letters to the past
I cannot believe all that both of us have put up with from each other over the years. (Yes, I gave you a lot of pain. There’s no way I’m going to deny that. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.)
I’ve known you for nearly half my life (off and on) and I think I’ve earned the right to be able to call your crap. You were my best friend. At one point, you were even my other half. You knew me upside down and inside out. And I’m fed up with your bullshit. (well, I was a while ago, but only thought to write this now.)
Let’s face it: we’re still going to keep running into each other due to various family connections and church and such (or because fate likes to make you her bitch), so hey guess what, we’re going to hash this out.
A) I contacted you again because I missed you. You were, at one time, the one person who knew me best, and I don’t believe in just tossing that aside lightly. I never learned the concept of “letting go.” and I never thought I would have to, when it came to you. However, you can relax. I did not want to ‘pick things up again’ because of several reasons, not the least of which was our personalities and the way we meshed. Bad idea all the way around. So stop acting so jumpy. I thought I’d made that clear, but I guess I should’ve set it in stone.
(And, to my surprise, contacting you worked! I loved being able to talk to you, to share, to have a small part of that old, pre-disaster connection. It was good, it was fun, it was “us” again. then… wtf.)
B) Like you said, I’ve changed. Grown-up me doesn’t believe in holding back, or pretending. Life is too short for games. There is a part of me that still loves you, (not in the ‘hey let’s date’ way, or the ‘unrequited’ way, but the ‘old friends who shared a lot’ affectionate way), and I probably always will. I’m not going to pretend that you didn’t mean a lot to me, or that you didn’t have a lot of influence in my life. (Not all of it was positive, but we’re human and that’s life.)
C) Good things about you: the way you are able to be attentive to the little things. don’t change that.
D) Bad things about you: never ever ever EVER tell a girl what is wrong with her physical appearance. We know. I still can’t believe I put up with it from you, or that you would have the sheer jackassery to even say it. It still makes me wish I had just outright punched you in the face.
E) Grown-ups say “hey, I’m seeing somebody, so peace.” or whatever excuse you want to use. (Even that is rude, but whatever.) Dropping off the face of the planet is the most cowardly of all possible recourses you could’ve used. And that’s sad. Even for you. I know you take ‘non-confrontation’ to new levels of ridiculous, but really. Man up. Even the unspoken one had the fortitude to call me, and he was the scum of the earth.
F) Along those lines, yes, the bf and I are together. I guess it’s not surprising to a lot of people, but it’s something that really never occurred to me before. I guess I win that age-old question of whether he loves you more than he loves me.
G) If you’re happy, then great. Really. I hope the east coast is amazing for you. If I ever see you again, I’ll smile and be nice, because like I said, life is too short for pretending. I just didn’t want to leave anything unsaid.
I’ll be honest, I’ve wished that I could just banish you forever. I know you said that it’s hard for you to ignore me, and that you wanted to see if I’d “reconnect the threads” or something. The truth is, I don’t think those ‘threads’ will ever fully break. And it frustrates me. A lot. You’ve said before that I was the one person you could count on for the rest of your life. Well… I’m holding that end of the bargain. Yes, our love has changed (drastically) from what it was. Perhaps, in your case, it’s faded entirely.
I give up. I’m putting all my cards on the table, because I’m at a place where it’s okay for me to completely humiliate myself in front of people who have demonstrated that they could care less whether I take a flying leap into the lake or whatever nonsense phrase you’d like to use. (It helps, I suppose, to know that I have someone who loves me and has never treated me half as badly as you did at one point.)
Let’s review, okay?
no more crap… I missed you, not in love with you, there’s a big difference… ummm… good and bad… other people…. oh yes. one last thing.
I have bigger balls than you.
Have a nice life.
Letters to the past
Dear Jerk:
It’s funny, really. You’re the most impulsive person I know, and yet you see yourself as cool, logical, even-headed.
You rushed into the relationship so quickly I’m not sure you even thought about what that would mean. I got swept into the whirlwind romance of it all, suddenly and deeply “in love” so fast that I couldn’t quite see (let alone think) straight.
And it was over, just as swiftly. You were in love with the feeling, chasing it with whomever you could until you got what you wanted deserved.
You insist you still love me, even though we cannot be together and irrevocable decisions have been made. Mostly on your part. By your poor impulse control and your inability to keep it in your pants.
What part of “Goodbye” is unclear to you?
Which word in “Let me move on” do you not understand?
In what way could I rephrase “Leave me the hell alone” so that you can gather the full meaning and the implications involved?
Dear Ex-First-Love:
You are in my brain. I can ignore you easily for the most part, but I’ll see your car model, a camera, certain types of music, and there you are again. It’s as if I can hear your voice in my head, a running commentary on my day-to-day actions, decisions, and circumstances.
Please. Get out. Leave me alone.
And that part of my soul, the one that seems to belong to you? Please leave it behind when you go. I want it back now. I know I said I’d love you forever, but I’m tired of forever. I want to be free.
I’m tired of memories of you coming up and getting in the way of my memories of the boyfriend. I know we grew up together, the four of us, (you, me, the bestie, and the boyfriend), so of course you’ll be there. But I want to look back with fewer regrets. I’m tired of nearly choking on all the words left unspoken, all the bottled memories I have to suppress. I want to move on completely.
I just want closure. You see, ten years of friendship plus a two-year-relationship stint means that there will always be loose ends and lingering feelings. But it’s been four and a half fucking years. There have been others since you, but somehow none of them have managed to stick the way you have. Maybe because you were so good at the manipulation and the emotional abuse.
Jackass.
Fuck off and leave me alone.
Dear Pseudo:
Our relationship has been the most confusing of all. My subconscious still isn’t quite sure how to characterize you, and whenever you come to mind, pain and regret at all that was left unsaid is sure to follow. So many of my day-to-day memories are full of moments with you. Hell, we lived life alongside each other for a good two to three years, so of course I can’t see a blender without thinking of you, or wander down store aisles without hearing your quips about various products. I can’t cook without hearing your instructions in my head; for crying out loud, I still move around the kitchen as if you’re there with me, dancing around each other as we prepare amazing food for friends. I still feel you brushing past me when I reach for ingredients, your hand on my back as I open the oven door.
You started dating her and got engaged so fast that everyone was left stammering, most of all me. (I mean, come on. Two months?? That’s faster than most couples in Hollywood.)
I felt like Sally, sobbing to Harry that, “He just met her… She’s supposed to be his transitional person, she’s not supposed to be the ONE. All this time I thought he didn’t want to get married. But, the truth is, he didn’t want to marry me. He didn’t love me.”
Why? What was so wrong with me? Why didn’t you want me?
If I could take you back now, would I? Of course not. I love the boyfriend, and we much better suited for one another. But… why? There’s this big gaping hole in my heart and I don’t know how to fix it, and I feel like I can’t move on with the boyfriend until I understand why.
Because life doesn’t work that way. It’s always neat and tidy, you always have an explanation, and even though breakups are messy and spew hurt everywhere, you at least get all the answers out there.
…right?
I now understand what my bestie felt like, when her first love got married. The whole time he and that other girl were dating, we’d nod sagely to one another and comment how it was clear that they didn’t belong together because he had totally changed himself for her, and she’d become what she thought he wanted, and it bugged the two of us that neither one of them were being honest with each other, let alone the world.
But then they got married, and she was left standing there, still hurt, confused and rationalizing. Now they’re pregnant, and I still see the pain in her eyes as she tries to reconcile the fact that he’s a completely different person than the man who loved her.
I understand.
Why?
And why do I still miss you so much?
I feel like (and you’ll laugh) Rogue, when she was stuck with the memories of all the people she’d touched. They have all become a part of me, and time isn’t healing as fast as it should.
I wish I hadn’t been so free with love, but that’s the way I am. I love deeply and for a long time. It sucks but it’s me.
I don’t think I’d change anything, because I’m glad of the damage even with the lingering memories. It’s changed me, made me stronger, helped me grow, and I can relate to others that much more. And all of them have helped me love the boyfriend more and more and more, because he truly is my match.
Forgive Me, by Leona Lewis
She slammed the shot back and put the lime in her mouth, sucking hard to keep the shudder at bay. She normally hated tequila, but tonight was an exception. It was either get drunk, or call her best friend for the eighth time after finding him in bed with another girl, and she knew she didn’t want that on top of everything else. She’d only get a chorus of “I told you so” and “When are you going to leave him?”
For the thousandth time she wondered why she stayed with him. He didn’t care about her, that much she knew. He’d strayed numerous times, but she hadn’t ended it because she held on due to some form of misguided loyalty.
Suddenly her eye caught a stare. Tall, Dark and Handsome was standing at the other end of the bar, watching her thoughtfully as she called out for another shot. She turned back to watch the bartender pour her sixth… eighth… shot of tequila, but spicy cologne interfered before she could throw it back. He was leaning against the bar beside her, a faint frown on his face. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked quietly.
She felt irked. She’d been just about ready to stop, but now that he said that, she was determined. Raising a brow at him, she grabbed his hand, licked it, and shook some salt onto him. He didn’t move, and she thought he might’ve been holding his breath. She raised his hand to her mouth, licked the salt off in a smooth swipe, slammed the shot back, then grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down to meet her mouth.
As his lips closed over hers, she spared a thought for the cheating bastard. I’m not sorry, baby.
Note to self
Pros:
He always makes you smile.
Whenever he’s in town, you glow in anticipation.
He’s seen you at your best and worst, and loves you just the same.
He understands your family.
Having watched him go through a crash-and-burn of his own, you’ve seen his break-up side.
He’s always treated you better than your best boyfriend ever did. (which, might I add? so very sad.)
He values the small things in life.
He likes to spoil you.
You have the same taste in… many things.
He’s the type who would read a book, just because you want to talk about it with him.
Lets you take his jacket, gets an odd look in his eye when he sees you wearing it.
Has known you for… ever.
Rubs your feet when they get cramped.
Great with kids.
Thinks you’re hopeless. which, roughly translated into his language, means adorable.
You’re never nervous or awkward around him. Never have been, hopefully never will be.
Cons:
Easy-going. Sometimes too easy-going. How does he fight? How does he argue?
Republican. What will the kids be like? :p
More emotionally available than any guy you’ve been with; has you running scared and worried that you don’t have to claw it out of him.
Not the most intellectual of sorts. (BFD.)
Has the most obnoxious best friend, which reflects badly on him.
His mom. Both good and bad. (sure, she loves you, but she could easily morph into the mother-in-law from hell.)
Umm… no spark. When you think of Grand Passion and The Everlasting Love, he is not the first thing that comes to mind.
You’re afraid.
You’re afraid that it’s not enough.
That you’ll be giving in to what’s safe instead of holding out for soul-shaking love.
It is comfortable with him. He’s like wrapping yourself in a huge blanket when it’s cold and raining outside and you put on your favorite movie and lie on the couch together and drink hot soup. He is comfort. But not the heart-stopping excitement, the butterflies-in-the-stomach, sends-sparks-to-my-fingertips kind of infatuation. When he calls, you get warm fuzzies, but no leaping lizards. A slow smile of contentment, but no light-up-your-face radiance.
Meaning
Before you judge this blog for being named after a quotation from a movie such as The Mummy, pause a moment.
When you were younger, did you ever believe in fairy tales? Did you ever look behind you because you felt certain that the next step forward would send you into a future as dizzying and uncertain as those of the whirlwind adventures from books?
When we were younger, life seemed to be made of fairy tales and hokum. Once we’ve grown up, it seems that we have forgotten Meaning. Work is not the center of our universe. Life is about the little moments that cause our pulses to pound, palms to sweat, and imaginations to race.
This blog will be a collection of vignettes, both fictional and non, about life, Meaning, fairy tales and hokum.
(And hopefully it won’t be too pretentious. I tend to be slightly schizophrenic in my writing styles, and apparently tonight’s came out a little poncy.)
