Monday, October 1, 2012

London Writings

June 28th, 2012. 1:42am

One day, I lost my words. I can't pinpoint the exact day. Maybe if I sat for long enough I could remember, or pretend to remember. I could think about it long and hard enough and eventually I would tell myself that some frightfully cold day in 2007 (I would believe it was September), I lost my words. They fell behind a table while I was having a drink and I simply forgot to take them with me again once I left. And maybe, thinking about it hard enough, I would blame a boy.
A deceitful, charming, beautifully poisonous boy. I could say that he made me forget. And I wouldn't remember them again for many years. Him, on the other hand, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to forget.
This is what I would probably tell you if I had enough time to just sit and remember. But I don't have that kind of time. Who does? Instead, my words are gone and this is the story of how I came to find them.

July 1st, 2012. 1:48am

It may seem odd to hear a life story from someone at the age of twenty-six but I'm doing it anyway. It's not for you or for me. It's just because it has to be.
I've put off writing this for awhile and maybe I haven't lived enough of this thing we call life to be able to do it, but I started this young. Even then I felt the challenge of my words. Letting these words go was so much easier, it was a cop out. I let them drift away and I lived. I went with the flow and I did what I was expected to. I loved it. I excelled in school, I made friends, I was great at my job, and it seemed like everyone loved me. But I knew there was something missing.
So I took some time. I left my life. For a month I went to be in a strange country. I even played it safe going to a country where they spoke the same language. Within a few weeks I hit it - that proverbial wall, and one night I walked home with the same song on repeat (Beirut - Port of Call) and I just knew. Maybe later my family would blame it on the alcohol but I knew. The challenge of a life that could be was there.
My shoes were breaking apart from walking everywhere. I refused to take the train. I walked or took the bus. I walked to be quiet and think. While I could excel at the go go go mentality I just couldn't do it anymore. I needed the challenge.
The challenge was this: finding my words again.

I once knew this guy who told lies. Not just any lies but lies that you believed, the kind of lies that seemed so insignificant that later you wouldn't even remember them. With all of my "schooling" I don't think I'll ever understand fully why he lied. He talked about sports and the X-Men, he was special, he was loved. But here's the thing: he wasn't, he wasn't loved. I don't think he was ever loved in the way a human being should be. He told me once that his parents never hugged him as a child. This was one of his truths.
This guy, well, he fell in love with me. Or at least I fell in love with him. I had known him for years. I knew his lies. I knew his music and his bed and on the day of my brother's wedding he confessed his love for me. Within a few months it was over. Our relationship maintained some semblance of lasting for a few months but it was over.
You can't love someone and keep up the lies. He tried. I think he did want someone to see him. Really see him.

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