I heard the most beautiful string of words that were put together to describe love last night. “Waking up each morning, looking over to your partner and understanding why you love them more and more each day”.
It was a realization about life and love. Love and life. I’ve been here for a few years wandering this reality, and incompatible instance of time. Those words were from a woman who was having a conversation with what appeared to be an old friend. They were obviously catching up; the laughter, the smiles and even tears; it wasn’t mushy to watch from the corner of my eye.. It was poetry and life in motion, and unfolding.
In a few short words, this woman with a cheesier cat smile like no other explained the definition of love. I then started to reflect upon my own life, and miscellaneous points of confusion and as myself, if I ever felt that way. The response that came from the shadows and echos of my mind was: “Answer foggy, try again”. Yes my fucking head works like a magic eight ball sometimes.
This was the truth though. In reflection of the random shit storm incidents in my life that were masked with denial or sadness… This was one was definitely the truth. I really didn’t know the answer to this. Fuck.
Fuck
Fuck
and Fuck.
Reality is a bitch sometimes. I looked at that man in the corner of my eye, and saw that he indeed loved his friend, and she too was in love with him; but there was an element missing that didn’t make them whole. Their relationship would only be logical; not mystical. I felt for him and her. It was a visible but invisible barrier that was the handicap for the both of them. But this is the reality of relationships and life, no less.
At that point, I understand why my mother loved to cook so much. Random, yes. But it makes sense, as I type in this living journal. it’s the release. It’s the art form; it’s the freedom from the monotony that your relationship had spiraled down into. Relationships that were based on survival. Survival was a key lesson that was shared in the time I’m from.
It’s just funny though.
You are seperated from that element, and taken to a point of time in which you can reflect on what you didn’t understand or took for granted. In the end, I’m still so cold. I watch the goose bumps grow on my arms, and my hair stand on end when it’s fucking warm and toasty in LA. It’s just a bitter reminder of how much I fucking hate everything; and what I’ve become.
A lost transient, who has come to the realization that he’s never coming home again.
Fuck.
My tears are so full of alcohol, they numb my fucking face as they stream.