drunken responses

You know how in war movies one side hates the other? And it's not so much about "japs" (ww2) or gooks (viet nam) or whatever, it's about what the soldier became because he had to kill those enemies? Because they were out to kill him? It's not you I hate. It's what I have become because of you. It's not what you did that I cry over. It's what I have lost because of you. It's not what your actions destroyed that I miss. It's the faith, now gone, that I miss. It's not you I long for. It's the fantasy I created about you that I crave. It's not your love that I need. It's the love of the person I thought and hoped you were. Melodramatic, yes. Intense, certainly. Real, always. You talk of connection, but I remember only the lies I sought so hard to believe. You talk of friendship, but I remember only how I was never good enough. You talk of your family missing me, but neglect to admit that YOU miss me. You talk of calling on holidays, but you didn't, and I sought the affection of someone new and pure than the faraway phone call consisting of your distant, unfulfilling wonder. I miss her. I don't miss you. I miss the person you took from me. I still don't miss you. I miss the feelings I apparently made up about you. And, yet again, I don't miss you. Or anything you stood for. I'm sick of not being good enough. I work my ass off for approval from everyone and everything, and the fact of the matter is that you were the one person who was supposed to accept me the most, and you failed. You were supposed to be just there. You were supposed to be in my corner. You were supposed to be everything I was to you. You were none of those things. You were callous and cold, distant and disloyal, unaccepting and unappreciative. I loved you for all that I thought you were. I even loved you when I found out I was wrong. You never loved me back. You never loved me at all. I wish you could take it all back. I even let you try. But you cannot, and I am left with nothing. I never knew how to love, 'tis true, but I had a good idea. Now I don't. Now I fear. Now I hate. Now I distrust. Now I am alone in a crowded room. I feel one glimmer of hope, from a little girl who is just nice for nice's sake. And I think it's a form of love, because whatever shred of love I knew you took from me. You send me a message "out of the blue" that prompts me to look at how you're doing, check on your myspace, wonder about your life. I refer to you when my friends ask me what girl would be "smart enough" or "challenging enough", and my friends roll their eyes and say, "you have such high standards when you talk, but you accept such low standards in practice." Because they know what I only know now, a year hence. They know that you never loved, never appreciated, never hoped, never foresaw, never dreamed, never... anything. You simply compared how I licked your twat with the other 20 guys you were fucking at the time. I remember feeling guilty for going out with another girl. I remember not daring to engage other women because of you. All while you were "seeing other people" Then I remember feeling guilty because an ex called, because an ex asked how I was doing, because an ex myspace'd. Because an ex got my attention for 12 seconds before I told them about you. All while you were "getting the attention I didn't provide" And I turned up, asking, wondering, listening, hoping... and you sent me a link to some bestseller about how you know in an instant whether something is right for you or not. If it was so instant, why are you writing me now? Why do you miss me so? Why do you wonder about me? Why do you still "love" me? In that "special" way that only you can? Why do you still try to taint my experiences? Why can I not just chase some little girl across the country because she makes me feel special every time she looks at me? Because she appreciates me for so much in three days when you never did, at all, in three years? Do you write me today while your new boyfriend sleeps beside you, dreaming of all the ways that you're cheating on him? Asking you directly, and peripherally, and nonchalantly, and not at all why it is that you just won't love him the way he deserves? Do you write me today because you're unhappy, because you know you let go the only man who has ever loved you in spite of yourself, rather than for how much you try to satisfy the perceived whims of the San Francisco every-man? Do you write me today to make me cry at 5am on a weekday night as I lament the loss of the first girl since you that made me hope? Do you write me today to make me miss the naive, if discouraged, little boy I used to know inside of me? The naive little boy who died a million deaths at your hands? The naive little boy who believed in you with his whole soul, only to be told he wasn't worthy of your love? Or even your loyalty? -------------------------- Trying again: I thought of you on Thanksgiving. I thought of Jenna and Lynn, Steve and Kevin, Maddy and spooky, bedrooms with two light switches, and "slow down" signs faced the wrong way. I thought of you and green beans, red wine, and that silly apples and something card game. I missed that familiarity even as I was wondering if the experiences I was having at the time might someday be familiar. I have trouble reconciling the "good Laura" I loved and the "bad Laura" I scorn. I have trouble remembering how much I loved you while trying to fight back the tears at the loss of the good man I have trouble remembering. I have become all of the things I criticized and hated -- being 20-something and always moving, always dating, never committing, never hoping, never allowing, never open, and damn well never loving. I miss the naive guy who believed in fairy tales. And most days of the week I blame you for killing that great guy. I'm sorry for that. I'm not sure why, really, because when I think of the end, I hate you, and everything since. But I'm sorry anyway. Because.... I love you still, even as it pains me to admit it. Writing it makes me cry. Not to long ago a little girl made me believe again. I don't know how she did it, but she did. I hoped and loved for just a moment in time, and it felt so damn good. I felt like me again. I may well spend a lifetime trying to capture that again. You never told me how you felt. You never told me anything except how I wasn't quite good enough. Do you know that? Do you know that, even in the best of times, I felt like I had something to prove to you? Do you know that I never felt good enough, strong enough, buff enough, fit enough, fast enough, tall enough, anything enough in your eyes? I thought I didn't need that. I thought I could achieve and accomplish enough so that none of that would matter. But I do need that. You were supposed to have my back. You were supposed to be in my corner, even if no one else was. I thought that you were the one. I need it and I deserve it. I'm not just good enough, I'm great! I'm sure you're reading this, almost laughing to yourself, because you know it's true. Then why didn't you ever tell me that? Worse, why didn't you treat me that way? Why didn't you believe it yourself (because you wouldn't have treated me the way you did if you had)? I suppose it's your turn to prove yourself worthy. Your turn to work for my acceptance. On 12/13/06, Laura D wrote: Think about it... it's not meant to be bad thing. If you view it as such, it's probably not a good idea. Just know that I meant what I said in my email, and my intentions are good. I'm not trying to make things worse. On 12/13/06, Alfie wrote: The first thing that crossed my lips when I read this wasn't very respectful. I think I could handle talking to you. There are lots of "buts", however. Lemme think about it. On 12/13/06, Laura D wrote: I sent a holiday card to your PO Box yesterday, which was a pretty odd experience. Not that act itself, obviously, but sending it felt like I was sending it off into oblivion not really knowing if and when you'd get it, where you're living, if you're even in the country, etc. when a year ago I knew just about everything. In any case, I just wanted to tell you that I sent the card because you've popped into my head a lot in the last few weeks, and I was thinking of you. It sort of started with Thanksgiving when my family asked where you'd be spending it (yes, they miss you), and I said I didn't know what you were doing. I was kinda curious because I know you sometimes get a little bummed out during the holidays. I didn't want to call though, because I wasn't sure if it was appropriate, and I didn't want to ruin your holiday if you didn't want to hear from me. This prompted me to check out your blog, and doing so lead me back to checking out your blog more than once where a few things caught my attention (I won't address those here because the purpose of this email isn't to engage you in any kind of dialogue that you don't want to engage in with me... just to let you know I was thinking of you and why I sent the card.) Anyway, I noticed you have written a few introspective/life purpose type in your blog and that always makes me wonder what's going on with you. Not that you need or want to tell me anything, but I feel like we did connect in certain way that few people do, and reading stuff like that makes me wish I could still talk to you about things like that, and sometimes I wonder if you, too, miss talking to me about things like that. Despite the way things ended, I feel like our relationship (both the friendship and the romantic part) was so unique that it seems unfortunate that as adults we can't learn how to be friends, especially after we were both a such a huge part of each others' lives for 3 years. I'm not asking you to take me back as a friend or trying to engage you in dialogue. I know I hurt you, and I screwed up, and I don't deserve that. I just wanted to tell you my door is always open should you ever decide you can or want to talk again, and you know where to find me (well not really, because I moved... but you know what I mean.) So if you ever decide there is a place for someone like me in your life, I'm here and would love to see you or talk to you. When we said "goodbye" back in March, you told to call you on Christmas or something. I guess this is my version of that because I don't want to call you on Christmas if you have no desire to hear from me and it's just going to ruin your day. However, I also didn't want December to go by without ackowledging the passing holidays and wishing you well. So that's it... just wanted to wish you well and let you know I still think about you, and I care about your happiness... I'm not really expecting a response, but I'd be delighted to receive one...or a call on Christmas. And if not, have a great 2007, and I'll try again next year ;) Best wishes, Laura