It took him awhile to come back — it could be a matter of minutes or hours, days or years.
It is easy for me to say it took me awhile to know. That is about as accurate as I can get. There were sneak previews of knowing for sure. Instances that made me feel, oh, this could be right. But the moment I shifted from a hope that needed to be proven to a certainty that would be continually challenged? There’s no pinpointing that.
Perhaps it never happened. Perhaps it happened while I was asleep. Most likely, there’s no signal event. There’s just the steady accumulation of awhile.
~ The Lover’s Dictionary, David Levithan
it never ceases to amaze me how unpredictable life can turn out to be. one minute, i’m feeling despondent about J’s lack of communication to the next minute being held in his arms and having him tell me everything’s going to turn out okay to yet another minute of having him gone again.
weddings have become an inevitable part of my life now, just as christenings are about to be. despite being a hopelessly hopeless romantic, i’m not much of a wedding person. i dream about my own wedding, more often than i probably should; but none of the beautiful weddings i’ve attended so far have brought me tears. this is something that makes me think that maybe i am a stone-cold ice queen as a friend described me once. i do have some favorite wedding moments which include: 1) AVPs of how the couple’s relationship grew, 2) how the couple interact with each other throughout the wedding and reception with side-glances and laughter that only they could understand, and 3) the first kiss as husband and wife. it truly is nice to see a couple truly and deeply in-love. it makes a single gal like me hope that true love does exist even if not for me then at least for someone else.
weddings make me look at my life. at 27, most of my friends are settling down and starting families of their own; then i look at myself, still single. whether by circumstance or by choice is never quite clear. thing is, the guys i’m interested in aren’t interested in me, and the guys interested in me aren’t guys i’m interested in. for some inexplicable reason, the rare times that the feeling is mutual between me and a guy have never materialized into anything tangible either. i can’t help but wonder if there is something wrong with me. i am the common factor after all.
the thought of never finding love and going through the rest of my life “alone” absolutely terrifies me. sometimes i wonder why we all, or maybe it’s just me, put too much importance on the idea of “the one”. we should be complete beings in ourselves, right? perhaps Plato had it right with his theory that we were all once creatures with four arms, four legs, two faces, four ears and two sets of genitalia that were cut in half. so we spend our life searching for our other half in an effort to “complete” ourselves. does this mean i’ll never feel “complete” until i find “the one”? what happens if i never do? oh, so many questions and yet the answers are ever so elusive.
i am starting to fall in love with modern musical theater. seriously, deeply, completely in-love with it. i’m already obsessed with bare and i love you because which are beautiful plays. but after hearing a friend sing one of their songs, i haven’t been able to stop listening to kerrigan-lowdermilk songs. i’m finding it hard to describe how completely sated my soul feels when i listen to beautiful songs, most especially songs from musicals. ao why don’t you just give these a listen and i dare you not to fall-in-love as well.
Two Strangers – Morgan Karr with Jay A. Johnson and Matt Doyle
And then it’s over. Just another mistake done over. There’s no evidence here, No mark or picture frame. Just a name in a cell phone, Stuck in my head, Smelling boy in my empty twin bed or maybe I’m just conjuring some romance I read.
It’s not a love story. It’s not a coming of age. It’s not the kind of thing you put into a play. It’s just a small story. Just two friends all grown up. It happens. It happens. It happens one day.
I had already fallen in love with far too many postage stamps when you appeared in my doorstep wearing nothing but a postcard promise. No, appear is the wrong word. Is there a word for sucker-punching someone in the heart? Is there a word for when you’re sitting at the bottom of a roller coaster and you realize that the climb is coming, that you know what the climb means, that you can already feel the flip in your stomach from the fall, before you’ve even moved. Is there a word for that? There should be.
You can only fit so many words in a postcard, only so many in a phone call, only so many into space before you forget that words are sometimes used for things other than filling emptiness. It is hard to build a body out of words. I have tried. We have both tried. Instead of lying your head against my chest I tell you about the boy who lives downstairs from me, who stays up all night long practising his drumset. The neighbors have complained, they have busy days tomorrow but he keeps on thumping through the night, convinced, I think, that practice makes perfect. Instead of holding my hand you tell me about the sandwich you made for lunch today, how the pickles fit so perfectly against the lettuce. Practice does not make perfect, practice makes permanent. Repeat the same mistakes, over and over, and you don’t get any closer to Carnegie Hall, even I know that. Repeat the same mistakes, over and over, and you don’t get any closer. You never get any closer.
Is there a word for the moment you win tug of war, when the weight gives and all that extra rope comes tumbling towards you? How even though you’ve won, you still end up with muddy knees and scratches on your hands? Is there a word for that? I wish there was. I would’ve said it, when we were finally alone together on your couch, neither one of us with anything left to say.
Still now, I send letters into space, hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down, and recognize you from the descriptions in my poems, that he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you, “There is a girl who still writes you. She doesn’t know how not to.”
i have been listening to this again and again for the past couple of days because it’s beautiful. but if i have to be honest with myself, and most of the time i am, i keep listening to it mostly because J hasn’t written to me at all yet this year. there was this one short message on my facebook wall to acknowledge that he received my christmas card but that was the last i heard from him. as for me, there have been two attempts to make contact: a birthday card and an email update mid-may. while i am not heartbroken, i feel a bit saddened about the entire thing.
some pictures popped up on facebook around a month ago that i recognized as from the night when we met. it wasn’t love or even attraction at first sight. but after a night of good conversation over religion, no less, i swear a voice in my head was saying, ‘here is what you’ve been waiting for.‘ i surprised myself when i got home because i ended up praying for him that night. i, who hadn’t been in touch with my spiritual side for years, prayed for a guy i had just met. he was here for two weeks and in that time we got to know each other through texts, chatting, two lunch dates, one group dinner after disc practice and one drinking session that ended with me passing out on his friend’s couch. (yeah, one of those crazy, unplanned things that i swear could only happen to me. haha!) to quote a line that’s been haunting me since reading it in Carrie Ryan’s book The Dead-Tossed Waves, “i could feel the possibility between us.”
if you’re updated on internet memes then you must be familiar with the “date a girl” fever that’s going around. it all started with Charles Warnke’s article, You Should Date An Illiterate Girl, which is a beautiful piece of prose written by a guy who has had his heart broken by a girl who reads. “A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much.”
this triggered a response, Date A Girl Who Reads. i am unsure if the author of this “response” actually got the point of the original article but in my opinion it doesn’t come close at all. the original article is actually a compliment to girls who read since “[A girl who reads] will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied.” the girl the author was dating obviously walked out on him and it is safe to assume that he is bitter and hurt. “So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.”
throughout the past few weeks, a bunch of these articles have been popping up online. here’s what i found so far: Date A Girl Who Blogs, Date A Girl Who Runs, Date A Girl Who Takes Photographs and Date A Girl Who Loves Music. a funny thought that entered my mind after reading each of these articles is, hey! that’s me! i blog (hello?!). i love taking pictures, not lately though because i’ve been uninspired. i love music so much that if you ask me what i couldn’t live without, music would be it. i run albeit only when i’m chasing a frisbee disc or marking a girl who is chasing a disc. and most importantly i read. so i guess to summarize what people are saying online, date me! sorry for the shameless plugging guys but it’s my blog, after all.
i, myself, would like to date a guy who reads, runs, writes, takes photographs and loves music. if you know someone who fits that criteria and is single (very important as well!) then please send him my way. 😛
i’m currently obsessed with…
... victoria's secret lingerie (i really want to buy some and have them shipped here)
... tumblr-ing
... hula-hooping
... learning my old piano pieces again
... expensive stuff i can't afford
... still being kissed ala north & south
That’s the closest to my idea of love: watching the skyline, making out, making mistakes, making believe desire means it’s with somebody else, then breaking up, and, if we’re lucky, forgiveness that comes right before take-off. There, I’ve said it. What more can one want? A lover who loves me as much as the rain. Rain, and, from the opening credits to the closing heart, Gershwin. ~ The Muse This Time by R Zamora Linmark
i love
...broadway;
...poetry;
...ultimate frisbee;
...dancing;
...singing;
...the melancholic sound of the cello;
...playing the piano;
...Frederic Chopin, John Williams and Michael Legrand;
...the rain;
...walking in the rain;
...laughing;
...hanging out with my friends;
...being a girly-girl;
...wearing dresses;
...my naturally wavy hair;
...the sound of waves crashing in the shore;
...pizza and pasta;
...burgers;
...raisin bread;
...blogging;
...reading;
...Cyrano de Bergarac;
...shopping;
...Artic Vodka Melon;
...Jose Cuervo Tequila;
...my lomo cameras;
...taking pictures;
...puzzles;
...sudoku;
...chick flicks that make you believe that finding your one true love is not so impossible; and
...heartwrenchingly beautiful songs that say otherwise
quizás quizás quizás 
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