Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Nothing's Gonna Change My World.

7 days.

I should be writing about graduating from a magical place. About stepping into a whirlwind decade and the realization of it by a glamorous age. About the upcoming distance from the only two life-long bonds I've known, or the only third genuine one anyone can ever know. About finally striking off a million options. About the hope of finding my 'calling.' Or being smitten by the charm of responsibilities. About figuring out the key to the lock on the old and dirty window-pane and slowly cracking it open. Or maybe even about the small number of beautiful people I'd like to transport with me. But instead I choose to rant like a child about these 7 days. It's ok, it's alright. 

On the third day now, I think I know about all the mistakes I've made. I never should've recoiled after the first time that I let you go. Never should've given in. But once I did I mistook the friendship for the love and the love for the friendship. And now I don't know which one makes it harder to breathe. Harder to not pause at your name. Harder to keep scrolling and pretending that I feel nothing. 

You said you weren't my type. And you couldn't be more right. My type would smell like the rain, taste like midnight, sound like the ocean, look like the pages of my favorite book and feel like hot chocolate. He would write songs through the day for me on crumpled sheets of paper, and then play them out on a broken guitar by night. He would say my name each time like he was saying it for the first time. He would have mastered the art of getting by but would only feel extremes by my touch, my presence, my thoughts. He would make sure I knew. He would be the only thing that mattered, that felt better than a combination of chai, cigarettes, a rainy day and Across the Universe. He wouldn't obsess over an adolescent city, but he would appreciate it's murky beauty. He would appreciate it's ability to show dreams, to be the projector of a slideshow, but never confuse it to be the dream itself. He would let his heart break, and then allow someone to fix it, to try and mend it in their own dodgy way. He'd make it rain when my life was a desert and then grab me by the waist and waltz for hours. He would know what, when and how, before I did. He'd be able to make cheap vodka taste like the finest scotch. He would believe in magic and somewhere-far-away and could make me believe in princes and fairy-tales again. All the world's a stage and he would be the director. He wouldn't say one thing and mean another. He wouldn't be able to tell the difference between thorns and roses. Between guns and bullets. Between bloodbaths and strawberry fields. Between me and him. 

My type would sweep me off my feet. I deserve my type. You're not my type. 

-You may be a lover 
But you ain't no dancer : The Beatles


  1. After looking for him for a long while, often confusing the new men for the one that got away a long long time ago, I soon settled for believing that my type does not exist. And then life I guess, moved on.

    1. I'm a 23 year old guy and that's exactly how I've felt about women for the last 5 to 6 years. My type doesn't exist. I am convinced that they went extinct a long time ago. I've brought this up to a few people before and every time they tell me "Oh, don't give up, there's plenty of fish" - you know, all the usual B.S. I don't buy ANY of it. I honestly think romance is dead and possibly never existed in the first place. It's quite possible (at least in my opinion) that romance is a figment of our imagination, a term we invented to describe something that isn't actually romance at all. I feel strangely at peace with this thought. I actually get a lot of satisfaction from turning women down. Does that make me a jerk? I don't think it does... I don't do it to be hurtful. I just do it because I really don't like these women... Many of these women are actually very attractive, but I personally think that they're really ugly on the inside... I had a troubled childhood and girls always treated me like a sack of sh**. Now that I'm older, wealthier, more good-looking, women try to hit on me. I always turn them down now. Guess you could say I'm just giving them a dose of their own medicine. It's weird because it feels so good when I turn them down. I think I get more satisfaction out of turning them down than I got out of having sex! Anyway, just thought I'd throw my two cents in. Have a good one :)

  2. This was, for lack of a better word, Beautiful.

  3. You blow me away each time. Keep writing :)

  4. 'Between me and him.'
    Yep, you deserve your type - someone just as awesome as you. Atta girl :)

  5. dreams. of a lover. or a beloved. can be dangerous. or so i have learned :)