Reminiscing about that summer when every day was a chronic haze & all that mattered was when we were going to fuck next.
I think the most infuriating part of this whole situation is that there is so much about you that I dislike and turns me off yet I am so drawn to you. I can’t stop thinking about you. You have this invisible hold on me that keeps me coming back for more like an idiot. I don’t think you even realize what a mess you’ve turned me into. I can’t drive. I can’t speak. My mind goes blank. And all the while I keep praying that this isn’t love because if it is I’m fucked since I’ve gone and fallen in love with someone I can’t even stand.
I saw you, your green Boston Celtics jersey shining like a beacon of light while the evening sky continued to darken. I wanted to roll down the window of the car and yell your name like a madman, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I tracked the movements of your jersey as you handled the ball while the car seemingly inched along. You were quick and determined. I have always been slow and confused. I remember holding your outstretched hands while you lay in bed, explaining how the length of the index finger signified that you were a logical and rational person. Masked now by the dusk and tinted window, you do not see me. Am I not your beacon?
One of the most frequent questions I’ve been asked this summer is how my relationship with A is going. I generally reply with some standard line because in all honesty, who actually cares about the response, we all know the question was asked out of politeness. However, if a person were to actually want an honest answer, it would go something like this:
He’s wonderful. He really is. He makes me laugh and feel so lighthearted, like I don’t need to worry about anything else in the world. He listens to me ramble about everything, always has a wise quip up his sleeve, and never fails to make me blush and smile.
But there’s a darker side to him. A side of him I knew I would eventually have to encounter, yet wanted to avoid as long as possible. The sight of him consumed by these demons is too much. He terrifies me. And I feel useless, like there’s nothing I can do. I feel like he ceases to care that I exist, that I’m standing there waiting for him to return. Waiting for my boyfriend to come back to me.
And there you have it, the truth. Maybe next time you should ask me about the weather instead.
Mothers caring for children. Everywhere. Putting cream on their faces, feeding them, shying away from the camera their gleeful baby is holding inches away from their overworked, jet-lagged face. It is 8:40 at night at the crowded Gate 69 in the Hong Kong airport. The young mothers bother to make sure their child is tender—no bruises, damages, dents; not overripe with the excitement of travelling to a foreign land. The older mothers leave their children to do whatever they please. They occasionally yell in a desperate attempt to maintain peace and order. The older ones sleep, finally able to close their eyes and escape the Hell their spawn has created. Oh how they smile at the younger models, happy to be done with that stage.
The men. Why were there none to be found? They are merely chauffeurs in this scenario, dropping off the weary mothers and teary children, pretending to sympathize with the situation, the 24 hours of demonic travelling that lies ahead. However, a few can be found at Gate 69. Business trip, visiting family, arranged to be married. All with the latest tech gadgets, ever ready to answer the urgent email, text, or phone call that arises.
A teenage boy: tall, husky, sleepy. Earphones jammed into his head. He blankly stares at the bright sign: Gate 69. His face suddenly contorts; embarrassment. His mother leans against his wide shoulder, arms around him, smiling as she dozes off. What can he do? Push her away and face the wrath of a cranky, tired mother? Or stay? Embarrassment heats up his pale face and looks around hoping no one sees.
[Jul. 07 2008, 8:40 p.m.]
She inhales the perfumed smoke, her mouth on his. The imaginarium is clearer now, and he begins to touch her body. Worlds combine and both are beautiful to each other, bodies bare and exposed, ready for a delirious pleasure and destruction.
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right.
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.
After the lecture, she sat at her desk, unable to move. As the others passed her, they did not wave to her. She did not care.
"We desire closure. But what if closure does more harm than good?"
This conclusion was simple but true. We crave knowledge, for knowledge is power. But what good does knowledge bring, especially if it destroys hope?
I apologized to you, for it was the only way to amend things. Instead, you apologized, and said you could not be the friend you once wanted to be.
Who shall provide me with closure now?
The raging soul knows not of sleep,
It yearns to feast.
"Some days I feel like shit. Some days I wanna quit, and just be normal for a bit."
I don’t understand why you have to always be gone.
And I find myself trying to stay by the phone,
Cause your voice always helps me to not feel so alone.