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When she calls out my name, does she know she could ask and receive the universe? I've done it again, two in every twelve I believe I used to say. As I desire to rescind any love I've ever wanted to share - ever to anyone, - I begin to wonder how the unrequited works on the other end (more on this later). I believe she knew all along, or at least since she changed her mind about the show. So coy she was! I get older in years but retain naivety; I think too much but will pretend I know nothing.
There are patterns within my grief. I pick apart the minutia of seemingly plain happenstances. Digging deeper to answer
, even when not asked. (How does one state that they
their twenty year old cat without it sounding purposeful or requiring tears?) I don't see him anywhere. My dog died in my arms and I barely dream about him. I sat in multiple rooms with my father's dead body and minimally saw him in shiny bald heads. I haven't so much as even seen my best friends gravestone and I nearly cause traffic accidents from thinking I've seen her.
After three years of decomposing within a toxic relationship I jumped into June with a vigor to make fellow bike path users think it was surely the middle of my riding season. In two and a half weeks I probably rode more than I did in those three years. I almost matched my physical peaks monthly mileage from years ago. However, this amazing feat was not met without great adversity that I proceeded to ride through, ultimately exacerbating the situation, and now I sit decomposing after two weeks of barely riding because I have broken myself down, ruining my season.
I'm becoming delusional. My visions of grandeur grow and shrink. They were almost realized and then they were viciously stolen. Delusions tell me I will reacquire what was stolen before it was mine. Reality tells time. Time never lies. What will I do when winter rears its ugly head? Work and grow; grow and work. This season is so short and before we realize how close the end is we will begin to see the signs. I hate the signs. I mourn the loss of a trees wherewithal when it begins to shrink from the sky. Reach further, longer; please...
...I beg of the trees shedding their leaves like blood seeping from a stopped heart. They weep; I lament. The flowers whither before their damn time. The signs will show and I will die along with the dying season that will mark the beginning of the season of dying. Falling into winter. It was the end of June and I was already in the middle of a snow storm. It surely can't be healthy for me to be so obsessed with the changing of seasons. Time is not over yet! Why does it feel like it is? Slipping, slipping, gone.
Two to three weeks. Two-three weeks. 2 to 3 weeks. 2-3 weeks. It rattles in my brain. It courses through my blood. It gnaws on fibrous strands of muscle. I am losing. On the surface and from inside out. I boil and seethe; emotions crest and run over. Two to three weeks, but maybe never again. There is nothing else for me. This was all I had. I feel fatigue in a newly discovered way. And I wonder if there hasn't been only one answer all along. So many regrets in life and so much time for more.
There is a sense of urgency as this storm nears a state of emergency, quickly, slowly, but definitely. If sheer will power could heal a situation then I would be riding right now. Instead there is three feet of snow outside my bedroom and the city's plows are on strike. It's not this bad. I am being melodramatic. It's a foot and a half of snow. I broke my favorite sled. I hurt too much to walk through it. But all the sun - it causes a refreeze. And I may never ride again. I know what this life is about.
I wonder what makes a love impossible. I hate the whole world because I love the whole world but the whole world hates me. It's always against me. I wonder if it's just like that for some people. Maybe people like K are used to this and rack up other people's unrequited loves like tennis balls into a cylinder. What is the chemistry formula for whether or not two people will click? Maybe there's an algebraic equation someone could share? We clicked immediately but yet there are no feelings involved for her? I suspect she's denying being at least bi-curious.
I dreamt of the surprise of going for my next ride and finding the leaves changing color. It started as a tip but through the ride reality struck: it was fall. I had blinked and missed everything. This will forever be the summer of the great injury. The summer I sat alone and licked my wounds. Nursed myself. Could it have been any other way? There was no home to crawl home to after defeat. I have been melodramatic for weeks. I almost like it. A stabbing ache reaching so deep that it's into the very marrow of my bones.
Every pivot from the joints of my bones sends electrifying pulses through my bloodstream like the painful release of lactic acid during the last ten miles of a ride where you clearly pushed yourself beyond your means. Glucose storages disappear along with fat cells containing only happy memories. Here I sit gathering fat cells containing the loneliest memories that I'll keep forever. I'm reclaiming an old area of expertise. A part of me is curious about the number of years I will have to stay this way before something better comes along. I'll always ruin everything beforehand. Defeat is devastating.
I had just arrived at work after a day involving some sweating and smoking funny things. I should have smelled of anything but clean. We were working side by side in an environment heavy with an overshadowing odorous grease. The close proximity was unprecedented. You say “mmm, you smell like soap.” My heart escapes my chest, rising to the heavens like a balloon released for the departed. “Is it Dove?” “Caress.” Of all the soaps, I have to be using the provocative one that instantly sends my mind reeling with thoughts of us and how happy I could make you.
I miss a certain sound of winter when my ears drown in incessant summer noise. There exists silence divulged by poets where snow falling can be heard as a rustling wish-wash of machinery. I understand why one would want to return to the womb - encased within the pitter-patter of a mother's heartbeat. It's the rhythmic chug of a cog that I miss most. A certain rhythm of breathing occurs moments before the pain of lactic acid. There's an in out up down pattern delivered by every muscle in perfect unison and you know this is heaven and you are God.
My hair and dimples plus a golden brown tan and a white t-shirt? It's at least a little hard to resist me, at least not without a second thought. Our eyes met and she locked into me. I swear her mouth was even dropped open just a little as if hit with amazement or wonderment. Some form of contemplation was going on for her during our 5-7 seconds of unreasonably long eye contact. I wanted to squeeze her or something. Wanted to run over and pinch her. Hug her. Something. Tell her I adore her? She knows I like her.
Less than one to two more weeks and the world keeps keeping on. I miss my bike. I ask time to stop, just rest one moment, but there's no reprieve from constant ticking. I need an escape; I've got to catch my breath. I want to start running. I crave the feeling of escape felt when riding away from something (myself). The entire world lay out before me and I rode toward infinite possibilities. I figure with running I might be able to recapture that face I miss, or similar. Anything to make me bare my teeth to the world.
I'm missing summer's prime. These are the best days being offered up and I'm wasting them. The world doesn't make sense to me anymore. If I can't ride then surely the sun should not be shining so pompous and imposingly. Magnifying my every pain and flaw. Laughing and mocking. Every nice day that I can't ride is another knife wound to my shredded heart. I'm almost at a point of indifference. I ride, I don't ride. It heals this week, it heals three weeks from now. I write, I don't write. I never ride,
it never heals,
I never write.
I've always rooted for underdogs. During my school days I developed crushes on boys other girls ignored. Crooked nose? Awkward as hell? The pattern continues today: falling for girls who I feel should be
to have me. I fear rejection so I fall for what should be sure things. Do you waddle? No chin? Mother issues? Two chins? I'll love you hardest if you're a fatty. As if I think they're fat now so obviously they'll always be fat; you won't turn me down because you're fat nor will you lose weight and leave me. Any surprise I'm alone?
In everything I write there always exists the truest sentence I know.
Awake since 3am. Tired, hungry, my head hurts. Life is a different proposition when you're going through some shit without a best friend in the world. Without even a mediocre friend. Some lack of trying. Some minimal efforts. It doesn't matter. Alone is alone is alone. Going through some shit is some shit is some shit. No one realizes how easy life is just by having that one person. Sad reality: we can never know what we have until it's totally gone. I just want to be sleeping.
I need to run away, quite literally. I need to run and feel myself trying to escape myself. Maybe that's all I was doing on my bike: trying to get away from myself; trying to drop me. Trying to leave me as something in the past the way things of my past left me as their past. Trying to separate myself from my shadow, to escape its perseverance. But it's crafty, and it keeps up. Maybe my bike was fast enough. Maybe I can run and keep running and maybe I'll pass it. Keep running. That's what I should do.
I found myself thinking something I've never noticeably thought before: I want to feel alive. Obviously there's only one outlet for that and obviously it's hopelessly out of reach. I've always known that the only time I feel alive is on my bike though only ever occurring as an afterthought when I'm actually on the bike. It had always just been something that happened during those specific times in which it was happening. It wasn't something I actively sought other than actively seeking to ride. So, it struck me hard to have found myself thinking: I want to feel alive.
I find it hard to believe that I've been overweight for the majority of my life when I enjoy exercising on this unmatched level. One run through the woods and I'm reborn. I'm gonna be okay now. I discovered my corner of the world, my solitude. It started as a secret sunbathing spot and now it's my running universe. It was fantastic; I was euphoric. This was my heaven and I knew it once I started talking aloud to myself while running: Yes, yes, this is it right here. A good workout has always been comparable to sex for me.
She's the most beautiful girl and I doubt she knows. My insides crawl from thinking about her. She's mind candy. I think about the time our hands touched. For one second in time we were connected and I know she must have felt it too. It was after we found out for sure that she knows I like her. I swear we generated enough electricity to light the city for a week. With our bodies meeting we could solve the world's energy crisis. I'm consumed in her and wish to consume her in return. I have a feeling I do.
That day with the 5-7 seconds of unreasonably long eye contact, I believe that it was because she was excited to see me after a long week after finding out for certain that I like her. She thought about me all week and then there I was, sexxy as ever. And her telling me that she'd see me Friday when the schedule hasn't been made yet? Obviously had to be a Freudian slip on her part and she just Wishes she'll be working with me. Love me some hyperbole. Especially when there could be an inkling of truth within it.
So many levels and plateaus. This will surely escalate. A short snow storm turned ugly by wind squalls. I can't help but wonder why I deserve this. Can I continue to believe in karma? Maybe by saying I'm paying for future misdeeds? I don't like to gamble. I used to, but I'm not that person anymore. When you have nothing left to lose does it become worthwhile to gamble with fate? My life is a sand castle on a rainy day. The best outcome is that I remain what I am but in a different shape. I exist without form.
I'm in love with myself. Another awesome run. Took my shirt off and never felt freer. I was one with everything in nature; we were alive and coexisting in harmony. I breathed for the first time in a month. I think I opened a new pocket within my lungs and with the cigarette smoke cleared away for over a year it was ready to be used and abused. My muscles had more oxygen than they knew what to do with, accustomed to previous years of surviving with minimal oxygen levels. Now they're well fed and nourished and I'm in love.
I've been losing time. Missing hours. They vanish. I don't know where they go or where I am. I swim in the hands on the clock, pushing the dial around. Or I sway like the pendulum. Always coming full circle or full swing. And then smash the protective glass, reach our hands in and screw with the mechanisms. Alter the wirings. Dissect. Disassimilate? Yes, disassimilation. I make new regrets like they're party favors to be handed out. I won't win in this lifetime. This life was a mistake. I am the boy in The Butterfly Effect without a life line.
I can't stop thinking about the tennis balls into a cylinder line I wrote. There's a whole book there. Collecting unrequited loves. Maybe they're like Kramer with his kavorka, or his jacket. They flock to him, and maybe someone could be like that, but collect them. To do what with? I don't know. There's a story here somewhere and maybe I can find it. But I don't know. Mantelpieces. Trophies. His cure for loneliness? Being alone without being lonely - everyone has their remedy. That definitely makes this a new must write. This is my topic. Tennis balls in a cylinder.
I'm such a sucker for beautiful girls in distress. Texted with KR last night. She told me that her back has been hurting for four days. I told myself "do not offer a massage, do not offer a massage." We went back and forth about her back for a bit and then I offered a massage, lol. Seriously though, knowing she was in pain like that she could have asked me to travel to the moon to bring her back moon dust and I would have drove down to florida and asked nasa to make a special trip for me.
I suddenly understand what it means: I close my eyes and the whole world disappears. I close my eyes and feel swept away. There is a warm summer's night breeze I'm drifting into like pollen spreading flower to flower. I'll never be whole. Behind my eyes feels empty where once a whole wide world resided. I'm wearied and there's worse to come. Things will never be the same. With my eyes shut I search for the switch because I know it has to be somewhere, it feels inevitable. This is a new level of torture to rest upon my soul.
Me, plus awkwardly overabundant proprioception, plus a limp, equals what the fuck. There is not enough awkward in the world for me. I don't know what it was. I couldn't figure out how to favor my ankle? What is a limp anyways? I couldn't make it work for me. I overanalyzed the very logic of a limp and I lost the initial concept. In and of itself, walking, in general, is a hard endeavor when you have heightened proprioception. It's a weird situation that could seriously only happen to me. This is going to be an awkward weekend of working.
I wonder what kind of man my father was because I think that I have forgotten his character. I wonder what D would say at certain moments because I know she's saved me before and I never had reason to believe she wouldn't be there to save me again. I wonder if the dog really would have gone down that slide because I forget if he ever did at all. Is it still true that I fell in love with him atop a double sided slide when he wanted to go down on my lap? Does death change these things?
I feel like I've only recently and barely woke up from the depression of not cycling anymore and now I face the reality of not running for awhile. I thought not riding was the end of my life. I was done, with everything. Yet, I picked myself up, brushed myself off. But every time I start getting over losing something I end up losing something else. I cried again today. It started as a cry from physical pain that led into a cry about my shitty life and turned into a cry about D. I blamed everything on her today.
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