float with me into the past
the following is an entry from September 30, 2005. My english professor made us keep a journal and this entry is one of my favorites:
We returned from the beach bringing more sand with us than we left. Everything was amazing. I took her to one of my most favorite spots in the world, the exact point where the river comes in contact with the bay and the brown murky waters collide with the force of two major armies. As we reach the top of the sand dune, the wind catches her brown hair. It looks like a mane of fire has just been set loose upon the world. The sun casts a beautiful shadow that cradles her face that only heightens the sparkle of her bright sapphire gems she has for eyes. I breathe heavy, unable to take in the beauty that is in front of me along with the oxygen necessary for my body. Focus, quick! Get her out of your mind!
So we arrived back at my place, slowly milling around looking for something to do. She immediately dashes for my bedroom. My heart sinks. Clif, you can’t do this, not again. I am an untamable beast. I can not be burden with a relationship, yet something about this girl, it intrigues me, and it captivates me. I don’t know what to do, or how I feel. There is this awkward tension between us like we are both lost in the fun, the laugh, the talk, the Starbucks. My thoughts that cram into my head like a train collision are only supported as I walk into my room and find her lying on my bed. She is commenting on how amazingly soft it is. I know of course, it is my fucking bed! She goes on and on about how awesome it is. I begin to feel the sleepy, tired yawn deep in my belly. I leave it there, hold it down, she can’t see it, I can’t move to the bed with her. If I knew that I liked her I would lay with her, if I just wanted to be friends we could cuddle, but this not knowing, this awkwardness left me with not option. I actually begin to use the time to clean my room, a task that has been unaccomplished in some time.
I am doing this weird floaty dance thingy. It is as if I was a skilled ballerina moving with spontaneous grace. My mouth strains in a yawn. Damn! “Clif, you are welcome to lay down, it is your bed,” she sings. No is my instinctive reply but I know that I need a good excuse to match my choice. I mutter something about me being busy. She reads the uncomfortable tremble in my voice. Why do I feel this way? I don’t get it, here is this gorgeous goddess laying on my bed and I’m afraid to go near her. She fumbles with her watch signaling that she should probably go. I bring her home and try to analyze the events that just happened. I don’t get myself sometimes. I don’t get why I act so weird, why I freak out at emotional attachment. Maybe it’s because I have seen what emotional attachment does to people, my parents, friends. After talking on the phone and several text messages goodnight, I finally return to my room. My soft bed still smells like her amazing perfume. I take in its beautiful scent as I try to recapture her face, her smile, and her eyes. I finally curl up in my bed and I realize that I have no one to cuddle with except my loneliness.
We returned from the beach bringing more sand with us than we left. Everything was amazing. I took her to one of my most favorite spots in the world, the exact point where the river comes in contact with the bay and the brown murky waters collide with the force of two major armies. As we reach the top of the sand dune, the wind catches her brown hair. It looks like a mane of fire has just been set loose upon the world. The sun casts a beautiful shadow that cradles her face that only heightens the sparkle of her bright sapphire gems she has for eyes. I breathe heavy, unable to take in the beauty that is in front of me along with the oxygen necessary for my body. Focus, quick! Get her out of your mind!
So we arrived back at my place, slowly milling around looking for something to do. She immediately dashes for my bedroom. My heart sinks. Clif, you can’t do this, not again. I am an untamable beast. I can not be burden with a relationship, yet something about this girl, it intrigues me, and it captivates me. I don’t know what to do, or how I feel. There is this awkward tension between us like we are both lost in the fun, the laugh, the talk, the Starbucks. My thoughts that cram into my head like a train collision are only supported as I walk into my room and find her lying on my bed. She is commenting on how amazingly soft it is. I know of course, it is my fucking bed! She goes on and on about how awesome it is. I begin to feel the sleepy, tired yawn deep in my belly. I leave it there, hold it down, she can’t see it, I can’t move to the bed with her. If I knew that I liked her I would lay with her, if I just wanted to be friends we could cuddle, but this not knowing, this awkwardness left me with not option. I actually begin to use the time to clean my room, a task that has been unaccomplished in some time.
I am doing this weird floaty dance thingy. It is as if I was a skilled ballerina moving with spontaneous grace. My mouth strains in a yawn. Damn! “Clif, you are welcome to lay down, it is your bed,” she sings. No is my instinctive reply but I know that I need a good excuse to match my choice. I mutter something about me being busy. She reads the uncomfortable tremble in my voice. Why do I feel this way? I don’t get it, here is this gorgeous goddess laying on my bed and I’m afraid to go near her. She fumbles with her watch signaling that she should probably go. I bring her home and try to analyze the events that just happened. I don’t get myself sometimes. I don’t get why I act so weird, why I freak out at emotional attachment. Maybe it’s because I have seen what emotional attachment does to people, my parents, friends. After talking on the phone and several text messages goodnight, I finally return to my room. My soft bed still smells like her amazing perfume. I take in its beautiful scent as I try to recapture her face, her smile, and her eyes. I finally curl up in my bed and I realize that I have no one to cuddle with except my loneliness.