Two excerpts
“To go it alone or to go with a partner? When you choose a partner, you have to make compromises and sacrifices, but it’s a price you pay. Do I want to follow my every whim and desire as I make my way through space and time? Absolutely. But at the end of the day, do I need someone when I’m doubting myself and I’m insecure and my heart’s failing me? Do I need someone, who, when the heat gets hot, has my back?”
“So…do you?”
“I do.”
Here we are again, although I have never written in this exact setting.
We are both right here, so close, but also incredibly far away. As far as you are concerned, I’m probably not even here. I don’t know why I continue to try, but here I am anyways. Because, I continue to be an idiot. I’ll keep on living with the false hopes of someday requiting this unrequited crush. And deep down, I know it’s foolish. That I keep glancing and hoping that this time it’ll be different, while you are possibly oblivious and texting someone else. Laughing at things I don’t understand, never realizing that all I want is your attention. That all I want is for you to ask about my day and tell me stupid stuff about your life and not force me to do all of the asking. That all I want is you.
That’s dumb though, right? See, my conclusion—I am an idiot. Err, I guess that wasn’t a conclusion, it’s more like the thesis. I prefer to think of myself as a hopeless realist though. Or maybe, realistically hopeless. I know I’m wrong, but I still can’t talk myself out of it. Because occasionally, you’ll give some small hint that maybe it’s different this time. An almost dead ember on a piece of dried wood. No wait, that’s not quite right. That would suggest that there was once a fire. Instead, it’s more like there was a fire over there, and it’s basically out, but here I am, all the way over here. And like, it hasn’t rained in a super long time, so like just the tiniest spark or flicker or even a strong magnifying glass, will set everything ablaze. But I have to continuously carry around a massive 5 gallon bucket of water, because I can’t just start a fire based on false subliminal messages and misconstrued suggestions propagated by an overactive imagination. Fires should be shared by two people, and it just won’t do to have one on your own. It’s not safe, someone will almost certainly get hurt, and there is no one to reign in the other side. Before I know it, it’s out of control, but no one realizes that I am in danger of breaking my own heart once again. Because I snuck off into the woods on my own, following a trail that never truly existed and thought, here, I’m ready for you—you will be the one that changes everything. You are the one that might’ve known the direction, but you don’t have a trail map, or a compass, and you’ve never even really looked at the stars.
This smoke signal never had a chance, thanks to the cascade of cold feelings poured all over it, and I didn’t think to leave a trail just in case. I’ve become so accustomed to never being a choice that I wandered on my own knowing quite well that I would never be found. There’s no one that wants to find me.
[Email me for where these are from, if you want a new friend, or if you are a cook looking for part-time work in Boston]
Hannah
hangotthatlistserve[AT]gmail.com
Boston
“So…do you?”
“I do.”
Here we are again, although I have never written in this exact setting.
We are both right here, so close, but also incredibly far away. As far as you are concerned, I’m probably not even here. I don’t know why I continue to try, but here I am anyways. Because, I continue to be an idiot. I’ll keep on living with the false hopes of someday requiting this unrequited crush. And deep down, I know it’s foolish. That I keep glancing and hoping that this time it’ll be different, while you are possibly oblivious and texting someone else. Laughing at things I don’t understand, never realizing that all I want is your attention. That all I want is for you to ask about my day and tell me stupid stuff about your life and not force me to do all of the asking. That all I want is you.
That’s dumb though, right? See, my conclusion—I am an idiot. Err, I guess that wasn’t a conclusion, it’s more like the thesis. I prefer to think of myself as a hopeless realist though. Or maybe, realistically hopeless. I know I’m wrong, but I still can’t talk myself out of it. Because occasionally, you’ll give some small hint that maybe it’s different this time. An almost dead ember on a piece of dried wood. No wait, that’s not quite right. That would suggest that there was once a fire. Instead, it’s more like there was a fire over there, and it’s basically out, but here I am, all the way over here. And like, it hasn’t rained in a super long time, so like just the tiniest spark or flicker or even a strong magnifying glass, will set everything ablaze. But I have to continuously carry around a massive 5 gallon bucket of water, because I can’t just start a fire based on false subliminal messages and misconstrued suggestions propagated by an overactive imagination. Fires should be shared by two people, and it just won’t do to have one on your own. It’s not safe, someone will almost certainly get hurt, and there is no one to reign in the other side. Before I know it, it’s out of control, but no one realizes that I am in danger of breaking my own heart once again. Because I snuck off into the woods on my own, following a trail that never truly existed and thought, here, I’m ready for you—you will be the one that changes everything. You are the one that might’ve known the direction, but you don’t have a trail map, or a compass, and you’ve never even really looked at the stars.
This smoke signal never had a chance, thanks to the cascade of cold feelings poured all over it, and I didn’t think to leave a trail just in case. I’ve become so accustomed to never being a choice that I wandered on my own knowing quite well that I would never be found. There’s no one that wants to find me.
[Email me for where these are from, if you want a new friend, or if you are a cook looking for part-time work in Boston]
Hannah
hangotthatlistserve[AT]gmail.com
Boston
Comments
Post a Comment