And I still wonder if maybe she just didn't want to hurt my feelings. Like she could see how many times I'd been hurt in the past. This history of pain I speak of, however, most of those painful memories don't even come from accomplished relationships or anything tangible. I always seem to push away the ones with whom I have something special, the people whom I rationalize as my 'talking friend,' while hurting myself chasing something that's not meant for me in the first place.
I digress. This fucking girl...
Even though I knew I couldn't have her, my eyes were glued to hers every time she crossed the dining room. The way she smiled at me, I knew there were sharing feelings in there somewhere. Or was it some kind of sadistic pity gazing down upon me? Maybe she got off on being unattainable. Sure, that would be a comforting conclusion.
Other cooks would comment, "man, I'd be walkin on clouds if a girl like her looked at me like that..." Words to make me kill, to pump my veins full of knives. Moloko plus be damned, there's nothing like a broken heart to sharpen you up for a bit of ye olde ultra violence.
I peruse craigslist missed connections like Caine walks the Earth, searching for traces of her...listlessly devouring the emotions of strangers, I'm a vampire. Like Sean fucking Bateman.
I came across this last night...
you left without saying goodbye, without giving me the chance to tell you how important you are, without giving me the opportunity to help you.
so many of your feelings are my feelings.
why couldn't we have been there for each other?
you know i love you; i will never forget you.
how fuckin perfect would that be?
I want to walk right into Cortez, the opportunity of a lifetime that I wasted to shit with the meandering of my personal life....I want to stomp up to that host booth in the middle of a busy service. Push her against a wall, hold her hands in my face and kiss the living shit out of her. A slow fucking motion, camera rotating, cheesy music blaring, heel kicking, Johnny fucking Cusack kiss. I want to hold her against my chest and be silent, to tell her that I'm in the wilderness without her. That even though things didn't work, that even seeing her walking around on fridays and saturdays helped me through the what had become an unbearable work situation.
I want to tell her that I know there's a connection, that we both feel it during that split second of hesitation before we break eye contact, that we're both FUCKED for having ignored it. That we're both retarded for not acknowledging it. That I would drag her plane to Portland out of the sky with my bare fucking hands to taste her lips one more time.
But life isn't framed in soft lighting and dramatic camera angles. This isn't a daytime soap. This isn't a teen drama. The good guy doesn't get the girl in the end. They both ultimately settle for something mediocre that keeps the world on an even keel. They make sure the bills get paid that their parents have grandchildren, that there's enough in the the Roth IRA for a decent retirement, that they might be able to afford a second car in the near future.
That's all for now. Maybe I'll talk about the bitter end of Cortez or the wedding in Arizona sometime soon. This was good.