Girlfriend Attempted: No longer lonely

I have of late been remiss. Long weeks since I last wrote here. I thought to draw you to an end, but it was not to be. This series will continue.

Tonight, my story is no longer lonely. It joins the others and with them is characterised by that distinct element - that thing beyond sadness or tragedy that strings together my past chapters. The idea that there is something to be learned, in preparation for something to come.

And so she... now... a foundation. A scaffold. It feels so hard to think of her as that.

Between my last post and this I thought I had found someone. And I thought the heavy complications of who she was to be a test for me, or a flaw to make this happy ending human. I thought this new chapter to be a different one, lonely, nothing like the others that ended so poorly.

But no. And now I sit here and pack my feelings up behind these words. Like I have always done, knowing that the heat will pass. Knowing that all the heartache will be twisted into this.... this art that I use.... these words.... this godforesaken talent, mask, whatever the fuck it is.

I am taught by my tutors that novels should have emotion; that we should be shown (and never told) the character's passions in flame, his actions desperate, his screams and worthy acts. But life pales. I have this weekend endured such heights, but not even my face has moved too much.

Two nights of extreme impulse, answered by a slight burn in the chest, a frown. Nothing more. And now I sit behind a fucking laptop, between the solitaire game and the DVD that will drown my thoughts for the night, and I type out this pathetic line of drivel, as if it should mean something. As if it will show all the emotions that I could never daub the storybook pages with.

This is it. This is my ordeal, my moment of high emotion and crisis. My defining character revelation. On Saturday, when I thought that I could have her, I argued with my friends at work, threatening to quit unless they gave me the time off, for a party where I would see her. A child throwing his toys from the pram.

On Saturday night, at the party, I learned that I was loved by another. Truly loved, eternally loved, loved so much that she could not fucking stand to see me with another. And I dispelled this woman with a few words and pleasantries, barely breaking a sweat. Every word came easy, no challenge, no doubt - turning her away as easily as I have been discarded by others.

And now, tonight, I have decided to step away from the one that I wanted, and with her I have agreed that we could never be, that we were not right together. I ate whilst typing, my appetite perfect, a tune in my head, writing college assignments on the side.

No fires, no screams, no heroes or bold speeches.

And tonight, three people are lonely in their beds. One wants me, I want another, the other searches, and all three of us fear to hurt each other.

It was never meant to be this difficult. I was never meant to be so dead, here amongst such cause, such provocation. This love and this despair that should lift me to a poet's rage, but instead I sit and place a DVD in my laptop and pour my wine. Just like all the others who have loved and lost in these weeks.

Drowning ourselves.

My Lord, your characters lack depth. I suggest you find a new editor.

What am I to learn from this? How may I lay this, as ground to build upon?

Why does it hurt so much and show so little?

I think of a beach, two weeks ago, a girl in my arms. A kiss. And I smile and think myself blessed. Why should I do such a thing, be so thankful for that one moment of a relationship now shattered?

I think of a room, long ago, a blank red wall, a child screaming.

I never thought that I would have anything like this. I never thought that I would hurt this way, so alive, so powerful. After all the things that terrified me, this... this is exquisite.

God, I would do anything for these people. Anything.