Dreaming Blind


Language: English
Total entries: 3
Followers: 0

If I could only tell you how many times I wished
that I had written you, or talked to you. I drove
out to your house one day before leaving and
bought for you something from the bakery. Your
father answered the door, you were not home. I
threw out the whipped cream and the pastry on the
way home.

I have watched you, and kept track of your
progress. I had struggled to understand what we
had. And I have often looked back on our bedroom
antics with a mixture of concern for bias and awe.
The most fantastic thing about us is that there
was never anything wrong with you. You were
perfect in every way for me. I tell myself now
that if it had gone on longer, there would have
been imperfections that would have come out and
diluted the entire thing. But looking back now,
you were timeless. We were.

To this day I cannot fully comprehend why it had
to end, or why I fought so hard to make it end. I
plotted! Daily I plotted. I tried to confide in my
mother and she arced up against me, in such a way
which only drove me to further plot. I loved you
so much, for whatever that could ever mean to me.
Love is like the measles, it only comes along once
and the older you are when it happens, the worse
it is. I have had my love, and it was you. It is
not something that I miss- being in love. And I
know it is something I will never again achieve
and this does not bother me in the slightest.

But you were prematurely hurt for absolutely no
reason on the spectrum that I or you could
comprehend. Did you blame yourself? The worst part
is I had no regard for you. I knew that it had to
end with a certain clarity that went beyond
compassion and empathy.

This brings around a stronger point. If there was
no reason that I myself can grasp for ending it,
no fatal flaw on your part, nothing that could
have been prevented, then what would we be like
together now? Likely we would fall in the gutter
of rudimentary routine, the same path that has
been travelled by so many people in relationships.
But I wonder. Mostly I wonder about the sex. I
wish I had told you more. I still wish I would
tell you now. But will you ever believe me if I
do? Probably not.

The timing is wrong. Even if such a closure (or
beginning) were to be facilitated by my contact
with you, what could I do about it? Nothing, for I
have chosen a ….somewhat lonelier path. But I
still wonder, and still think about you.