I keep wanting to write to you, about what? I have not a clue. Thereâs too much and not enough. I keep re-reading those typed letters you sent me, God; theyâre at least 15 years old. Why do I keep them? Why do I keep reading them? I guess itâs because they are the only connection to you that I have left. I know youâre out there. It wouldnât take much effort to find you, to call you even. Iâm not that difficult to find either. But there are important people in the way. Wasnât that always the case with us? Wasnât 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 donât understand why I held it in, held the anger in at that fact. Just so that you feel a little better about that, Iâve 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 theyâve 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 itâs that I feel there is so much unfinished business between you and I. Iâm wondering if you feel the same. Iâm wondering if you think about all of the shit we packed into 5+ years. Thatâs what itâs become by the way; our relationship was 5+ years long. Of course, the simple fact that Iâm 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 arenât? Is this one-sided? I have to ask, even though I know you are attached. Really attached. Permanently kind of attached with offspring. Serious, youâre in a serious relationship with tons of important responsibilities. And here I am, wondering if youâre wondering about me. How selfish of me. How inconsiderate. I know. Iâm aware of how I sound. I canât help it. I have no control over loving you. It just happened and hasnât 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 didnât think about you, Iâve always loved you. It goes so deep I donât know where it ends. I donât 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, weâd 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, Iâve forgotten now, that we didnât have anything in common… I guess Iâve 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…Iâve spent lots of time reading John Irving for Godâs 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 âve equated you with a hell of a lot more. Does that make you feel better? Do you get off knowing this? I canât even hear a fucken U2 song without thinking about you…and you havenât 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 donât know. Iâve tried to flush you out of my system. Sometimes I succeed and I donât 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 âarenâtâ 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 thatâs just my shit Iâm projecting on you, but somehow, I donât think so…well, maybe a little. I sit here and wonder what weâd 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 Iâd put on for once. Iâve 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, Iâd never live up to the important responsibility of picking the perfect song for our perfect moment. Thatâs a lot of pressure, man, too much for anyone, but especially for me. Now? Heck, Iâd throw on whatever and Iâd be confident youâd like it, accept it, applaud it even. I hate this. I hate that you wonât see me confident. You wonât ever see me âflyingâ as you put it one day. I was pretty impressed that you said that, because I didnât really think you ever thought Iâd get anywhere. Itâs 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 thatâs 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 donât think so… This can go on forever. I can sit here and rehash a whole lotta crap, but I wonât, because it hurts, itâs boring, and pointless. If I had a wish, just one wish for my personal life, Iâd 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. Iâm 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, weâll be throwing some punches at each other instead… ah, Iâm confident that that wouldnât happen. If anything, Iâd 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 weâve 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 Iâd 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 Iâm over that. So, weâd sit and talk and drink and laugh and I could perhaps throw on the Garden State soundtrack, youâd like it, itâs very mellow and cool. Then afterward, Iâd throw on some Remy Shand, youâd like that CD too, heâs got a great voice and the music is very smooth and jazzy. Then, perhaps to liven things up a little Iâd throw on Radioheadâs OK Computer… weâd toss a few shots back, and Iâd get up and throw on U2âs latest, âAtomic Bombâ because some of those songs remind me of you and then weâd probably end up shaking hands, thanking each other for the good conversation, food and music. Weâd make up empty promises about keeping in touch, because at this point in my life honey, Iâve learned the ropes too. Then weâd hug for a long, long time, like in my dream, and then youâd be off to your real life. That life that includes important people with serious responsibilities. And Iâd go back to mine.