Within These Memories

And within these memories, you still inhabit so many of my dreams.  I suppose life has pushed us this way and that way, forced to take parallel, yet different paths.  It’s this intense connection that we probably will always have, for better or for worse, but still there is no congruency.  We’re consistently inconsistent, and I guess that was always our greatest pull towards each other.

You were so captivating.  I remember the first time we met; I was 15 and you were 14.  Already beautiful, but I was chasing other girls and gave you the cold shoulder.  But in the back of my mind I always thought about you.  Maybe I thought you were out of my league and I didn’t pursue you.  Funny how things turned out.

You were such a great dancer.  And then the first time we danced.  I’m not the greatest dancer, but I’m rather okay in my own right.  Your sisters pressured you to dance with me.  We both had that “whatever” attitude towards the other sex that for some reason attracts people, anyway.  And damn, were you a great dancer.  That night, we danced for hours, hiding away from the world at large.  We were in our own world, and it was nice.

You were so exquisite.  You always had this charm about you that drove me crazy.  Sensual, crazy sexy, yet so damn classy.  You were that girl that no man could have, and when I swept you off your feet, I really valued every moment.  The flowing dresses, that accentuated your lithe curves.  The trends that you set, one of the first girls to start the whole retro-scene again.  How your short bob fell around your neckline.

You understood my soul.  The quiet nights by the harbor still burn in my memories.  You understood my appreciation for the simple moments.  And in return, I always encouraged you to meet your goals.  I guess I’m a facilitator.  Beyond my outside outrageousness, I’m content with being the secret protector, nurturing possibility with quiet hope.

I don’t think anyone expected this.  Too bad no one will ever know, we two included.

So it’s a shame.

Nearly a year later, it’s still a shame.

Inconsistencies

The ice in my glass of coffee melts slowly, watering down the bitterness.  I take another sip, letting the smooth elixir run over my taste buds before it dissipates.  My forehead is scrunched up in thought; there are just so many things on my mind tonight.  Things that are beyond my control, things that I cannot explain.

After last weekend, the surety that I slowly built up immolated itself on its own pyre, leaving only the bleached skeletons of the past behind.  Once again, I push myself towards my career.  My life, and my escape.  It feels strange sometimes being so young but handling multi-million dollar projects.  There is a team meeting tomorrow morning that can decisively make or break the next year of my life.  It’s funny how I can handle the stress of the career with relative ease, but my personal life with its swirling emotions that haunt my nights, I’m not even sure of when to begin.

It’s not that I don’t try.  I think I tend to approach my personal life with great caution, but optimism and wonder.  There’s this thing about the chase that invigorates me.  It breaks down the mundane days with spontaneous and new excitement.  I want these things; the magic ending, the defying the odds to obtain the impossible prize, running the system and winning.  But in the end, I just find myself being so very tired.

June 16th.  I turn 26.  And honestly, for the last 12 years, there seemed to follow me some unexplainable spectre that snatched away my hopes at the last minute.  I always thought that by my mid-20′s, I’d be in some sort of meaningful relationship and well on my way to marriage and settling.  I guess, if the last one worked out, I would still be thinking this way.  It’s these small things that cause me to become more and more jaded.

I had a talk with an older friend, and she told me that if two people didn’t live in constant fear of losing each other, nothing meaningful can ever come out of it.  But I don’t really want to live my life like that.  I guess I’m a settler, but I still refuse to settle just for anybody.  I just want a simple life, yet I live a crazy one.  I want a normal girl, but I continue to search for excitement subconsciously.  I’m such the definition of a hypocrite.

I think back on what happened on Sunday.  How for a day, things seemed simple again.  I yearn for that.  But I also know in my heart that it was a inconsistent solution for our underlying problems.

I dive myself into career again.  I continue to be the fast talking young businessman.  Quick and straight to the point, and people respect me for that.  But on my off-days and nights, I’m the proud wanderer.  The young man who is musing slightly at the club or bar, isolating the noise from the crowd and analyzing its meaning.  The moment sweeps me off my feet and carries me along in the wind, and I really do enjoy it.

But I think, though, that on my 26th year I had better double down on figuring myself out.  Maybe toning down the intensity on which I attack situations.  Because I should think that I’d like to know myself first before I attempt to share it with someone again.

Gravity

It’s old memories that hit me the hardest, for better or for worst.  You always knew that beneath my thick exterior and clenched teeth, I had a soft spot for this.  Somewhere swirling in my mind, in between the primordial mess, my eidetic memory retains even the simplest of gestures and fond moments with the sharpest of clarity.  And in this, you knew me all too well.

So I wasn’t surprised how I reacted.  Sunday morning, you had just gotten into a fight with your boyfriend the night before.  Sunday morning, I had just happened to be nearby.  Sunday morning, again we were two lost souls unsure about life and having our perfect plans dashed.  Sunday morning, we reached out to each other in the way we used to.  Sunday morning, for a moment we were spinning with an equal rate of oscillation, two lonely planets circling the same burning star.

August seemed so far behind us.  The successive arguments, the make-up sex, eventually reaching the point where we couldn’t handle it anymore and shattering into a billion tiny bits.  How we both insisted on having the final word, neither side agreeing on the victor, both sides finally realizing that there was no winner, just a totally lost situation.

You know, there was a time I was so in love with you.  And I guess that’s a bold thing to say for someone like me who doesn’t believe in love as love is.  I remember our friendly debates on the meaning of love.  We never seemed to agree, even with the years behind us for support.  How odd is it, for a man who has been experienced with so many types of women, to have only loved one out of the many.  In a way I guess I’m a jerk when it comes to relationships; I had only told you my feelings so few times that I still remember each time.  I just refuse to cheapen the meaning of love because I do cherish it underneath it all.

We met again in downtown San Diego, nearby your work, as we used to.  Then on to that little Denny’s next to the airport, though neither of us were hungry.  The midnight was still so deep and the sky a sleepy velvet.  Even the boats were still moored the same way they were, 3 years ago when we embarked on our endeavor together.  And this lonely little bench in between the avant-garde sculptures gracing the harbor, still empty, as if it were gesturing for us to come again.  The soft wake lapped quietly against white hulls, almost like the licking of old wounds.

I think it was funny, even a bit cute, that you sat with me with some distance between us.  I remembered to be on your left side, because after your car accident in 2005, it still hurt for you to turn to the right.  We didn’t talk much, as usual.  As the dawn crept on us, the stars still struggled to keep their luster.  You rested your hand on my lap, and leaned on my shoulder slightly.  I don’t know why, but our lips brushed against each other’s slightly when we both turned at the same time.  Suddenly we were locked into each other again, our breathing quickening its pace.

On your driveway, we tried to end our night the right way, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  But one thing led to another, my mind not realizing what was happening until we closed your bedroom door gently behind us.

I woke up in the afternoon with the Sun on my face and your soft sighs on my chest.  You looked so peaceful and rested, and for the first time since August, I saw a genuine smile even though you were still sleeping.  The blanket was draped awkwardly around our bare bodies, your legs wrapped around mine, yet all I could do was look up at the ceiling and think “Oh God, why?”  After all that I had to go through in this life, it still seems so hard.  Here, next to me, is a woman that I loved so much at a time, and still cherish through the proxy and lens of our memories together.  I keep running, and I feel my legs growing weaker, but at the same time the goal seems to creep further away.

Today, you told him that you were leaving him.  But at the same time I’m not sure if I want to be with you again the way that we were.  When a painting is tarnished, no amount of cleaning or touch-up will make it the same pristine original again.

So once again, I guess I’m the asshole.  But you know, these things are hard to quantify with explicit truth.  Yet it seems, we continue to gravitate to each other with an intensity that is unmatched.  I only wonder what to make of it.

The Distance

I remember those lonely nights with you, together, yet worlds apart.  We were as different as Mars and Venus.  You were the quintessential struggling young artist, and I the sober thinker.  You yearned to experience life, I sought to understand it.  Two paths, so different yet ironically complimentary.  You lived for the moment, the arguments, the crazy contrary.  I always looked for the smoothest road, even willing to pave it myself, stone by stone.

Our friends always said we were an odd couple, and we amused them with my usual calm reactions to your dramatic arm flailing.  But strangely I was content.  It’s the quiet times that got me the best, how you would lean up against me and I’d wrap a free arm around you.  Like that time we went to France on a whim, just because we could.  “Pack your bags, I have got a pair of plane tickets and my imagination.”  How we stood on top of the Eiffel Tower for hours, silently drawing a line along the horizon.  We were both spontaneous souls, drawing upon each other’s energy, burning with bright intensity as magnesium reacting to a stray spark.

How things seemed so much easier back then, with just our quiet nights to soothe our already hardened hearts.  It’s strange, how youth gives us the random possibility to explore life as life is.  I think I liked those nights the most, with just us laying in bed together with our wistful thoughts to comfort us while you drew random lines and shapes on my chest with your fingers.  And that hair, I was so mad over your hair; that short bob you used to have where the bangs barely touched your sleek neckline.  My fingers would lace into your hair, while I held you close to kiss you on your forehead softly, content with your sly smile.

I guess I’m the kind of man who sees love for love’s sake.  It’s the evanescence that gets me.  Something so strong, yet possibly so fleeting.  The hard work, the chase, how it titillates my mind.  Beneath my harsh cynicism, you knew I was still very much a romantic.  It’s just these past life experiences that made me who I am now, you know?  And you understood and appreciated me anyway.  I suppose I’ve always been the taker.  I’m greedy.  Selfish, even.  I could never get enough, and it drove me to push harder.  Beyond my impulsive swings, you understood my will to be driven in anything and all that I do.  But just as I am quick to take the hard line, I softened fast, sometimes in the same sentence and thought.

Looking back years later, I think I have a single regret that I didn’t try to take it further than I did.  You were a great girl.  I just needed to find my place in life first; it’s just a shame that when I did, you were gone.  Still, There was this certain distance between us, that despite our closeness, just never closed.  I’m happy for you, that you found someone to care for.  I hope he makes you as happy as you made me.  I’m not sorry for many things in life, but I’m sorry that we never worked out.  Take faith.  I know you’ll do well, but wish me luck as well.

In the Still of the Night

The firework shells trace a faint trail above the Hudson, before immolating themselves in spectacular fashion, exploding along the skyline of still-awake Manhattan.  Their fingers trace gentle lines down the crisp night air before disappearing like the fairies do before the dawn.  The biting river breeze winds through the skyscrapers, brushing against her cheeks, exchanging warmth for their chilled touch.

“It’s cold,” she mumbles softly, before pressing closer to me.  I look down at her, where we are sprawled across the inviting grass.  Her eyes are twinkling with anticipation against the backdrop of stars, and I can see the slight smile forming on her face.  “Tonight’s a good night,” she sighs.  I repeat back gently, “Yeah, it’s a good night,” and pull her warm body against me.  Her body rests against my chest as I wrap my leather jacket around her in consideration of the moment.  She leans up, I bend down, resting my cheek against her forehead, and I can feel her warm breath against my face before it crystallizes into the cold air.

Tonight it was our world.  I feel the rush in the crowd across the bank against our quiet calm.  The fireworks this July 4th continue to burst above us, like a fierce battle playing out in the night sky, but we pay no heed.  I can hear the faint laughter, perhaps of other lovers walking hand-in-hand along the river, but it was just background noise.  The nostalgia beckons us onward, yet in this moment, the quietness suited us quite well.

I can remember the moment.  The curve of her neck, how her short hair falls against her face, the way her body fit against mine like a glove.  There was no need to hold each other tightly, her warm smiles explained how she felt leaning against me.  I’ve always denied that I am a romantic, but I guess in this I didn’t do too badly.  It’s the quiet moments that really gets me; no words need to be exchanged, because we just knew.

We both get up for a walk, kicking the grass with our bare feet, feeling the soft blades against our soles.  I point towards the Statue of Liberty as a FDNY tugboat spouts majestic plumes of water that arc into the air, disturbing the silent interlude.  She turns around and looks at me with warm eyes and our fingers wrap around each others.  Her eyes close, fluttering a bit in anticipation as I lift up her chin gently before the kiss.  Our teeth clink together as we both draw back in surprise, then raucous laughter.  “Way to ruin the moment,” I whistle exasperatedly, then with a sly smile, we make our second bid.

My lips nuzzle into her neck, and she gasps quietly, tucking her fingers into my jeans pocket.  Skin against skin.  Her body silhouettes against the ragged dunes before falling back down.  It’s these intense moments that I remember best.  The connection, the passion, the fire.  Two air signs feeding off the aether of the other, such as the storm does before the clearing and blue skies.  We both breathe, aspiring to be placed at a higher level.

The moment seems to last forever, stretching the envelope of time.  It’s the simplicity that gets me.  Two people don’t really need much to feel the connection.  We were like a chemical system and I was the reagent catalyzing the dormant base.  And for the moment I was content laying with our bare backs to the grass, counting the stars; I had stopped searching.

Just to enjoy the still of the night with you.