The Perfect Loneliness

That pedestal I put you on was nothing more than a novelty; a twisted, well intended form of idolatry.  Perfection is a possibility; even in this case of loneliness.  You want equality.  I want harmony.  And they cannot co-exist. 

I resist your independence.  You disregard my sentiment; redefine it as arrogant.  Back and forth, the staring game.  I would blink first, your holiness.  I'm just aiming for the perfect loneliness.


Have I reached the point of indifference?  Maybe yes.  Maybe no.  Turn up that sad song on the radio.  Let me drown out my own feelings as you sing where art thou, my Romeo.



Those butterflies; they flutter still.  No one speaks of the elephant.  Dead horse twitches against my will.  My thoughts and feelings; never relevant.  And that's alright, I'm stuck in a spider's web.  Chasing you with a butterflies net.   Back and forth, the staring game.  I would blink first, my Juliet.  I'm just aiming for the perfect loneliness.

Neurotic weather up ahead.  Days of summer no longer a novelty.   All these things I dare to dread; just a self fulfilled prophecy.  I'm alone and that's alright.  Loneliness; no one's monopoly.  You're alone and that's alright.  We've got each other in perfect autonomy.

I think we've found that perfect loneliness. 

The Whole World

It's easy to part with someone forever.  I know this because I've done it and because I've been shoved out of lives before.  I'm not unique to this.  Nor are you.  These normal life circumstances arise like growing older or moving on or just a simple case of new people.  It happens.

The whole world thinks they're unique to suffering or hurt.  You tell me a story of loss and naturally, I will tell you a story of my own loss.  I will one up you, so to speak.  But I will do so under the guise of trying to relate to you or comfort you.  I'm selfish.  So are you.

The easiest thing, we as people can do, is love.  It takes no effort.  Not only do we want to be loved, we want to love.  In fact, we have to love.  Something.  Someone.  Anyone.


I had this old job that required me to collect money for the newspaper.  One day, as I was looking at address numbers on a sidewalk in an unfamiliar neighborhood, I watched a car pull to the side of the road.  This woman opened her car door and pushed her dog out of it.  Then she drove off.  The immediate reaction of that dog was to chase her now former owner's car.   The dog just kept running and running towards the woman who rejected him.  I slowly drove behind the dog to see if maybe this was all a mistake; thinking the woman either accidentally let him out and would realize it or it was intentional and her conscience would get the best of her and she'd come back.

Neither happened. 

The dog stopped running once that car was no longer in his sight.  He stopped in the middle of the road; looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings and just laid down.  Right there, in the middle of the road, he just laid down.  It was as if he just gave up.  On everything. Everyone.

These two children came out of nowhere and approached this medium sized brown short haired dog.  Quickly, they had earned his trust.  As they turned to walk away, that dog followed them.  They took him home.

I sat behind my wheel and just thought to myself at what point do we become disposable to others?


I have loved three women in my life.  I mean, deeply loved.  I won't distinguish between a school boy crush and some mature grown up love because there is no fucking difference.  Two of those women have moved on.  Time, circumstances, fate, whatever; they've moved on.... One to fill her family albums with someone not me and the other, had an early expiration date.  Either way, both have moved on.  It hasn't diminished their meaning in my life.  I haven't stopped loving them.  Who could?

Love is so illogical.  There is no rationality behind who we fall for and why sometimes it just doesn't end as expected or even why two mismatched people work well together.  The whole world may roll their eyes or call us crazy for our choices but none of that matters.  If we take the whole world's advice and strive to fit their standards, that wouldn't be love.  That would be something else.  Something disposable.


It's so easy to give up or look to upgrade.  I know this because I've done it.  I've quit people before ever even giving them a chance.  I've quit people because I thought the whole world knew what was best for me and I based my standards and my integrity on their whispers.  And it's not right.


My unborn son will probably never get this speech.  Chances are, he won't even ever exist to learn what really matters versus what the whole world says matters.  And I'm okay with that.  I have to be.  Because I love him and the possibilities that exist within potential life. 

We have to love.  Something.  Someone.  Anyone.  Be it, real or hypothetical.  Love is limitless and illogical.  Not disposable.  Or even reasonable. 

The whole world wants the same damn things but they hold each of us to different standards than their own. 


A few months later, I returned to that neighborhood where that disposable dog was last seen.  And there he was... laying in the front yard grass where I last saw him with those two same kids by his side.  I'm certain that rejection he faced months earlier was long forgotten.  I'm certain that dog, those two kids; that new family couldn't have been more happy than they were at that moment.

The whole world loves happy endings but defines everything as tragedy or heartbreak with some misdiagnosed negative connotation attached to it.  

Nothing ends perfectly.  But everything ends. 

I suppose that is all I would ever need to tell my unborn son if he existed.

 

The Greatest Lie

The greatest lie I ever told was I don't care.

It was December if I remember.  Around Christmas.  The greatest gift a man can get is forgiveness.  As the cold turned to warmth and the season began to change, spring brought forth indifference.  Stoic me, barely noticed.  I just don't care, I said.

Who's the anchor?  Who's the ship?  We were both in love.  We were both seasick.  I threw all my worries overboard; ready for this lifelong trip.  With you.  And only you.  Oblivious me, with my smug smile and ever so deluded view never imagined my world without you.  But you could.  You did.  I just don't care, I said.

Like an astronaut floating in space; you were, you are my gravity.  And I float and float further away from you as you replace my oxygen with apathy.  They say, when love evaporates, the first to go is your sanity.  And I swear I just don't care anymore. 

As the silence turns to days, here comes back all my insecurities.  Those warm hellos and I love yous; no longer priorities.  If I'll fade into obscurity, only time will tell.  Have we really reached the point of text messaged apologies? L O L.  I speak to you in acronyms and you speak unaffectionately.  O M G.  I just don't care, I said.

It was December if I remember.  Around Christmas.  The greatest mistake a man can make is to bear false witness.  And I just don't care, I said. 

A man and his dog

It was a look of compassion from his eyes towards me.  The harshness of the moment was handled delicately.  I like to believe if he could speak, he would have forgave me. 

A lick to my hand as he lifted his paw.  It was a handshake of sorts from an old friend  This is the moment every man dreads, of course, I thought.

It was the end of a man and his dog.

Fell in love with this girl long ago.   She had eyes of blue.  Little do you know, she would have loved you. 
Found a little acceptance in the oddest of places.  Those blank faces; if only they knew, all the reasons I always come home to you.  That girl with those eyes of blue; she knew. 

Those little conversations came to a halt.  And they're only understood by a man with a dog.

I was looking for quiet.  And I found it.  There's no way around it; now, I can't shut up.   It's easier to talk when everyone wants to interrupt.  I was speaking at them.  Over them.  Around them.  Never to them.  And they were doing the same.  Are we even friends, I thought?

It's the question asked by every man with a dog.

Because dogs listen.  Even if its not by their own volition.

They never knew of the girl with eyes of blue.  And her demise.  Or mine.  I'll talk about her another time.
Maybe, when the storm cloud passes.  If it ever does.  I'm over it, well I was.  And that's the thing, we never are.  Or will be.  Over anything.

Nothing is ever meant to be forgot.  There's no shame for those things that make us distraught.
Ask any man with a dog.

I was looking for comfort.  So I grabbed a drink and drowned in it.  For years.  Those tears; they weren't even mine.  That comfort; it appears I had already found it.  It was right here this whole time.  And it can never be understood unless you're a man with a dog.

It's hard to feel alone with a face staring out the window as you pull up to your driveway.  And when it's time to go, that same face, with a pleading glow, reminds you there is always a reason to come home.  I swear, he was always there.  Through the joy and through the despair.

I guess, I should confess, I did not realize the magnitude of what we shared. 

That handshake of sorts from an old friend wasn't goodbye.  It was thank you.  And I have to believe, if he could speak, he would have said you're welcome.

I turned around back to where we came from.  Empty leash in hand. 
He really loved me, I thought.

No one can really understand. 

It's between a man and his dog.

The Fallout

There are so many things I cannot bear the thought of.  Like her being touched by another man.  Like how he felt those last few years.  Like how she copes being unloved.  Or like how he was feeling all those years before he met her.  Or like how my dreams feel so real and then I wake up; only to be disappointed they weren't.

Guys have this strange way of showing each other affection.  It's usually with a punch to the arm or something not associated with affection.  When he walked away that last time, visions of some heroic cowboy fading into the sunset never crossed my mind.  I just wanted him to turn around and punch me.  Or kick me.  Anything but what happened would have made every day since that night more bearable.  I wish I would have screamed DON'T DO IT or DON'T GO. 

Years before in the pouring rain with sobriety hours away and an unknown irony flowing through my alcohol flooded blood stream, she told me of a girl's suicide.  Not just any girl.  A relative of the one I loved.  That phone call might as well have been made in the future warning me that a new suicide was just around the corner.  A longer one.  A decades long one in the making. 

I thought about that now gone girl and the one I loved who was left to cope and question why.  I spent a lot of time in her skin and in her corpse; trying to piece together everything.  I contemplated destiny.  Was she destined to leave at fifteen?  Was the one I love predetermined or chosen to be strong enough to handle this?  And I came to some conclusion that only made sense years later.

All these years later, I still don't know who I am or my place in this world.  I can't even really honestly say that I am loved by anyone.  I'm not ashamed to admit that.  Maybe, it's because all those years between that phone call on a pay phone on a drunken rainy Friday night until now has taught me one thing:  And that's just be true to yourself.  Sure, it's a cliche.  I think we have become so self-absorbed where we simply worry how we are perceived, we end up losing sight on who we really are.

We are all the same.  We all want the same things.  We are all motivated by the same wants and same needs.   

He was too proud to hug me or anyone but never too proud to punch us all.  And he was too preoccupied with misery and self-hatred to just demand that he be loved.  And he was loved.  So much.  I don't even think any of us realized it until it was far too late. 

I laid in my own bed for what seemed weeks.  My trusty old dog, with his head on my chest and an occasional lick to my hand as if he was just checking my pulse, was my confidant.  It was never about losing the will to live or some ill placed self pity.  It wasn't even about him.  It was this whole question of why am I here.  That's it. 

I went back in time, like we always do, and thought about her.  I wondered how the years have treated her since that phone call.  And then I remembered, she left me, too.  So, I went back even further in time, like we always do, and I remembered being a child.  I was so full of love, of hope and unbridled joy.  I kissed and hugged everyone, strangers, because everyone was good and could never do me any harm.  I started wondering when did that joy become replaced with cynicism.

Maybe, it was that phone call from that pay phone on a rainy drunken Friday night.  When I hung up, innocence was left holding on the other line.  And I never went back to say goodbye.  So, when all these unexpected twists and turns that life inevitably throws us all, I was unprepared. 

Maybe, that's what destiny is.  It's not about the outcome or our demise or our blessings or unfortunate circumstances.  It's just about those twists and turns and how we handle them.  People always claim that the proverbial fork in the road is some obstacle to our destination.  Maybe, that fork in the road is the destination; our destiny.  And whatever happens after that is just a bonus.  Good or bad. 

He left us all. Were we shocked?  Not really.  It was a slow death.  Subconsciously, we probably had written him off years before.  And I hate to admit that.  I suppose he encountered so many forks in the road and chose poorly so many times, he was bound to leave us all too soon. 

I can't help but think that right now, there is a woman out there, he was destined to be with.  And she is with someone else.  And she's almost happy.  Just a little bit short.  I blame him for that.  The fallout of all of our decisions are immeasurable and all scenarios become hypothetical. 

I spent what seemed like weeks; laying in my bed, with my trusty old dog by my side with his head on my chest licking my hand as if he was checking for my pulse, contemplating all of this.  The fallout.  The hypothetical.  Destiny.

And because we are all so self-absorbed, I can't help but think of my place in all of this; this world, his life, her life, our lives.  I would endure years of writers block to have him back and her, as well.  And I suppose, these words wouldn't even need to be written or my heart exposed to anyone who might casually care if things were different. 

And I suppose, everything always turns out exactly how they are supposed to.  And we always almost feel better in the end.

Almost.

dear God

well hello there, dear God
got my head in the clouds, an angel for a dream
she hates my pretty words.  she thinks they're quite absurd.  she knows not what they mean.
she knows not what these mean
time is winding down.  soon to not be found.
thank God

man to man, can i bear my soul? 
she loves my pretty songs.  she even sings along.  she knows not what they mean. 
she knows not what these mean.
man to God, feel free to sing along with the angel in my dream.
she's too proud to wear my crown
i'd like to beat this dead high horse, if it's allowed down here of course.  |
dear God

she says she loves me like no other. well, she used to.
dear God, i tried to introduce you.   she knows not who you are
she knows not who you are
the dealer goes absolved as the loser blames the cards
thank God

so be it, if this is your plan
the erosion of a novelty.  dear God, is it me or is it you
the anomaly
what once was ineffable has become expressible
i can finally admit i am skeptical
thank God

she hates manipulation.  she knows not my true intentions.
she knows not my true intentions.
like you, dear God

im nothing without you.  its true, dear God

amen