an Untitled short story.

I started writing something the other night, because it’s been much too long since I wrote anything… I tried to make it into a short prose…
I’ve been feeling somewhat strange. I’m very glad I leave for Mexico tomorrow. I need to step up my game… there are so many things I want to do and ideas I have but I just can’t produce them. I’m so much too bitter.
so I’m starting up photography again, because I really do love that stuff…always have. writing, too. Here’s what I’ve got from the story so far… it’s extremely scattered.

So, it’s been almost, but not quite a month since we’ve laughed, touched, held, or looked at one another.  There’s something about communication outside of actual contact that seems so superficial.  Not to say that without technologoy, without cell phones, without e-mail, hell, without a built in camera, the idea of us still being able to concentrate on the love we have for one another, would be difficult.  It brings me to wonder, how strong is love? Does the capacity of our mind change with the times… advancement of generation means lack of patience…. Lack of patience… we always crave humans, minutes later bitching about the tendencies of the incompetent race of mammals. I have two mannequin heads in my closet. One of them is terribly disheveled as I spent many nights with a group of friends kicking it around, standing in the same places, as if there was no where else to go except the West end of City Park. Going nowhere, it was okay… we all laughed, in pairs we hugged and kissed.  I have two mannequin heads in my closet that have a ridiculous connotation… sometimes I wish I had never pursued such an unorthodox relationship.  It began to rain the other day, I listened to Leonard Cohen and Light Travels Faster…brining my mind back to the days of naïve thought, break-ups, break-downs, and then I was beat.  Beat down, I was terribly beat down with the system.  Later, this beat down feeling turned into chronicles of obsession. Until I threw it all away, sat in the apartment filled with cigarette smoke and incense, to this day I am drowned in nostalgia… It, him, us. Never knew where to go… I contemplated every night. I scribbled down ideas, I scribbled down shitty prose and poetry, and even shittier drawings.  Just to bring me out of an atmosphere I did not care for. This brought me completely out of touch with love, with appreciation, with family, with friends.  I hopped on a train and my mind raced with the scenery. Whether it be trees, whether it be snow, so much god damn snow, the neon signs for pathetic fast food, or even the sunrises, the sunsets that almost brought to me to tears…my mind struggled for new thoughts, new ideas. A resolution. Resolutions; as if walking down Colfax Ave in freezing cold weather, light headed from hookah smoke, and light minded from long conversation between two older men who have lived more, seen more, know more… would do me any good.  Lost romance still pained my heart, paucity of real friendship seemed hazy, as I refused to believe it.  So, there I went, busting my ass… finally I changed my direction of education… I started to believe that I can bring myself out of this unwanted place.  I was not removed of the need for beauty and love, though.  As soon as necessities were fulfilled I became even more materialized.  It may be a routine… I may be like every other girl, wishing for beauty, wishing for someone to hold onto. I had that someone, yet so out of reach…I took a roadtrip with my best friend. I had no idea where he was, or even who he was. I made myself believe he did not have a place in my heart. Hell, I said, I’m still young… but there he was, sitting next to me, too impossible not to bury my face in his chest.  I brought myself to tears.  Tears of joy, because don’t you know, romance is the most beautiful sense of joy in the world.  Angst quit building up, eventually. Until I sat in the coffee shop one evening, as my archaic  mentor filled me up with sadness and anger… I fucked up. You fucked up. Isn’t that the forlorn exploit of growing up? Apparently, I was ahead of myself. Bullshit, bullshit and lies.  I threw it on the ground…. Embraced new friendships, and still had this beautiful romance. I still had two god damned mannequin heads in my closet. I tried my best to channel my energy. I wrote letters, I drew pictures, and there I went again with shitty prose and shitty poetry as I am doing now.  Sitting on the hood of the car, eating ice cream with three of my best friends, as I saw a piece of plastic being destroyed, laughing harder than I could remember. I’m taking that to my grave, it never happened. I just don’t know where it is. It was all finished. All finished. I woke up to a text message I never expected. I had a conversation that I never expected, either. So there we were… the end? The beginning? Neutrality is such bull shit. Hello, summer.  The days last so much longer, the love is so much greater… we had to say goodbye, goodbye, but not for long. We stood on my front porch. I tried my hardest not to let go. I wore his pants and knew it would be okay. I enjoyed my time on the beach, my time with the family… I got home and was cleaning, I found his hat.  I’ve spent the days busy…busy with friends, busy with work…. Having a good time.  Time well spent.  I’ve seen plenty of films and made myself wish I was a decent artist.  But even the impressionists copied the masters, so what is impressive art? Quality is so fake; authenticity is even less genuine.  Fuck, the human race is unique? At least that causes us without need to get hung up on quality. Face it, your art sucks. You’re not Picasso. But in one hundred years, after you have had the training, you have a masters, but you begin to copy the master’s work, and we find it locked away, maybe then my friend, maybe then in one hundred years you will have your art in a book or a museum. And maybe then I’ll have those fucking mannequin heads out of my closet.  Many days, I wonder if we will ever speak again. I wonder if I want to. But these days, I’m just counting down the date until I can be in my boy’s arms again. We’ve come a long way… a very long way. I don’t see it losing touch. I see us seeing those trees, snow storms, neon signs, sunsets, together… us, the beauty of us. I want us to have a puppy, a terribly cute one. Maybe one day even our own apartment. Fantasies are never reality. My right arm is terribly scraped up, bleeding, bruised. I can barely move it. I have blood on my sheets and have gone through many pieces of gauze and tape. Why don’t we wear helmets? Why don’t we care about things that matter? I started talking to old friends of mine. Old best friends. Absolute best friends. It brought me back to a state of contentment with where my “friendships” stand. Because then I realized, these people mean more to me than they will ever now. Maybe nostalgia of sitting in that apartment will over take me… I remember sitting on the exercise ball, laughing as he bent to get something, I always, quite secretly, thought he was so god damn hot, and I just fell off onto my ass.  Minutes later he went to put on his shoes and did the very same.  There were times when I just forgot who he was and wanted to touch him. You know, hands. It quickly left my mind, though. It was just random moments. I then realized maybe my efforts should be going elsewhere. In days these efforts will have paid off. I’m going to Mexico to offer my help to under privileged children. I want to take pictures there. Meaningful ones. Why is the need for nice equipment so prominent? Needs….i hope I enjoy myself. I cannot wait until I come home. Back to his arms. We will spend nights under the stars. I will not know what’s going on with anybody else. My arm keeps getting stuck to my sheet.  There are some days, where you can’t help but feel figuratively stuck. Not stuck like the bloody wound on my arm, but quite baffled.  Isn’t it unbelievable how our loved ones are just filled with thoughts that make us feel as if we are just another face in the crowd?  There are days when I wished back in the winter or the early spring time, I showed affection because I missed the feeling of being exclusive with an individual.  You spend the afternoon pleasuring one another when that very same night they are pouring into another girls’ heart.  Walking down Broadway, being complimented by the old broken down bums, indie love songs flowing through my head, as I wanted nothing  more but a hand to hold. I was missing a glove but I wasn’t missing the need for tenderness.  I miss having someone to kiss. We stared at the lake, the ducks splashing in the water, our bicycles thrown to the ground.  Later that night I realized some things are just not meant to happen.  Spiritual connections cannot be taken for granted.  Still, what good came out of the warm embracement of someone who had other ideas and plans? Still looked to me as a muse, yet I acted so apathetic.  Apathy, oh sweet apathy, sometimes masking the need and want for love is so impossible.  God damn, who am I kidding I thought? I can never tell, never ever tell… I went on a date, what a different thing for me. We talked about travel, about places that I have only seen in pictures, about places that I could only dream to see one day, my one passion.  He told me he wanted to take me there, he wanted to learn from me and made the point to say I could learn from him.  I thought this was the beginning of the end.  The end of an era, the end of almost two years, when we had spent the last several months juggling ourselves.  We came back to each other, I said I’m not ready, or more so, I cannot love anyone else to this inadequate pawn and there we were…sitting in the car, the sun beating down, facing the zoo. My head buried, makeup residue on his tee shirt, the idea of “love” became prominent in my mind.  But I still wondered, who am I in this sea of billions? In his sea of several? Although now to this day, I am not scared. I feel inadequate and there are many traits that make him vulnerable, impressionable, that make me feel as if I’m translucent… no one really knows the ones they love… But still to this day, many more days to come, I still want a puppy.  I want us to continue laughing, even laughing at those god damn mannequin heads in my closet.  I want us to travel together, previous thoughts left behind.  This is growing up.  I remember I fucked up.  Or maybe I have continued to fuck up.  Although, sometimes through the pessimistic haze we forget the memories that create heartbreak and shame, because who are we kidding? We didn’t go this far for nothing.