December 31, 1998

December 31, 1998
I know we’re just like old friends

Fate. One of those crazy fucking words they like to throw around in the movies. A word people simultaneously preach their hatred and disbelief in but secretly embrace and dream of it’s elaborate existence.

We just can’t pretend

We like to believe there’s someone working the stoplights. There’s some grand method to all this madness. The beautiful girl who pulls up next to us at the stoplight isn’t just a coincidence, but rather, part of a complex plan devised by the great Stoplight Master.

That lovers make amends

I, personally, like to believe that the SM’s objective for me is the same as I’ve focused my tiny brain on.

We are reasons so unreal

My plan? Well, I don’t have a plan, per se. I have an objective. A goal. Not really that, even. The journey is truly the destination in itself. Shit. Fuck the cryptic-ness.

We can’t help but feel that something has been lost

Look, this is what I want. I’ll tell you as straight out as I possibly can. Maybe if I make a list Santa will bring me what I really want next year. As unoriginal and petty and stupid as it sounds, I want a girl.

But please you know you’re just like me

There’s so much more to that one thing, though. I want her to be a person I can talk to, share my secrets, my goals with. Someone who won’t look down on me when I switch from a rock station to a country station on my car stereo. Someone who respects my eclecticness. Someone who knows the gravity a touch or look can have. Someone who can look past the words to the meanings. Someone who can read between the lines, and knows that what I say to or about her (although on the outside may seem negative) could never be demeaning or meant to harm her. Someone for me to show the other side of the sun.

Next time I promise we’ll be

I tried to show Angie. I tried to be the guy every other guy doesn’t even want to be. I tried to show her that there is a guy in the world with a heart. I opened up to her. Told her things that I found myself wanting to hold back away from her, but nevertheless revealed to her in order to gain her trust. First you need trust. And while I was busy gaining her trust, I left something out. While I was busy buying her a rose at Albertson’s for no reason but to be nice, I forgot something. What did I forget?

Perfect

I want to show that girl, whoever she may be, a new way of looking at things. Appreciation. Holiness. That even in the depths of despair you can find hope and happiness… if you just look at things the right way. And I’m not even religious.

Perfect

I don’t want someone perfect. I want someone who can improve; like myself. I want someone who won’t settle. Who wants to learn and evolve and change and grow and have a personal revolution.

Perfect strangers down the line

I have this vision. In this vision, I’m just walking down the street. Some street downtown. Maybe The Drag. And I see this girl. This beautiful girl. And I know there’s more beauty than just what I see on the outside that this particular girl holds within. And our eyes meet as we near each other. That’s when the vision stops. Maybe that’s where Fate stops, too.

Lovers out of time

I watched the movie Can’t Hardly Wait yesterday and again today. And in the movie, they talk about how Fate brings people together through some of the most fucked up avenues, but that at the last instant, Fate stops. And that’s where we have to take over. That’s where free will comes in. Do I talk to her or don’t I? Do I let her pass out of my vision and out of my life, or do I turn around and stop her?

Memories unwind

I recently heard someone say that if you really want to punish a child, give them choices. Don’t send them to bed without supper. Give them choices.  Make them choose between not being able to use the phone or the television for a week. It’ll tear them apart, just the decision. And in fledging relationships (of all types), the initial decision to start a conversation or buy a girl a drink will kill us every time.

So far I still know who you are

There’s an economic term which is useful in explaining this. The term is “opportunity cost.” The dictionary definition of this phrase is: “the cost of making an investment that is the difference between the return on one investment and the return on an alternative.” Basically, what could be gained from doing one thing over another.

But now I wonder who I was…

Now, if we look at the decision before us (whether or not I should turn around and talk to the girl in this vision) in an “opportunity cost” manner, the decision would be easy. There’s everything to gain and little to lose in my striking up a conversation with this girl. So why, in the heat of the moment where the ocean meets the land molecule to molecule, do we hesitate and end up saying nothing?

Angel, you know it’s not the end

Of course, we’ve still got a lifetime of chances to turn this around. We think. We hope.

We’ll always be good friends

What I really want is to show a girl, my girl, that I am the right one. For once, and only once, I want to be The Right One — The One — for a girl and her be The One for me. I’d only need that one time.

The letters have been sent on

Do I really ask for too much? Probably.

So please, you always were so free

We silently, unknowingly tear apart of the fabric of community, friendliness, honesty, trust, holiness thread by thin thread. And then we sit back and wonder why we end up with nothing in the end. Why should God reward any of us? Do we really deserve any recognition?

You’ll see, I promise we’ll be

I want to feel someone else. To touch her soft skin. Smell her hair. Whisper in her ear. Change the world.

Perfect

The third rock from the sun. The Great Divide. The big pond. The free country. The oppressed. The scared brave. The end.

Perfect strangers when we meet

The music within. The big tipper. The daytripper. The mirror.

Strangers on the street

The season of change that never changes. The guy who wants a girl but who is probably the least prepared to take responsibility if the relationship exceeds his expectations. But is always ready to be held accountable if it fails miserably.

Lovers while we meet

Cracked. Straight. Poor. Silent.

Perfect

Do I have to be? I never will be. And neither will you. Get over it.

You know this has to be

But why does it have to be? Is there a method to the madness? Are the psychos killing the right people? Or is it all truly just random?

We always we’re so free

I knew I had failed with Angie when she said, “I thought you were a nice guy.” It won’t happen that way again. It won’t.

We promised that we’d be

I promise I’ll try to be

Perfect

For you.

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