Unfinished

I just had an hour and a half conversation (read: argument) with someone from my past about the word “relationship.” More specifically, about why we didn’t have one and why he was trying his damnedest to prove that we did. If I didn’t know any better, he would have led me to believe that I was one cruel, misleading, illogical bitch.

Without going into too much detail, let’s explore this word “relationship,” why we argued about it, and the reason I have very specific parameters for defining it. 

As a teenager, I was forced to deal with the harsh reality of what happens when one party is operating under the assumption that they are in a relationship while the other is not. I was dating a young man, exclusively, as it were, and things were progressing quite well. That is, until the day he dumped me. And if that wasn’t bad enough, in an off-kilter attempt to minimize the devastation, he told me I shouldn’t feel too bad, considering we were never really together to begin with. Mmmm. Hmmm. Wow. Recalling this still induces head shaking on my part. At the time I really felt like we were beyond the formalities of posing the actual question of, “Will you be my boyfriend/girlfriend?” This was due to the fact that the nature of our relationship to one another screamed boyfriend-girlfriend. Hours upon hours of telephone conversations – we would literally fall asleep on the phone and wake up in the morning for school with the phones still on our ears; swapping of jewelry – we wore each others chains; meeting parental units – my first time on punishment was actually because I didn’t have sense enough to know when to leave his parent’s house; amorous declarations – “I love you” was definitely spoken on a regular basis. So imagine my surprise when I was informed that all of this didn’t equal up to he and I being in a relationship. Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. You’ve got to be shittin’ me.  

(to be continued...)

"The Parting of Ways."

[...something I wrote to someone I loved.]

I’ve lain with you

I’ve coveted you

And now I apologize to you

‘Cause the things I’ve done

Completely contradict the fact that I love you

 

Yes. After laying in bed and awaiting sleep to fall upon me I felt compelled to say those things I never had the courage to say. My first impulse was to write a poem. But I told myself, “Fuck that.” I’m often told my poems are somewhat cryptic – which is true to an extent, but I say their perceptivity is just off. I’ve never known a person who’s face roused such contradictory feelings within me – such contentment and sadness. Every time I see you is the same as the first – on the way to see the ____, looking over my shoulder into the back seat, you and those lively brown eyes staring back at me. _______, I love you. I care for you far more than I should and I probably always will. I wish you nothing but happiness but I don’t want to regret never telling you exactly how I feel.