all of the shit we packed into 5+ years. That’s what it’s become by the way; our relationship was 5+ years long. Of course, the simple fact that I’m still feeling connected to you in some way, even now in 2005 when the last time I saw you was probably in 1991 or somewhere around that year, is somewhat surprising and annoying to me. Why do you pop into my head? Why do you insert yourself into my dreams? Why do I sometimes feel as if you could knock on my door or call on the telephone at any minute? Why are you still there, even when you really aren’t? Is this one-sided? I have to ask, even though I know you are attached. Really attached. Permanently kind of attached with offspring. Serious, you’re in a serious relationship with tons of important responsibilities. And here I am, wondering if you’re wondering about me. How selfish of me. How inconsiderate. I know. I’m aware of how I sound. I can’t help it. I have no control over loving you. It just happened and hasn’t stopped. Even through the numerous men that came into and out of my life. Even through painful and happy times in my life. Throughout frustration and triumph. Even when I didn’t think about you, I’ve always loved you. It goes so deep I don’t know where it ends. I don’t go down that far, because it gets a little scary, it gets a little painful. It gets a little primitive.

I hated you too. There were plenty of times that I cursed you for the crap you pulled, the hurtful tactless things you did and said. I hated that I forgave you too easily, too quickly. I hated having hope that maybe somehow, someway, we’d work out. I hated hanging out waiting and waiting, bouncing from apartments in Brooklyn to Rochester and back, waiting and wondering only to hear you say one day while we sat in Central Park or Prospect Park, I’ve forgotten now, that we didn’t have anything in common… I guess I’ve made up for that now. I have, you know, trust me. I learned how to ride a bike, I pumped iron until my 30+ body looked better than when it was 22. I pushed myself hard physically partly, now that I think about it, because of you. I became more outspoken. Learned to speak up and say what was on my mind. I spent and still spend lots of time playing music. All kinds of music, mind you, not just the rock and roll staples…I’ve spent lots of time reading John Irving for God’s sake! You once asked yourself why you equated me with music, some music that had nothing to do with that beastly monster (our relationship). You got off easy, honey. I ‘ve equated you with a hell of a lot more. Does that make you feel better? Do you get off knowing this? I can’t even hear a fucken U2 song without thinking about you…and you haven’t been in my life for over 15 years. How do you think I feel? There I go again, wondering about something I have no right to wonder about. I don’t know. I’ve tried to flush you out of my system. Sometimes I succeed and I don’t think about you for months or years…and then Poof! There you are, standing in the middle of my dream hugging me so close and I can smell you, feel your arms, your hands, how tall you are, my head always fell on your chest…. and there goes any hope of getting you out of my life, out of my mind. Sure, I know you really “aren’t” in my life, but in so many ways you still are. I can sound hokey when I say, I can feel you sometimes, I can feel the unhappiness, the frustration, the worry, the regret. Perhaps that’s just my shit I’m projecting on you, but somehow, I don’t think so…well, maybe a little. I sit here and wonder what we’d say to each other if we ever had the chance (you know, that chance when it snows in hell) to just sit and talk over a cup of coffee and some good tunes that I’d put on for once. I’ve got the confidence now. Did you ever consider that perhaps your musical taste was intimidating? You were tough. You wanted me to choose and choose, but there were so many times that I felt you felt, I’d never live up to the important responsibility of picking the perfect song for our perfect moment. That’s a lot of pressure, man, too much for anyone, but especially for me. Now? Heck, I’d throw on whatever and I’d be confident you’d like it, accept it, applaud it even. I hate this. I hate that you won’t see me confident. You won’t ever see me “flying” as you put it one day. I was pretty impressed that you said that, because I didn’t really think you ever thought I’d get anywhere. It’s no secret I felt like a total fool around you. I was a complete fool for love and a general all around fool. It was awful. Sometimes I think that’s what kept you away. Sometimes, I think, the pot and your friends kept you away. Sometimes, I think my love kept you away. I realize that sounds so damned corny. I may be wrong. But I don’t think so… This can go on forever. I can sit here and rehash a whole lotta crap, but I won’t, because it hurts, it’s boring, and pointless. If I had a wish, just one wish for my personal life, I’d wish to be able to sit with you one more time and talk and listen to music, maybe over some coffee or shots of tequila. I’m sure the tequila would really loosen us up some, who knows, maybe instead of that all out drag out conversation/debate you wished we had had, we’ll be throwing some punches at each other instead… ah, I’m confident that that wouldn’t happen. If anything, I’d just want to talk and laugh, laugh at all the stupid-ass shit we did, said, felt, did, and did. Because, by now, I can only hope we’ve both reached that point everyone talks about…laughing about all of that crap, when at the time, it was no laughing matter.

Yes. I can laugh. Even laugh at myself. I can put a CD on and dance around like a crazy ass woman. I can even play mean air drums… I have to wonder if I’d be able to if you were sitting here right now…

I thought you were perfect…and that kept me always feeling less than. My shit. My bad. I can only hope I’m over that. So, we’d sit and talk and drink and laugh and I could perhaps throw on the Garden State soundtrack, you’d like it, it’s very mellow and cool. Then afterward, I’d throw on some Remy Shand, you’d like that CD too, he’s got a great voice and the music is very smooth and jazzy. Then, perhaps to liven things up a little I’d throw on Radiohead’s OK Computer… we’d toss a few shots back, and I’d get up and throw on U2’s latest, “Atomic Bomb” because some of those songs remind me of you and then we’d probably end up shaking hands, thanking each other for the good conversation, food and music. We’d make up empty promises about keeping in touch, because at this point in my life honey, I’ve learned the ropes too. Then we’d hug for a long, long time, like in my dream, and then you’d be off to your real life. That life that includes important people with serious responsibilities. And I’d go back to mine.

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