Well, today is the fourth of July. I’m pretty sure everybody in the United States (already excluding infants) acknowledges the importance of the day. I don’t feel like I need to give an entire discourse on it. It gives the pyromaniacs the freedom once a year to come out of their basements with their new devices of amusement and awe.
Completely ignoring the fact that I should be celebrating the day (it’s only 2 in the morning) for the time being, I will give you a small lecture on unrequited love.
I’m sure there’s a minority of perfect people with perfect lives that have had all of the chips fall into place sequentially and executed everything the way it should be in life by avoiding every little discomfort imaginable. For the majority, we jest at the idea of a perfect life. It’s ideal to think about. Our dreams do indeed circle around the things we want the most and are willing to work for to make it better. And as the chips fall in place for us, we live with what we’re dealt with. The value of what we’ve got is entirely dependent on an opinion. Everyone has some kind of significance. How much? Up to you.
I think it was second grade when I had my first crush. I can’t remember if there was any before that; I highly doubt there was. Her name was Amber Johnson. And so all these crushes developed as I matured through adolescence and I began thinking more often about women, instead of more lucrative topics during lessons. I could never get my mind off of them. They were so pretty, so fragile, and yet they were all born to care for another and provide something more deeply than ever to change any man’s perspective on life. People change people and love changes everyone.
All of this time I saw the boys I knew grow to be men (in a sense) now that they were keeping a tryst with women. And I could never figure out how they did it. My best friend, Andrew, and I thought about women frequently. We wondered how these dumb apes could put the sticks together and gain some esoteric knowledge or insight into women while we sucked so miserably at it. We were definitely good at book work. We were just as retarded as we thought about women.
By the end of high school, all we managed to accomplish were a few rejections. I’m not sure about him, but I understand girls a little better now. Of course, all those supplementary penis enlarging growth pills helped. I joke. Anyway, I guess through trial-and-error, you find out your answer after a few shakes and breaks, and your end product is something you could be happy with.
I figure predating the acquisition of my girlfriend that all of these failures were something I could learn from. And hopefully something that everyone else can learn from too.
The subject I was alluding to as I mentioned was unrequited love.
I’ll use my last crush as the ideal example.
When I moved to California, I was nothing but a Harry Potter enthusiast, science-imbibing, video game crazed, mysterious boy. At the beginning, I was anxious to make friends because of how my past experience had been – left without them. As I was getting to know the people around me and what life had to offer, my eyes fell on a woman, who helped and hindered me. I’d be sitting at my table alone with one of the many books I had about math or science that I got from the library, but when she passed by or I had her in sight, I managed not to read or remember a single sentence from the book. She’d be sitting with her friends enjoying herself, laughing, and curiously, I wondered what it would be like if I was the one making her. She was easy on the eyes, and I quickly “fell in love” with her.
I have a little problem. I’ve got a good mind and nothing is that screwed up about me, but my social skills are not/were not adequate to fit her when I first spoke to her. I had her in a class of mine and we would make a few comments to each other, nothing other than the work. After months of this pathetic performance, I was quite fed up with the situation. I bought Zoloft and overdosed. And then I bought those peni…joking. Every time I saw her, I knew what I wanted from her. I wanted to be the one to make her laugh, a person to talk to, anybody. I didn’t just want to be her classmate. I didn’t want her to just overlook my case.
My opportunity strikes. I had to take the bus after school because that was my only method of transitioning me from one place to another, so I hopped aboard and she happened to be there. Every seat – I say this with certainty – was taken. All except for the one next to her. Politely as I could, I asked if I could please sit next to her, even though it was inevitable anyway that I would have to since the bus driver has a short fuse. Ten minutes I struggled. Ten minutes I struggled to say something intelligible. I was thinking and panicking because the words were not vocalizing; they were internalizing and annoying the shit out of me. It felt like I had been stripped of my vocal cords and only able to function as a writer. That was no good. I wasn’t going to whip out the college-ruled paper and write “Hi” in huge, gray, graphite letters. So I said something. I can tell you I came home happy because I made her say, “Why are we laughing?”
But as our conversations lit up like the nightlights in Vegas, it was only me who felt anything. In my head, I thought of our conversations as something that transcended the ordinary, platonic enclosure. Looking back, I realized it was nothing but meaningless small talk. You see, when you feel like your heart has wings, you’re probably a bit crazy when you don’t know how the other person truly feels. It’s a sad thing, knowing that what you’ve got is something you’ve learned of from only your hopes and dreams. Having been told that there was no such similar connection, I wondered what I had done wrong. Of course, I didn’t ask. It wouldn’t be embarrassing, but I was too vulnerable and let in the doubt that I might never find somebody. So like the man I am, I thought for some time. I came to the conclusion that it was nothing else than the great affliction of unrequited love. A one-sided temporary delight and at the expense of your affection, you throw your dice and see if you come back lucky or shit out of luck. The latter, that aching, sorrowful, disappointing blow that hauntingly recurs is your reality.
It hurts. To know that your range of emotions can be felt so deeply, every one of them for this person, although all they feel virtually nothing that causes them to think like you do.
To you, they are everywhere. To you, they are all you think about. And to them, you have just been that boy who sat next to a girl who, with all of her laughter, could find my feelings a joke. That’s at least how I felt. It might’ve been just the bitterness clouding my judgment, but you know what you’re feeling and you can’t do anything about it but fuss. It hurts badly to be unloved. And especially if there’s no reason you should be.
I am fairly competent. My looks are sufficient; I did not fall into a radioactive lake. I am nice. I have all these qualities, which none were realized nor ever considered much good when it came to women. At least until I met Jess. You go on not knowing why or being able to explain this absence, this cold and brooding personal trouble. And I’m sorry you feel it because I’ve felt it too, as I’ve been trying to relate.
But you will meet someone. For me, that person is Jess. And what I feel is so contradictory because at the same time it can be simple yet complicated. It’s a feeling, which I might add, I am not smart enough to define and no one ever born has been smart enough to coin. It’s not love, but that’s what Google would tell you.
What I have for her is something much deeper, something disassociated with hurt or malice. It’s a pure and eternal alternative or novel feeling, quite possibly, an improvement on love. And I have learned that she has been so much affected with me as I am with her. And I have learned that this feeling, although science teaches me that nothing is ever for sure and encourages doubt, I will feel forever. It is ageless and priceless.
I have never had much, but what I have is her and that will always be enough.
Happy fourth of July. It’s 3:44 AM now.
Completely ignoring the fact that I should be celebrating the day (it’s only 2 in the morning) for the time being, I will give you a small lecture on unrequited love.
I’m sure there’s a minority of perfect people with perfect lives that have had all of the chips fall into place sequentially and executed everything the way it should be in life by avoiding every little discomfort imaginable. For the majority, we jest at the idea of a perfect life. It’s ideal to think about. Our dreams do indeed circle around the things we want the most and are willing to work for to make it better. And as the chips fall in place for us, we live with what we’re dealt with. The value of what we’ve got is entirely dependent on an opinion. Everyone has some kind of significance. How much? Up to you.
I think it was second grade when I had my first crush. I can’t remember if there was any before that; I highly doubt there was. Her name was Amber Johnson. And so all these crushes developed as I matured through adolescence and I began thinking more often about women, instead of more lucrative topics during lessons. I could never get my mind off of them. They were so pretty, so fragile, and yet they were all born to care for another and provide something more deeply than ever to change any man’s perspective on life. People change people and love changes everyone.
All of this time I saw the boys I knew grow to be men (in a sense) now that they were keeping a tryst with women. And I could never figure out how they did it. My best friend, Andrew, and I thought about women frequently. We wondered how these dumb apes could put the sticks together and gain some esoteric knowledge or insight into women while we sucked so miserably at it. We were definitely good at book work. We were just as retarded as we thought about women.
By the end of high school, all we managed to accomplish were a few rejections. I’m not sure about him, but I understand girls a little better now. Of course, all those supplementary penis enlarging growth pills helped. I joke. Anyway, I guess through trial-and-error, you find out your answer after a few shakes and breaks, and your end product is something you could be happy with.
I figure predating the acquisition of my girlfriend that all of these failures were something I could learn from. And hopefully something that everyone else can learn from too.
The subject I was alluding to as I mentioned was unrequited love.
I’ll use my last crush as the ideal example.
When I moved to California, I was nothing but a Harry Potter enthusiast, science-imbibing, video game crazed, mysterious boy. At the beginning, I was anxious to make friends because of how my past experience had been – left without them. As I was getting to know the people around me and what life had to offer, my eyes fell on a woman, who helped and hindered me. I’d be sitting at my table alone with one of the many books I had about math or science that I got from the library, but when she passed by or I had her in sight, I managed not to read or remember a single sentence from the book. She’d be sitting with her friends enjoying herself, laughing, and curiously, I wondered what it would be like if I was the one making her. She was easy on the eyes, and I quickly “fell in love” with her.
I have a little problem. I’ve got a good mind and nothing is that screwed up about me, but my social skills are not/were not adequate to fit her when I first spoke to her. I had her in a class of mine and we would make a few comments to each other, nothing other than the work. After months of this pathetic performance, I was quite fed up with the situation. I bought Zoloft and overdosed. And then I bought those peni…joking. Every time I saw her, I knew what I wanted from her. I wanted to be the one to make her laugh, a person to talk to, anybody. I didn’t just want to be her classmate. I didn’t want her to just overlook my case.
My opportunity strikes. I had to take the bus after school because that was my only method of transitioning me from one place to another, so I hopped aboard and she happened to be there. Every seat – I say this with certainty – was taken. All except for the one next to her. Politely as I could, I asked if I could please sit next to her, even though it was inevitable anyway that I would have to since the bus driver has a short fuse. Ten minutes I struggled. Ten minutes I struggled to say something intelligible. I was thinking and panicking because the words were not vocalizing; they were internalizing and annoying the shit out of me. It felt like I had been stripped of my vocal cords and only able to function as a writer. That was no good. I wasn’t going to whip out the college-ruled paper and write “Hi” in huge, gray, graphite letters. So I said something. I can tell you I came home happy because I made her say, “Why are we laughing?”
But as our conversations lit up like the nightlights in Vegas, it was only me who felt anything. In my head, I thought of our conversations as something that transcended the ordinary, platonic enclosure. Looking back, I realized it was nothing but meaningless small talk. You see, when you feel like your heart has wings, you’re probably a bit crazy when you don’t know how the other person truly feels. It’s a sad thing, knowing that what you’ve got is something you’ve learned of from only your hopes and dreams. Having been told that there was no such similar connection, I wondered what I had done wrong. Of course, I didn’t ask. It wouldn’t be embarrassing, but I was too vulnerable and let in the doubt that I might never find somebody. So like the man I am, I thought for some time. I came to the conclusion that it was nothing else than the great affliction of unrequited love. A one-sided temporary delight and at the expense of your affection, you throw your dice and see if you come back lucky or shit out of luck. The latter, that aching, sorrowful, disappointing blow that hauntingly recurs is your reality.
It hurts. To know that your range of emotions can be felt so deeply, every one of them for this person, although all they feel virtually nothing that causes them to think like you do.
To you, they are everywhere. To you, they are all you think about. And to them, you have just been that boy who sat next to a girl who, with all of her laughter, could find my feelings a joke. That’s at least how I felt. It might’ve been just the bitterness clouding my judgment, but you know what you’re feeling and you can’t do anything about it but fuss. It hurts badly to be unloved. And especially if there’s no reason you should be.
I am fairly competent. My looks are sufficient; I did not fall into a radioactive lake. I am nice. I have all these qualities, which none were realized nor ever considered much good when it came to women. At least until I met Jess. You go on not knowing why or being able to explain this absence, this cold and brooding personal trouble. And I’m sorry you feel it because I’ve felt it too, as I’ve been trying to relate.
But you will meet someone. For me, that person is Jess. And what I feel is so contradictory because at the same time it can be simple yet complicated. It’s a feeling, which I might add, I am not smart enough to define and no one ever born has been smart enough to coin. It’s not love, but that’s what Google would tell you.
What I have for her is something much deeper, something disassociated with hurt or malice. It’s a pure and eternal alternative or novel feeling, quite possibly, an improvement on love. And I have learned that she has been so much affected with me as I am with her. And I have learned that this feeling, although science teaches me that nothing is ever for sure and encourages doubt, I will feel forever. It is ageless and priceless.
I have never had much, but what I have is her and that will always be enough.
Happy fourth of July. It’s 3:44 AM now.
1 comment:
I love you.
That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read.
Marry me now, yeah?
Isn't it a perfect closure to life, knowing we both have each other?
I can't phrase words into beautiful, ornate passages like you can. But what I can say is that you are the single most enchanting, intriguing and emotionally stimulating person I have ever had the pleasure to meet.
I agree with you. The word ‘love’ seems so inadequate. Whenever I tell you I love you, I want to add on something more, words so powerful that you can’t mistake them for anything else. I suppose millions of people have searched for those words. I doubt they exist.
I love you Casey Martinson. With everything I am, I love you.
In the words of someone you know I admire:
“When one's expectations are reduced to zero, one really appreciates everything one does have” – Stephen Hawking.
- Jess. <33
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