Girl from Sunnyside Ave
To quote Joy Electric, "Why, oh why, do I cry for you?" Indeed, why? What's the point? All my effort is useless, a push against a pull. So much wasted energy and emotion.
I spent two years of my life in love with you... with my concept of you (which, of course, you believe is clouded by simple infatuation.) You can admit to a number of faults, but you were never guilty of any of them. While I, on the other hand, wilted under innumerable shortcomings, failures, and vices (all of which I brought onto myself.)
Whether or not you ever felt some kind of love for me, you stayed with me for two years. I can't understand why. Perhaps out of inertia? Of familiarity? You knew in the back of your head each time we kissed that we weren't going to last. Probably from our very first kiss you knew I wasn't ever going to be the One. I wasn't It. Meanwhile, I was kissing you with every ounce of passion and intensity I could muster... because, in my heart of hearts, I believed I was kissing the girl I loved... the girl I loved, dammit... I wanted desperately to be kissing the girl who would one day be my wife...
But how wrong (and stupid, and misguided, and blind, and fooled) I was. When my eyes finally opened, all I could see was one great big question blinking over and over like a broken neon light: how could I have fallen in love so completely with someone who never had even the slightest intention of returning that love? Who never would, and never could, love me back. How did I let a girl get so deep down into... me?
I've met one other fantastic woman in my life, Claudine Auguste... but this isn't about her, and that's neither here nor there... The point is, I'm twenty-five years old and I've only met two women who I felt were worth my love. Two women. And the instances of meeting them are so far apart in years that I could've raised a nine-year-old child in between them. So what... I have another potential decade before meeting someone even remotely like you? I know I can make, I know I can do it, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, but it's the waiting that I can't stand. I'm impatient. I HATE WAITING.
And you... Sitting in your office, all busy. Going to work at the Corn Maze at night. You... with your mental and emotional stability. Your steadfastness. Your support. Your TATTOO. Your unutterable coolness. You... you can have any man you want. While the only woman I want is YOU. You couldn't care less about this whole affair. The fact that I'm raging inside and it's all because of you doesn't seem to bother you that much. Yeah, yeah, it's all in my head, I just have to get over it, it takes time, blah blah blah. I'm mostly raging inside because IT DOESN'T BOTHER YOU THAT I'M RAGING INSIDE. If maybe you acted like I meant something to you, and that not talking to me bothered you in some fashion... then maybe I'd be OK. I wouldn't feel so freaking retarded for having paint on my face. If maybe I felt like you ever DESIRED me AT ALL during ANY TIME of our relationship, whether it was intimate or "just friends", and that our lack of communication isn't right... then I'd be a little better off.
But as it is, you don't care, you can't care. You might have cared a little bit a long time ago, but that's all gone now, so it doesn't matter. All that's left is me, screaming impotently at nothing, angry, bitter, resentful, hurt, jealous.
I feel like I've been the victim of some cruel trick. Why do I care? Why do I even bother? YOU'RE NOT WORTH IT. YOU ARE NOT WORTH IT. That's what I keep telling myself... but the simple fact that I have to pound that thought into my head implies you are, in fact, worth it, and I'm an idiot for not just losing you, but NEVER REALLY EVER HAVING YOU TO BEGIN WITH. What an unbelievable FOOL I was! What a FOOL!
This is totally unhealthy. You're the object of obsession. I dumped WAAAAY to much into you. And now I realize you're dangerous to me. This once healthy love has turned to the most vile kind of bitterness and gut-wrenching agony. You can tell this because of the language I use to write this post. See how dramatic this all is to me? While it's a simple matter of moving on, finding another boyfriend, enjoying your life?
You torturous bitch. I don't ever want to see, hear, or speak to you and your friends and family ever again, and that includes Aric now, since I tainted him by introducing him to you and Janell. Yuck. Ick. Goodbye. Especially to your "hot new tattoo".
Bring on the hate.
Billy
I spent two years of my life in love with you... with my concept of you (which, of course, you believe is clouded by simple infatuation.) You can admit to a number of faults, but you were never guilty of any of them. While I, on the other hand, wilted under innumerable shortcomings, failures, and vices (all of which I brought onto myself.)
Whether or not you ever felt some kind of love for me, you stayed with me for two years. I can't understand why. Perhaps out of inertia? Of familiarity? You knew in the back of your head each time we kissed that we weren't going to last. Probably from our very first kiss you knew I wasn't ever going to be the One. I wasn't It. Meanwhile, I was kissing you with every ounce of passion and intensity I could muster... because, in my heart of hearts, I believed I was kissing the girl I loved... the girl I loved, dammit... I wanted desperately to be kissing the girl who would one day be my wife...
But how wrong (and stupid, and misguided, and blind, and fooled) I was. When my eyes finally opened, all I could see was one great big question blinking over and over like a broken neon light: how could I have fallen in love so completely with someone who never had even the slightest intention of returning that love? Who never would, and never could, love me back. How did I let a girl get so deep down into... me?
I've met one other fantastic woman in my life, Claudine Auguste... but this isn't about her, and that's neither here nor there... The point is, I'm twenty-five years old and I've only met two women who I felt were worth my love. Two women. And the instances of meeting them are so far apart in years that I could've raised a nine-year-old child in between them. So what... I have another potential decade before meeting someone even remotely like you? I know I can make, I know I can do it, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, but it's the waiting that I can't stand. I'm impatient. I HATE WAITING.
And you... Sitting in your office, all busy. Going to work at the Corn Maze at night. You... with your mental and emotional stability. Your steadfastness. Your support. Your TATTOO. Your unutterable coolness. You... you can have any man you want. While the only woman I want is YOU. You couldn't care less about this whole affair. The fact that I'm raging inside and it's all because of you doesn't seem to bother you that much. Yeah, yeah, it's all in my head, I just have to get over it, it takes time, blah blah blah. I'm mostly raging inside because IT DOESN'T BOTHER YOU THAT I'M RAGING INSIDE. If maybe you acted like I meant something to you, and that not talking to me bothered you in some fashion... then maybe I'd be OK. I wouldn't feel so freaking retarded for having paint on my face. If maybe I felt like you ever DESIRED me AT ALL during ANY TIME of our relationship, whether it was intimate or "just friends", and that our lack of communication isn't right... then I'd be a little better off.
But as it is, you don't care, you can't care. You might have cared a little bit a long time ago, but that's all gone now, so it doesn't matter. All that's left is me, screaming impotently at nothing, angry, bitter, resentful, hurt, jealous.
I feel like I've been the victim of some cruel trick. Why do I care? Why do I even bother? YOU'RE NOT WORTH IT. YOU ARE NOT WORTH IT. That's what I keep telling myself... but the simple fact that I have to pound that thought into my head implies you are, in fact, worth it, and I'm an idiot for not just losing you, but NEVER REALLY EVER HAVING YOU TO BEGIN WITH. What an unbelievable FOOL I was! What a FOOL!
This is totally unhealthy. You're the object of obsession. I dumped WAAAAY to much into you. And now I realize you're dangerous to me. This once healthy love has turned to the most vile kind of bitterness and gut-wrenching agony. You can tell this because of the language I use to write this post. See how dramatic this all is to me? While it's a simple matter of moving on, finding another boyfriend, enjoying your life?
You torturous bitch. I don't ever want to see, hear, or speak to you and your friends and family ever again, and that includes Aric now, since I tainted him by introducing him to you and Janell. Yuck. Ick. Goodbye. Especially to your "hot new tattoo".
Bring on the hate.
Billy
posted by Billy at 12:36 PM
3 Comments:
>>Who never would, and never could, love me back.
OK, finally finished reading. Been awhile since I was on the dating scene, but some things you don't forget. Gotta tell you, this gal is the sad case here ... not you. Someone not capable of returning love??? If that's really true, she's the one I pity. You're better off. The boy may not forget, but the man will do fine.
The only thing that really bothers me is the fact that I blinded myself to the truth. For almost a year and a half I convinced myself that she'd eventually come around and see things my way. The one motto I try to stick to in life is "to thy own self be true." How was I able to lie to myself and BELIEVE that lie? It makes me so angry with myself...
You'll sort it all out, eventually. :) Meanwhile, I linked you. Hope that's ok.
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