i write to you now sitting at home while i watch the world pass me by. pictures on facebook show excitement and joy while i bask in the artificial light given off by my lamp in my slightly-too-hot couch room. i've looked for methods to subdue my boredom, as if it were an enemy nation sieging me. There's days of bombing; no food, not water, no electricity, where I flail around, searching for anything to keep my mind busy. It usually ends with the same occasion, the same substance, the same piece. it enhances all of my senses while i lay sedentary on the couch, allowing the 70" to cast glimmers on my pupils. i watch movie after movie, some tv, and more movies. i remember none of them. my mind wanders as i stare at the everchanging projection. stories of love make me think of her, and often times of Blue. Blue...
Many people have "the one who got away." Blue is that one for me. We met long before we were involved, randomly near the shores of Lake Delton. We knew of each other but were timid upon the idea of working a summer together. She had a boyfriend, I had Po. Po was a mistake. I convinced myself to love her, giving myself someone to count on, someone to take to high school prom. the feelings i felt for her i convinced myself were real, but there was never any passion in my feelings. I met Blue and we became the closest friends. Everything was done together, and when we weren't we wished we were. Our schedules gave us great freedom to spend time alone, and I began to understand both myself and what it meant to be in love. She was my first love. Between quick getaways to Quiznos, coffee breaks and cigars, and obviously that same substance I use now to get back there, everything was done together. By the end, Zack was history and Po was just a sidenote. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was exactly how they make it in TV or the movies, the passion, the longing, even the sex. All of it, whipped away with an ironic quiznos goodbye and a jump onto 94 west. She got on 94 east, back to lincolnwood, back to Chicago. As i sat next to my closest friend on the long drive home i fought the tears, attempted to swallow the lump, and bit my lip. Never had I ever felt this way for someone else. She was me. Her enormous blue eyes, flowing blonde hair, her perfect body, her perfect smile, her perfect laugh... it was storybook. Bear looked at me knowingly, not because he'd felt this way before, but because he could feel it vicariously. he witnessed the entire thing, from acquaintances to best friends, to love, he watched as i suffered, unable to say anything.
We fought the impending end to our relationship through the first year of college. Bickering turned to fighting, and fighting turned to ignoring until she told me i was no longer allowed to tell her i loved her, no longer allowed to treat her as my girl. my forbidden love, trapped in my chest aching and aching and aching to come out.
Blue got away, but i pray not for good.
m
