I know most of you could care less, but I am now writing a screenplay. Gonna call it “Genuinely Rich”. Pretty excited about it.
She took me to the movies tonight. I sat next to “S”, pop in hand, as I thought about how much I wished she was someone else. Every word that escaped her made me yearn for another. Not a prettier face, not better smile, but someone more honest. Despite the hand holding, the kisses, and the sexual tension, I wished for nothing more than to spend that moment with someone else. It’d be better spend on someone else.
We sat and talked afterwards. I told her the stories of my life that bring me pain, yet have brought growth. I told “S” of my aborted child, my absent mother and sister, the self-made attempts at my life, the engagement that never quite made it, and the doubts I held for the future. She saw fit to reply with likened stories of her own, grotesque knock offs of my own life. Their very fabrication felt like ice picks in my heart. Hurt worse than the actual memories themselves.
All along the ride home, I prayed for nothing more than the end of the night. Whether it be through a safe journey home, or the quick death via head-on collision with another vehicle. So much anger and pain filled my veins. To hear someone mock your life’s pain with lies of their own almost brought tears to my eyes. Why? Because this was it. Of all the wonderful girls I have met through life, whose time I would rather spend with, she was the only one willing to share it with me. The only one willing to be with me.
“S” is pretty. She is very beautiful actually. Hot by any and all accounts. Rich beyond my wildest dreams. But. None of that matters to me. I don’t want to sleep with her. Don’t want to have sex with her. Because I’ll only come back more empty and alone than before. She is everything in a girl I don’t want. Everything I could care less about. Yet she is the only one who likes me. The cruel irony in the fact that her actions remind me of my misplaced mother and sister only add to my sorrow.
I wish I could just tell her to stop. That I like her for her. That she doesn’t need far-fetched stories to win my attention or favor. That all she needs to do is just be her. But I can’t. I’ve tried such a feat before with my own blood. Those that are supposed to be there for you. Love you unconditionally. But that has never worked. Never ended well for me.
As for now, I choose to crawl inside of empty bottles and cigarettes for solace. I’ll work each day, and better myself along the way. Perhaps one day I’ll find a girl who is able to love me in all the ways others in my life have not. Perhaps one day I’ll share a bottle of wine or a cup of coffee with a person where I’ll hope the night never ends. Where, at the end of it all, she’ll still be there, lying next to me in bed each day. A smile adorning her face as cascades of sun splash the world around us.
One day. But for now, “S” is the cruel mockery of the girl I dream of. “S” is the company that I keep so that I won’t feel so lonely anymore. A bitter medicine to rid me of my dreams.
I am tired of lies
Tired of deciet
I only yearn for
Who sees me
So let the seas
Upon the rocks
At this woman’s
In my mind
Red and crimson
From age or
I’ll never know
In days of dark
Or days of
With eyes of
They bring me
To my heart’s