An aging Bostonian recluse... sounds pretty good
This is the strangest feeling in the world... I just wish it would come to me during the day, instead of at night, when it forms a coalition with caffeine to keep me awake. The clash of feelings, really... two pressure systems ramming into one another, causing awesome storms...
Incredible pain, remorse, regret, nostalgia, heartache, heartbreak... all that good stuff... the traditional breakup nonsense. Wondering if she's feeling the same things... hoping that all of this meant something. That things weren't so fucked up that the things we once had just don't matter anymore. Wanting so bad to hear her say they do.
All of that longing... but at the same time, there's this... this relief. For a long time, I had almost a fear that this was the only relationship I would ever be in... things were going so well, and I was so shortsighted. I don't have to feel that anymore. There's also a kind of hope, and excitement... of new relationships and a new life... and, I hate to say it, one without all the inconveniences of distance. I fought with myself for a long time over whether it was worth it to stay in a long distance relationship... she worked hard and convinced me it was. And, I think, still would be... but that's the other half of my head talking.
I hurt, but I'm starting to see that there's so much more I can do besides hurt. And... that hurts. I feel like I should be in pain forever... something really dramatic...
"He never quite got over his first love... or so he used to tell people. Galen was never in another relationship, casual or otherwise after losing his college sweetheart... they had shared every detail of their days together... he never quite learned how to live without that. Galen lived out the rest of his life, alone, in a small apartment in Boston, making a modest living as a high school math teacher. While his students always said he was a good, caring teacher, they all recalled that he never got close to anyone... always had a distant look in his eyes, as though he was reliving a better time while writing equations on the dusty chalkboard. They all knew he was lonely. They all knew he loved her. They didn't know how deep that love went.
In the summer of his 87th year, Galen was found dead in his apartment by his niece, who came by every day to bring his groceries. He was sitting peacefully in his favorite chair... a faint smile on his wrinkled face. In his hands, a framed picture of his love, from many many years ago.
When his niece cleaned out his apartment, she decided to flip through his many books, just to see if there was anything her kids might enjoy. He had thousands... textbooks, Great Authors, classic, controversial literature... But one bookshelf of maybe 200 leather-bound editions had always intrigued her... they were unmarked, and she had always assumed they must be a series of encyclopedias, or maybe something from a book club.
No, they weren't a reference series, or Reader's Digest Condensed books series... they were journals. Several hundred journals... each filled with his loving handwriting. Several pages for every day of the last 67 years... listing his thoughts, his feelings, his memories... of her... the woman he had loved so dearly.
Every single one of the 24,471 entries was addressed to the same person. They were really letters, asking how she was, what she was up to, asking if she had kids, or a job... how the acting career was going... mentioning that he had read about the theatre she opened up, but regretfully was unable to visit to see it. Every letter began with the same greeting:
'Hey Cat!'"
But, that would be absurd.
So I'm finding excitement in the idea of moving on. Of figuring out who I am and what I want... and live knowing that relationships will probably come and go...
In the meantime, I need this mental storm to let up long enough for me to catch some sleep.
This is the strangest feeling in the world... I just wish it would come to me during the day, instead of at night, when it forms a coalition with caffeine to keep me awake. The clash of feelings, really... two pressure systems ramming into one another, causing awesome storms...
Incredible pain, remorse, regret, nostalgia, heartache, heartbreak... all that good stuff... the traditional breakup nonsense. Wondering if she's feeling the same things... hoping that all of this meant something. That things weren't so fucked up that the things we once had just don't matter anymore. Wanting so bad to hear her say they do.
All of that longing... but at the same time, there's this... this relief. For a long time, I had almost a fear that this was the only relationship I would ever be in... things were going so well, and I was so shortsighted. I don't have to feel that anymore. There's also a kind of hope, and excitement... of new relationships and a new life... and, I hate to say it, one without all the inconveniences of distance. I fought with myself for a long time over whether it was worth it to stay in a long distance relationship... she worked hard and convinced me it was. And, I think, still would be... but that's the other half of my head talking.
I hurt, but I'm starting to see that there's so much more I can do besides hurt. And... that hurts. I feel like I should be in pain forever... something really dramatic...
"He never quite got over his first love... or so he used to tell people. Galen was never in another relationship, casual or otherwise after losing his college sweetheart... they had shared every detail of their days together... he never quite learned how to live without that. Galen lived out the rest of his life, alone, in a small apartment in Boston, making a modest living as a high school math teacher. While his students always said he was a good, caring teacher, they all recalled that he never got close to anyone... always had a distant look in his eyes, as though he was reliving a better time while writing equations on the dusty chalkboard. They all knew he was lonely. They all knew he loved her. They didn't know how deep that love went.
In the summer of his 87th year, Galen was found dead in his apartment by his niece, who came by every day to bring his groceries. He was sitting peacefully in his favorite chair... a faint smile on his wrinkled face. In his hands, a framed picture of his love, from many many years ago.
When his niece cleaned out his apartment, she decided to flip through his many books, just to see if there was anything her kids might enjoy. He had thousands... textbooks, Great Authors, classic, controversial literature... But one bookshelf of maybe 200 leather-bound editions had always intrigued her... they were unmarked, and she had always assumed they must be a series of encyclopedias, or maybe something from a book club.
No, they weren't a reference series, or Reader's Digest Condensed books series... they were journals. Several hundred journals... each filled with his loving handwriting. Several pages for every day of the last 67 years... listing his thoughts, his feelings, his memories... of her... the woman he had loved so dearly.
Every single one of the 24,471 entries was addressed to the same person. They were really letters, asking how she was, what she was up to, asking if she had kids, or a job... how the acting career was going... mentioning that he had read about the theatre she opened up, but regretfully was unable to visit to see it. Every letter began with the same greeting:
'Hey Cat!'"
But, that would be absurd.
So I'm finding excitement in the idea of moving on. Of figuring out who I am and what I want... and live knowing that relationships will probably come and go...
In the meantime, I need this mental storm to let up long enough for me to catch some sleep.