thank you for letting me go.

my ride home...

it's 1247 am and just now am i climbing onto the bus at JFK. i have to take it to the L train to get home, and if i'm lucky i'll get home by 230 or so. that gives me just enough time to shower, change, make a little food and head back to the airport for work at 6am.

as i sit on this bus and type this out, all i can think about is how i wish i were coming home to you, just for a kiss.

to say i miss you is redundant.

to say i miss you is an undrstatement.

I overlooked us.

A strange event

An odd thing happened tonight, and it reminded me of you.

I had to work today into tonight having picked up a 1230-2030 (1230pm to 830pm) shift at JFK. The Tigers, now in the ALCS (American League Championship Series (Baseball (Sports))), were scheduled to play the Yankees at eight oclock eastern time. So by the time I got home the game would be about two hours old, meaning I would have missed most of it. Instead, when I walked out of terminal 7 and checked my phone for the score I was greeted with the information that the game had been postponed to tomorrow afternoon due to rain.

Just now I was reading an article about the postponed game and was reminded of the last time that a rain-out occurred in the playoffs: it was last year in the ALCS game two, once again involving the Tigers.

Thinking that the game was going to be played as usual (the game in 2011) I headed out to meet you, just in the hopes to hold your hand and steal a kiss or two.

For me, it was a pretty special night.

For me, you're a pretty special woman.

Edith Piaf - Padam, Padam

Happiness is catching a cab to get to work and hearing ensame a olividar on the radio. thinking warmly of you Bonita :)

the end.

I am eccentric. as i age i not only realize this about myself but i also further embrace it. i think what made me love you was the way in which you were weird too, and how you loved my weird.

For the last few weeks - and really months - i have been all too focused upon the negative, the void that your absence created. and to be honest, it has been great. through embracing such pain and anguish i have been able to recognize just how passionately i loved you. the band-aid hurts the most when it is removed only because the bond to the skin was so fierce. I loved you so much that it was reflected in how much i hurt not having you.

But it is finally time to say goodbye. There is an old parable that speaks of two monks walking down the road. when they encounter a woman in a long lace dress standing at the corner they asked on what it was that she waited. The woman explained that she could not cross the street for fear that if she did, her dress would surely become quite heavily soiled. Upon hearing this, the first monk picked up the woman, carried her across the street and promptly set her down. The woman thanked the monk for the deed, and the two monks continued down the road in the direction that they had been traveling.

The monks walked together in silence, and as the hours turned made no mention of the woman. It was then that the second monk questioned the first one about his deed.

"Why did you pick up that woman back there and carry her across the street," questioned the second monk to the first. "It is not our job to do things like that and worry about such problems."

The first monk stopped, turned towards the second monk and warmly replied, "I set her down five hours ago. Why are you still carrying her?"

It is this way that I feel about you and us. I have continued to carry our love and what was into the present even though it no long has a home here. And that's ok. It's ok that things have ended between us, for it doesn't matter whether I mind or not, it doesn't change the reality that exists.

The once was a motivational speaker - or guru for a better definition - named J Krishnamourti. He traveled the world for years giving talks and lectures about happiness and the keys to life. One day, Krishnamourti posed the most basic of questions to his audience, some of which had been following the guru for 18-20 years.

"Do you want to know my secret," Krishnamourti demanded. "My secret is this: I do not mind what happens."

And that is perhaps the most important thing that I must remember now. I am not coming back to Chicago, nor are you coming to New York nor Paris. We can't work, at least not in this way. You're right.

But that doesn't change how much I love you nor how wonderful I think you are. I just need to remember the good. And there sure was a lot of it!

You're skirls have to be number one. I love them more than you will ever know. They are you and you I love. The couple at that Chinese restaurant that thought we were so cute. Te culo fntastico. The cute "K Names". Getting fresh at the wax museum. The smells of our alley way and bridge dates. Spending the days together in my apartment, especially when it was cold. McDonald's. Looking forward to being raped in the changing room. Sneaking kisses. Your giggle, your smile. Picnics at the park. Getting laughed at trying to get a first kiss. Too many to count. Too many to forget.

You were an awesome girlfriend, and made me feel really good about myself. I was really happy with you and having you in my life. And I felt like for the first time in my life I could truly be me and not worry at all what you thought because I KNEW you would love it, love me.

You were the biggest muse I have ever had, so inspiring to me to not only to explore life but to truly follow my heart in life. Bonita, I wish I were a better writer each and every time I write if only to be able to better convey how I love you and how you make me smile.

Il y avait des temps quand je voudrais parler en Francais parce que je ne sais pas quoi d'autre je peut te dire de mon amour. J t'aime mes Skirls, et il n'y a pas les mots dans tout les langues que peut t'explique sa en tout.

Yo te quiero mi amour. Yo ablas l'Espanol solamente para ti, para mi corizon te tengo.

I am never going to forget you, but I cannot keep carrying you into my present when you cannot actually be here. I'm sorry for all that I've done, all that we've done. I love you and think you're awesome. =)

So here's a little music that reminds me of you and of us, and I hope that it helps to put a smile on your face the way it always plasters one on mine.

I love you Bonita, now and forever.

you make me smile. I love you Bonita

lucky

maybe if i'm lucky you will become a dream.

maybe if i'm lucky you will become a distant memory.

maybe if i'm lucky i can take away how you're real.

or maybe if im lucky i will simply begin to forget.

the love of hate

how i so desperately want to hate you.

would it be easier if i did?

would i be able to shuffle my feelings of and towards you into a little box, never to be examined again?

would i be able to get you out of my head?

maybe its just easier for me to think of you in such extreme terms as love and hate. after all, it is these passionate things that i can taste the most.

it is almost as though my love for you overwhelms me at times. it crashes down over and through my defenses, ambushes my awareness and manipulates my being.

i guess what hurt me the most is the feeling that you were so easy to give up on us. it's not  blame thing, but rather the misunderstanding of how you can love me as i love you yet are so willing to walk away from us. why is it that you can't wait? what is it that demands that you cannot wait for me? i just don't get how you wanted me in your life even after i moved here, yet are unwilling to wait for me to return.

i deal with these things, i wrestle with these thoughts, and i do not search for answers from you. instead i have made my own monologue as to what is, what was, and what could have been.

am i approaching the end?

will i ever dream without you again?

you're not allowed to be real.

You don't have the right to know me. You don't have the right to be real.

If I write enough about you, about us, about my heart, can i make it surreal? Is it possible to actually evoke my love in a way that all can understand? If I speak enough about it, can I turn what was, what never was, about us into a story?

I keep hoping that somehow I can remove myself from you. I often wonder if it is possible that if I dedicate enough of my time, energy, emotion, and drive into it (it being us - or what was us) that it will become surreal. It's like I hope that if I think and talk about it enough that it will truly become a fable or epic saga rather than that which is or was.

I love writing on your blog. It is a way for me to speak to you without truly knowing if you are actually hearing me. These things that I feel and have share are perverse and quite sadistic [as it pertains to or is characterized by sadism; deriving pleasure from extreme cruelty]. They are not that which you should be bombarded with. It's not fair for me to call you, text you, email you, facebook you - ANYTHING "you". But the blog is the exception to the rule. It is a way that gives you a choice to hear what it is I have to say. I am free in the way in which I share on your blog because I do not know if you're reading it. And it is fair for me to write on your blog because you are the one who makes the choice to read it.

I cannot any longer be attached to you. Yesterday I put on the new york belly shirt you gave me. I was feeling silly and thought that embracing something tangeable that was you would allow me to further embrace my feelings and emotions as they related to you. Lately I have really begun to cherish the pain and anguish that I am left with. At first I believed that this trance I have been in over you was counterproductive towards my other (artistic) outlets. I have seldom written, painted, drawn, goofed around, photographed, explored, or Central Park'd. It seems as though I am in a malaise over you, over us.

It was only recently, within  day or two, that I have begun to embrace my sorrow, as if somehow doing so helps me identify with a certain clarity the fall I had over you. Somehow I feel like I am simply allowing and maybe even enjoying the sadness I am enveloped in. By remembering that it is the loss of such a great inspiration of happiness that you are which drives the sadness. Ultimately, I just remember that it hurts so much because it felt so good and right.

Perhaps more importantly, or at least as interestingly, I have come to discover that this lamenting of what is or was of us is not destructive or negative. I love winter. I think it is partially because of the sports, the snow, the holidays, the family, everything that goes along with it. I am also aware that it is partially because it is Canadian, and I embrace all that is Canadian. But I always tell people, "look, I love the winter. But even if you don't look at it this way, 'it's the winter, the bad, that makes the summer, the good, so good.'" That's how I feel about the loss, the void, the empty space that echo's only for you. This anguish is my winter. In a way, the time I had with you, the love I developed for you was and is so strong and voluptuous that it makes this current state I'm in so bitter sweet.

Your love created such a powerful hold over me that the way I feel now is like being scalded by hot water. Imagine when water flows so hot that the part of your body it touches is almost sent into shock. It is at these times that our body has trouble identifying the sensation and the signals are misinterpreted by our brains. These are the times that the water is so scalding hot that it actually kinda feels icy cold. That's how my heart feels right now. This hurt is like a fiery lava that washes over me like nothing else ever has. And it burns so brilliantly and devastatingly that it actually begins to feel cold.

That is how powerfully I love you. You were so good to me Bonita that even now in my most vulnerable and hurt, lonely and confused, rueful and sad state that I cherish how passionately I feel - and still feel about you really - over this, over us. How can something have been so good that it makes the bad feel good?

Last night when I put on the chemise (the blouse really) that you gave me it was in the attempt to use something tangible about us that would help intensify how I am feeling. My hope was that it would insspire even more of an outpouring of emotion and that I would possibly, maybe, most certainly hopefully be able to capture as much of it as I could. But as soon as the cloth passed over my nose I was sent into a tailapin; it still smelled like you.

The are classic, and sometimes even cliched, expressions that are used which convey a hightened sense of emotions. Most of the time, at least to me, they have always seemed over the top and quite an exageration. Who really looses their breath? Who's heart really skips a beat? These things never seemed real, especially not to be applicable in relation to a real person or a real relationship.

But with you they are.

You make fairtales come true. You make nightmares pierce the soul. You invade thoughts without warning or mercy. You arrest love.

Maybe if I write enough you will become a story. Maybe you can become a mere character in a life looked upon from the outside instead of felt from within.

Maybe if I just keep writing I can exponge you...

there was a csa job offered at ord. it stopped my heart. and i wondered if you have contemplated the same way.

5am you, sick over words

love

I dont know much

but i know i love you.

and its what plagues me. i cant escape you. i though i could leave you back in chicago. i thought i could dwell on the hurt that i feel. i though i could simply concentrate on the fact that you have moved on.

but i cant.

i want to hate you

i want to forget you

i want to not need you

but i cant.

every time the green light on my phone blinks my heart drops, thinking that it might be you.

every time that the green light blinks my heart breaks, for it is not you.

i dont know what you have done to me, i dont know how this love has possessed me so.

but i cannot go a day without thinking of you, without yearning for you.

why do you have to be so wonderful?

why did you have to introduce me to this love?

why do you have to be you?

i do not doubt that you will find someone better than me.

i just fear the likelyhood that i wont find bette than you.

every time i hear the name anthony, jose, or God forbit Karen my mind goes awry.

every time i see the destination dubai on a bag tag or ticket i think of taking you there.

every time i think or speak my broken spanglish i am only reminded how it made you giggle.

every wrist, every shoulder, every hip and every eye that comes close to resembling yours sends me into a tither.

i can only thank God that no one has the skirls that you do, for i fear that i would lose it all together.

what have you done to me?

why didnt you teach me how to forget you?

bonita, you have my heart, even if you no longer want it.

yousic

Some of the music that is you to me.

defining a dream

how i felt about every day i spent with you

i deleted the three text thread of our texts as soon as you sent the third, that it was you, Karen. i was worried that i would spew how desperately i crave you, and how my thoughts are often invaded by you.

I was scared that i would text you and receive no response, or perhaps not hear the response i want.

my two dreams

i had two dreams about you. just after we talked.

the first was you and i at British Airways, working for Cathay Pacific. we were joking along as we always do. I was flirting with you as I always do. and you were responding as you always do. i felt so warm and fuzzy, happy and in love to have you, but it was then that you star speaking with him. andy. the name you have given to him who has you now. once he appeared it was though as though he was always there. always between us. he was just noticed when it was with him that you left my dream and not with me.

The second dream was me as a police officer. there was some sort of riot going on, and so to report to work i showed up in my police shirt mostly buttoned, in my scrubs (covered in paint) and flip flop. Once I got to work I realized that i was in flip flops and scrubs, and that I had no change of clothes (as i do at jfk. in a panic i realized that i had to go out and deal with the problem, and to do so i needed to be in uniform, not in scrubs. i asked a coworker to borrow her car, as though i only i have my learners permit i knew that being a cop in the city i would be able to drive on my own. Instead, she suggested that we take a ride to my place with a few other people. When we got inside my apartment, i noticed that you were among those there. we, as we always do, gravitated towards one another. we spent the evening chatting and flirting and teasing as we always do, until you made it clear that you were leaving with him, with andy. he was someone who was there but not there but always there. again he who had you...

this is what i dreamed. this is how i desperately need you and how i disparagingly dont have you.

i didnt want it to be your number

i didnt want it to be you

sonnet

as soon as you texted me, i knew it was you

no one else reads your blog, save for the random russian of course

but the russian wouldnt be texting me

especially not from chicago


i have been on a bender ever since the last time we have talked

not too bad. just one that exists on off days

i dont tell you this now to instill a feeling of sadness, but rather to explain how i have put off my heart

it is easier to drink and be sad than it is to try and write you


I have lost all the will i had to write you

it is mostly because i do not trust my hand

i dont know whether it will be kind and endearing towards you or nasty and crude

for both are what my heart feel


a friend asked me how i feel about you

all i could do was explain my hate

for giving up before we began, for not fighting for us. for invalidating our relationship by so eagerly championing your current one. for introducing me to a love ive never known and one you forced me to have

or simply because i desperately need you