|15th Jun 2013✧17:27
I stared at that photo for what seemed to be an hour, trying to process the gravity of it all. The photo that was confirmation you had moved on. It’s funny how feelings work. Days and weeks go by and I didn’t think of you. The holidays rolled around and you were on my mind here and there.
I deleted your number on purpose months ago. Sick of the bullshit. Sick of wishing I could make you love me. You were the topic of therapy sessions. This man I had so much spontaneous fun with. Who else could make fucking on the playground look so good in the fog? Remember that? Of course you don’t. From the looks of that photo you don’t remember any of that.
You’re smiling. She’s smiling. Jesus, she’s gorgeous. Perfect trophy wife for the likes of someone like you. Someone like me doesn’t fit on your side of the tracks. Too “artsy”, whatever the fuck that means. I guess that’s why I tried so hard to make it work.
I hate defeat.
Especially when I was the only one playing the game.
I wish I could honestly say I’m happy for you. I wish I could smile for your happiness and I presume the sweat of love. I don’t know what to feel. I stare at the photo knowing that could have never been me. Life goes on. These are the breaks.
I just can’t log onto Facebook for a while.
|23rd Nov 2012✧18:431 note
"He doesn’t have to be a dreamboat, GQ dripping lover man. Just be nice to me. Care about me. Make me a grilled cheese after sex. That’s all I want yo, just love the little things. And for chrissakes have a beard and tattoos. Those are pretty sweet." -Brie
|23rd Apr 2012✧18:241 note
|19th Apr 2012✧23:01
|16th Apr 2012✧21:08
He sat in the train lounge reeking of yesterday’s hooch. Lonely on a moving vehicle filled with other people deliberately avoiding him. His fingernails were permanently caked with oil and dirt from working on his truck. A camouflage jacket hung over his body with a name patch that had “Wade” stitched on it. His jeans had an unfathomable crease in each pants leg that seemed like train tracks leading to nowhere in particular.
Wade’s full-bodied plaything, Janie, dropped him off at the train station early enough for them to sit in her Buick and kill time by kissing and her shoving her saggy breasts in his face. Janie was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and had no qualms with telling Wade about her every desire. Janie wanted what she thought all women craved. She wanted Wade to be with her all the time. Call her all the time. Bring her flowers and candy just because. Janie even wanted Wade to get her a puppy, like how they did in the movies.
Wade always asked, “If I get you a puppy, who’s gon’ walk the damn thing?”
“You are baby,” Janie replied.
Needless to say, Janie was puppy-less.
Wade was on his way to witness the birth of his grandson, making him a grandpa for the first time. His son’s girlfriend was in labor as Wade sat on the train drinking beer out of the can and looking at the trees and creeks and general American wilderness as the train hustled along the tracks. No one wanted to sit next to him. It was just fine by him. More leg room. Most of his family treated him like shit too, and his daughter was the worst of them all.
To tell you the truth, he never liked his daughter. His ex-wife named her Celeste and he never liked the name either. Too whimsical for a southern girl to write on things. Wade thought it sounded like a name some gypsy flaunted, surely not a name for something that came from his sack. She never called, she never wrote, and she probably never wondered about him. For all he knew his daughter had completely erased him from her mind, passing through life with no father at all.
Wade reached into his knapsack for a piece of paper, anything to write the word “tree” on. For some reason he kept thinking, “tree…tree…tree.” The truth was, that’s what his life felt like. A lonely tree in the woods yearning for nourishment and love, only to be chopped down or etched on. Wade fumbled around in the bag past his soft pack of cigarettes, past a candy bar, and past his pocket knife. His hand stopped on what felt like a folded piece of paper. He pulled it out and saw that Janie had folded a photo of herself and placed it in Wade’s bag. On the back she drew a lopsided heart. No words, no date, no name. Her smile was forced and simple, but perfect in every way. Wade remembered the word “tree” and stared down at the photo. He wasn’t as lonely as he’d imagined. Janie was nice enough to have around and he knew when he returned to Mississippi she’d be there for him. She’d make his favorite dinner, smothered chicken, and life would go on in their arrangement. He’d never marry her, much to her dismay, but he knew she’d grow to accept it as part of their relationship. Wade wasn’t the loving type. Wade wasn’t Mr. Right. Wade was a man who wanted to be loved but didn’t know how to do it himself. All that he could ask for was a woman who understood his shortcomings and not bust his balls about it.
He brought his knapsack from the floor and sat it in the seat next to him, needing no one to fill the seat. The world flew by his window and the suds were settling in his beer. He was getting closer and closer to his destination to meet a boy that would hopefully learn from his grandfather’s mistakes. A boy that would be loved and wanted. A boy that would be handed down a camouflage jacket with the same last name, “Wade”, stitched above his heart.
I want to pound your face in like a mound of clay / you are a piece of shit and I want you to know that / I dreamed we went to college together / seniors / I was waiting in our meeting spot and you finally arrived with some freshman girl / three feet away and you pretended not to acknowledge me / as if on cue / in front of me / you asked when you and that freshman whore were going to finally go on a date / she seemed weird / my blood boiled at the interest you showed her and the total disregard you showed me / I stormed off / later on my girlfriends and I watched the lame ass talent show you and all the guys in our senior class gave / after that you did your homework in the common area which somehow morphed into my old house / you did that little boy shit where you tried to say some clever remark after totally shitting on me and I responded with “That’s stupid and you’re an asshole” / you seemed surprised at my rebuttal so I indulged in what would become some of the nastiest words I ever thought I’d say to you / I forget word for word but I do remember calling you a coward and telling you how I would never do that to you / ever / I yelled and cursed so loudly in that span of one minute that my voice went hoarse / I snapped out of the dream before you could respond and floated between that dreaming and waking up state / the shock and trauma felt too real as I awoke with no text message from you / I text you last night and still no response from that one / or the phone call three nights ago / just great / here I am / foolish for thinking we could be something more than what we are / essentially fuck buddies who have great conversation when we see each other / the occasional “considerate text” from you / example: “Have a good trip” / we laugh and poke fun at cheesy commercials / we talk about how awesome it would be to go to Amsterdam and smoke weed and do ‘shrooms and ride bikes / I hug you from behind / wrapping my arms around your beautiful body and my cheek against your back is all too comforting / it’s probably the most intimate we’ve ever been / then a thought reminds me that that hug can’t and won’t last forever / in thirty seconds I will be walking through that door and going home with nothing but you on my mind / I wish I knew before I moved here for you how this would all turn out / yes it’s true / I wish that I wasn’t so hasty in assuming you’d be consistent for once / I wish with every inch of my being that you would scream my name to the world and feel a hint of what I feel / for now I pretend your face is a mound of clay / with no soul / and definitely not the guy who’s been my ideal man for years / I wonder if you’ll ever come around / I also wonder how badly my heart will hurt if you never do
|22nd Feb 2012✧15:44
I judge how much you like me by how much carpet burn I have on my back. Some days are worse than others which makes me feel like I’m on top of the world because it means you care about me. Such a jaded view of how things really are but I hold on to the ounce of hope that you’ll come around, that you’ll see me as more than your conquest.
It’s like you’re having a party and everyone gets there and no one is having any fun. The food sucks, bored faces dot the walls, and your hunch punch has no one hunching. That feeling of failure while still trying to accommodate everyone and make them happy, is the exact feeling I feel when I’m with you. A lack of intimacy. We never make love and we always fuck on the floor. Sometimes the sofa is a nice change of pace, but I always leave with carpet burn on my knees and my back. It’s because you care about me, right?
We never go out, we always stay in. You say we should go to dinner but we never do. You tell me we should be spontaneous and mix up where we have sex but we usually end up on the floor. The love I give you is never reciprocated. The attention I give you is never reciprocated. Maybe twice. Yet I fall for you every time I see you. All of the past gets washed away and the current feels like new. The possibilities become fireworks in my brain, blasting away the memory of how you treated me the last time. I wish I could erase you, as if nothing ever happened. The memories of you fading in the wind.
I want you to fall like sand through my open fingers, slipping into the cracks of my icy heart. Warm me with your smile and your stories and the way you look at me after I make you laugh. Thinking about this shit is a waste of time. Dreaming about you feels like a knife to the gut. It won’t lead me anywhere but to an early grave. And you aren’t there.