How's It Gonna Be

...when you don't know me? Anymore...

How's it gonna be... I'm only pretty sure that I can' t take anymore...

I listened to that on the way home tonight, from my final hurrah with Spencer and Sammy. Brian was there, and my little bro, and various other folks that mean a lot to me.

It was fun.

And of course, a little Purple Rain and Third Eye Blind, and some chick named Lauren pops into my head.

It wasn't Tejas Lauren this, time, though. Crazy Lauren was there, with memories of morning coffee and shower sex. It was she that got me hooked on Peet's, because I was too good for Starbucks in her eyes.

If only she were sane. Heh.

As I listened to Third Eye tonight, I wondered about the future even as tried to remember the past. Wondered vaguely how all of the various Ls were doing, mostly wishing them well, sometimes fearing for them, usually hoping they were remembering me as well as I remembered them.

I even wondered about Slutbag. I don't miss her, nor anything she ever did (or didn't) for me. I did wonder how she was doing.

I wondered if she missed me, and if every time she did she felt a little guilty. I guess I hope she does.

And then I wondered about crazy Lauren, about if Purple Rain made her think of me, too, and about how I hope she's found her way and stopped using sex as a way to feel affection. I hated that part of our relationship, even when I loved her.

I wondered about Texas Lauren, about how she taught me so much by just her being her, because I was open and ready, because she caught me off guard, and because it was just time for me to find something new. I wondered if she ever thought of me at all, if I had had the privilege of teaching her just a fraction of what she taught me.

Now, as I write this, I wonder about Amanda, and if she's doing as well as she always says, if she's happy and healthy, if she feels loved at least as much as I loved her. I wonder if she gets adored the way I adored her, spoiled like when she was my princess. I wonder if she mutters, "I'm the queen," on a random Thursday night after Scrubs as someone she loves rubs her shoulders.

And I even wonder about Des, if she's really happy becoming her mother and marrying an accountant. I wonder if she set out to be her mom when she was 5, or if she always wanted something more. Maybe I was a representation of her "something more". Then again, maybe I was just hot and there. Who knows...

I wonder, as I sit alone in my now-empty house, about all of those girls, and a dozen more not worth mentioning, if I changed them half as much as they changed me. I wonder if I left them better people, like I hope I did, as Texas Lauren left me (embracing of my youth, save the depression, I suppose) and as Amanda left me (confident and well-dressed). I wonder, because I hope I did.

I hope I leave all of you better people than before, better, more educated, more thoughtful, more introspective, more appreciative.

I hope that, even in my depression, my tearful outpouring of emotion that makes you scroll and yawn, worry and wonder, call and check, I hope that if nothing else, you look at your own lives and appreciate what you have, from where you came, and that there really is an answer to the question regarding your presence on this planet.

I hope you know that I love you. I hope you know that it meant a lot to me, that going away present, that last goodbye, that third phone call to check on our last supper, that last text message, that final hug. I hope you know that it meant the world to me that you were there, that you are there, and that if I call you to crash at your place someday it will be okay. I hope that you know, that now, even as I cry, writing this, alone again, late again, afraid as always of what misery tomorrow might hold, that you are the reason I'm still here.

I'm not scared, not afraid, not in the slightest. Not worried about the future, about being too old, about not fitting in.

Nothing could be worse, in truth, than the last 8 months. There could be no lower a place than my basement in Castro Valley.

Someday, I trust, I'll look back on this, and instead of reliving the tears that seem to be unconsciously streaming down my cheeks right now, I'll remember this fondly, like I remember all hardship fondly, because it is the past that once was and is no more. Because it is a hardship I endured, a hurdle I conquered, a rock I climbed. I hope that I'll remember it with a smile, not because of how much it hurt, but because of how good it felt when it stopped hurting.

Someday I hope to be the man that you see in front of you sometimes. (If only I could see it too.) Someday I'll love me as much as I hope all of them did. Someday I'll be loved as much as I loved them, as much as I love you, as much as all the hope that tears my heart apart even as I try to shush it, because it hurts so goddamn much.

Someday. I will be free. I will appreciate everyone and they will appreciate me, I will be loved the way I deserve to be, I will give love to others freely and without condition because I can afford to, and I will not need to buffer my phone call frequency, hide my attraction, nor hold back my feelings.

Someday I will not sit alone and wonder about long lost loves in reminscience, but in simple goodwill. I will not wonder how they are without me, but simply hope that they're well.

Someday I will actually be able to love someone I've had sex with.

Well, maybe. Heh.

Someday, maybe, I'll be able to sleep alone, after a drink, and not cry. I'd like that.