Until I Forget

December 14, 2012 § 5 Comments

With time and reflection, Herself grows ordinary. If she is still fascinating, she no longer fascinates. If she is still attractive, she no longer attracts. What she hides—what I wanted from her—she can keep. Once the challenge I set myself, she’s now only the futility. In love, what isn’t given isn’t true. Pursuit is a lie. She is a lie too long denied. What does that make me? The recovering liar? With her ordinariness grows louder the lament over wasted…just about everything. But what use, the keening? Ordinary strips from her the emotion I’d given her, takes back what was mine, the gift not accepted—and rightfully. I became the man she’d thought I was. I wanted her to be wrong, but I could only prove her right. Behind and ahead, I see clearly. It’s right in front of my face I can’t make out. Of the past I see that at best I held no interest to her; and at worst, following a disdain I did not respect, aversion. Of the future, which is near enough, I see a life as separate from hers as hers has always been from mine, and I won’t care. Of now, I cannot quite accept either vision. As always, knowing is not being, not until I forget what I know.

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What Would I Know?

December 11, 2012 § Leave a comment

Neither a fool nor a revisionist be. Who am I now to judge what I’d been then? I can’t say I’d not been in love, only that I had been so with the wrong woman. I can’t, either call myself a fool for not having known, but pride will call me names to dissemble from its pain and deny I’d been in love. Why is it so easy to be embarrassed and ashamed? What martydon is being served? What apologies are left? And whose forgiveness is left to ask for? But moving on won’t be accomplished so pragmatically. What I know and how I feel are each a hand of a different body. Neither nor both can affect a solution. In the face of that impotence, it’s easier to ignore the impulse to effort; if the restraint is as stressful as the effort, it is at least more effective. Just a theory. What would I know?

I Prefer Erosion

November 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

Love again. On and off again. The pendulum swings. Is it possible? or not? Companion? or lover? Yes. After that, what? I fear fixation. How can I not show what I want? Why should I not? To preclude rejection. Rejection is a negative expectation and self-fulfilling. I don’t trust my skin; most of the callous has worn off. For all I know, I’m ready, but for the confidence. Want, hope, fear. Do I deserve it? My call. Am I not perfect yet? I’m short two things I know yet can’t admit: The brick and mortar of delusion would crumble. I prefer erosion.

Almost Comfortable

November 16, 2012 § Leave a comment

It’s easy enough living alone, but I’m not after convenience. It’s easy to do nothing about it, to insulate my hermitage with books and movies and music, to seal in the desperation that erodes my patience. Eventually, I will love myself, but I don’t know if I can wait that long for someone to love me. (Who else is saying that? I’m not the first.) Or am I waiting on my own ability to love someone else? waiting is waiting. It’s still inaction. What action’s to be taken? Desperation motivates but offers tricks for ideas. I don’t do tricks. There’s nothing to be gained fooling someone; I’m the guinea pig I proved that on. Between patience and desperation is the life I live. It’s not the happiest of media, but it’s easy, and it’s almost comfortable.

Buried, Unearthed

November 2, 2012 § Leave a comment

The subtlety of need is such that I can hardly be bothered to discern it. I despise compromise. Integrity is all there is. It’s a treasure buried under a mountain of conformity, an accretion of a lifetime of compromise. Being who I’m not has not gotten me any closer to what I need. I don’t care what the world wants of me. It doesn’t know me or care about me. That is true, and that’s all. Only the individual can care, and it can only care about itself and other individuals. It’s the only way for the world to be understood, the only way to unearth the treasure, expose the light of our selves. To find it is to share it; to share it is to satisfy our need. To understand, to love.

Just Out of His Reach

October 16, 2012 § Leave a comment

It’s a woman’s world. I’ve empowered myself too late. Learning to love myself will be handier than I thought. Alone is good practice. I’ll try to accept the new order. I can only hope for a gentler place, where I can be sensitive without being considered weak. Can I understand my new role any better than the old? Will the new rules be any more useful to me than the old ones? If I was indeed empowered or entitled as a white male, it was to things of which I was largely incapable of utilizing. Nothing was truly mine for the taking, and I didn’t learn any other way to get it. Likewise, the women of my generation have not taken possession of their new advantage. They still expect me to the suitor/aggressor. Who gets the cake? and who gets to eat it? Woman made it but no longer offers it to man. Will she eat it herself or preserve it in perpetuum just out of his reach?

It’s Giving Up

September 18, 2012 § Leave a comment

Is all of the love one seeks love for oneself? Is the end of seeking it from another the end of the search? We end the search when we’ve found it or have given up hope of finding it. In between is the torture. Some of us are more ready than others to give up the torture. Some of us have done enough searching to conclude that the point of diminishing returns is long past and cannot possibly be redeemed. At least it’s something final to believe, one less thing to bother with. But that no one can complete us is no good reason to accept aloneness. “Complete” or not, we are not meant to be alone, but to share ourselves, and to partake of others’ sharing. Searching is trying to share. Not-finding is not-sharing, but keeping is not completing. It’s giving up.

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