All That You Can't Leave Behind
The scent of the desert and looking up at the splash of starry sky. Wind blowing, hair flying, and that reckless smile of perfection. Gripping the bars of the jeep, music ringing and no one to listen but the two of us. The blue glow of endless white fields, empty dunes in the moonlight, and knowing that it is in that moment which will never be forgotten, that moment of strong recollection, that moment when a song plays on the radio many years later when I remember it--the smells and tastes and breezes and hopes--I remember it all once again.
I remember you.
Sometimes, I wonder if you read this journal. What you think of my words and thoughts. If they are as ridiculous as you once said. You were never one to appreciate my voice like I needed. You were never one to appreciate my desires like I wanted. What did you find within me that made you say, one time on that big couch, leaning over the arms, that you were falling in love with me. I know what I saw. Strong, brilliant, a fount of knowledge in my parched existence. Observing, judging, impartial, a nova in my nebula.
I am beginning to believe my image of you was one of those mirages, a fictitious oasis, when there was truly nothing but harsh sand and violent heat. And I was certainly left with that bitter disappointment of realization once I reached my destination -- a resting place between who I was and who I would become.
Did I break your heart? Was it breakable in the first place? You told me once, prophetically perhaps (or did you already know), that if we ended, there would be no one else. I knew you were selfish; you wanted only those things you wanted. I wanted it all for you and more. There really was no room for me, was there?
You were my catalyst. You made me think. And somewhere along the way, you stopped. Maybe it was because I was thinking of myself for once, and you were not getting what you wanted. Maybe I was stuck in a delusion between those two people you claimed I had become. Maybe you were too narrow-minded and self-absorbed to see what was happening to me. I think it was all these things, now, in this state of retrospect.
I loved you once, but you are becoming more and more a hazy figure in my mind, like the distant outline of mountains as we drove aimlessly in the desert. Like the glare of white sands from miles away. You are a lingering image, a deft touch on my hip when I sleep, an occasional voice that I hear. Did I affect you as much as you affected me? Would you even confess as much? (Though I know you never would.)
I suppose you realize that I was an untamable, unmalleable thing. Wild and dangerous spirit and completely directionless in life, but running as fast as possible and casting my lots to ambition and luck. It was in the desert that I felt so unleashed, so small in such an expansive place and nothing to stop me from exploring. But, now, I'm not sure if I can ever go back there to those places. Do you know that? Places which are tainted with your metaphysical imprint. There is never-ending space, but I will see you everywhere.
But somehow, some unbelievable way, I cannot fault you for anything. I cannot blame you for obliterating my optimism, desecrating my dreams, and ruining my rose-colored glasses. I cannot scream at you for making me as bitter and jaded as I remember you to be. I cannot, because I like who I have become. And I like to think that you would like who I have become as well; I am more on par with you. It would be my turn to bring you down. My turn to smash you, break you, push you and take you from the top. I can sense your doubts, if you were reading this, but I know you. I still do. And you no longer know me.
I want to let you go. I want it all finally to be erased, so I don't feel the pain. Did you know, because of you, I hate to feel? I hate to succumb to emotions and sentimentality. I hate the physical ache I get when I fully remember you, not in some fleeting thought of oh, he would do this or enjoy that, but times like now, when you are so dominating in my mind that I want to break something.
What would you say if we ever saw each other again? What would you say if we didn't? We shared so much, but we never really did share enough. We lacked time; we had too much distance. We lacked understanding; we had too much devotion. We lacked reality; we had too many expectations. It amazes me to realize that I may never see you again. You who where such a large piece of my life. You, who shared my bed. You, who made me feel special, made me feel worthless. You, who never once told me I was beautiful.
Humorous as it may be, I am your ideal now, but you are far from mine. The rolls have certainly reversed, and if we talked, we might be friends. But you have an astounding depth for vengeance and grudges, and you would place the blame on me, I know. One of those ironic twists of life. How god must laugh at us all.
As these days go on, and the years between what we were increase, you fade more and more. Those days in the mountains and nights in the desert and afternoons in the city are less tangible, a pallid recollection of an old fevered dream. A week will pass without thoughts of you. Then an entire month and I cannot recall the form of your body pressed against mine.
But then something will happen. That particular soap scent, the sight of pale skin and bright red lips, the sharp baritone voice and sarcastic chuckle, the freckles and a smooth touch on my arm, the taste of dark beer and buttery mashed potatoes. The sound of music as my player accidentally rotates to one of those songs we knew, one of those that defined our time together, and the nostalgia is so damn strong that I need to sit and breathe heavily through my hands. That I have to press against my eyes and let my hair fall to hide my face. That I feel a tug in my chest and soreness in my throat, and I cannot stop listening.
So I get in my car late at night, all the windows down, that song playing with the volume up, driving so fast along the darkened roads, and just remembering that night in God's country with the white sands and the distant lights, the cold wind and the vivid milky way, the smile on your face and your skin so bright, and perhaps my soul was flying for the first time while the music played, and laughing and singing and touching and living, and you never knew (I could never tell you) that I cried a little from the feeling.
I still do, sometimes, but rarely now. Just like how I rarely miss you more and more.
To wherever you may be and who ever you have become without me
(and to those many songs we share and the desert we once had),
Maybe we will meet again one day, at our place in the clouds,
I will always wish you the best,
Catherine
I remember you.
Sometimes, I wonder if you read this journal. What you think of my words and thoughts. If they are as ridiculous as you once said. You were never one to appreciate my voice like I needed. You were never one to appreciate my desires like I wanted. What did you find within me that made you say, one time on that big couch, leaning over the arms, that you were falling in love with me. I know what I saw. Strong, brilliant, a fount of knowledge in my parched existence. Observing, judging, impartial, a nova in my nebula.
I am beginning to believe my image of you was one of those mirages, a fictitious oasis, when there was truly nothing but harsh sand and violent heat. And I was certainly left with that bitter disappointment of realization once I reached my destination -- a resting place between who I was and who I would become.
Did I break your heart? Was it breakable in the first place? You told me once, prophetically perhaps (or did you already know), that if we ended, there would be no one else. I knew you were selfish; you wanted only those things you wanted. I wanted it all for you and more. There really was no room for me, was there?
You were my catalyst. You made me think. And somewhere along the way, you stopped. Maybe it was because I was thinking of myself for once, and you were not getting what you wanted. Maybe I was stuck in a delusion between those two people you claimed I had become. Maybe you were too narrow-minded and self-absorbed to see what was happening to me. I think it was all these things, now, in this state of retrospect.
I loved you once, but you are becoming more and more a hazy figure in my mind, like the distant outline of mountains as we drove aimlessly in the desert. Like the glare of white sands from miles away. You are a lingering image, a deft touch on my hip when I sleep, an occasional voice that I hear. Did I affect you as much as you affected me? Would you even confess as much? (Though I know you never would.)
I suppose you realize that I was an untamable, unmalleable thing. Wild and dangerous spirit and completely directionless in life, but running as fast as possible and casting my lots to ambition and luck. It was in the desert that I felt so unleashed, so small in such an expansive place and nothing to stop me from exploring. But, now, I'm not sure if I can ever go back there to those places. Do you know that? Places which are tainted with your metaphysical imprint. There is never-ending space, but I will see you everywhere.
But somehow, some unbelievable way, I cannot fault you for anything. I cannot blame you for obliterating my optimism, desecrating my dreams, and ruining my rose-colored glasses. I cannot scream at you for making me as bitter and jaded as I remember you to be. I cannot, because I like who I have become. And I like to think that you would like who I have become as well; I am more on par with you. It would be my turn to bring you down. My turn to smash you, break you, push you and take you from the top. I can sense your doubts, if you were reading this, but I know you. I still do. And you no longer know me.
I want to let you go. I want it all finally to be erased, so I don't feel the pain. Did you know, because of you, I hate to feel? I hate to succumb to emotions and sentimentality. I hate the physical ache I get when I fully remember you, not in some fleeting thought of oh, he would do this or enjoy that, but times like now, when you are so dominating in my mind that I want to break something.
What would you say if we ever saw each other again? What would you say if we didn't? We shared so much, but we never really did share enough. We lacked time; we had too much distance. We lacked understanding; we had too much devotion. We lacked reality; we had too many expectations. It amazes me to realize that I may never see you again. You who where such a large piece of my life. You, who shared my bed. You, who made me feel special, made me feel worthless. You, who never once told me I was beautiful.
Humorous as it may be, I am your ideal now, but you are far from mine. The rolls have certainly reversed, and if we talked, we might be friends. But you have an astounding depth for vengeance and grudges, and you would place the blame on me, I know. One of those ironic twists of life. How god must laugh at us all.
As these days go on, and the years between what we were increase, you fade more and more. Those days in the mountains and nights in the desert and afternoons in the city are less tangible, a pallid recollection of an old fevered dream. A week will pass without thoughts of you. Then an entire month and I cannot recall the form of your body pressed against mine.
But then something will happen. That particular soap scent, the sight of pale skin and bright red lips, the sharp baritone voice and sarcastic chuckle, the freckles and a smooth touch on my arm, the taste of dark beer and buttery mashed potatoes. The sound of music as my player accidentally rotates to one of those songs we knew, one of those that defined our time together, and the nostalgia is so damn strong that I need to sit and breathe heavily through my hands. That I have to press against my eyes and let my hair fall to hide my face. That I feel a tug in my chest and soreness in my throat, and I cannot stop listening.
So I get in my car late at night, all the windows down, that song playing with the volume up, driving so fast along the darkened roads, and just remembering that night in God's country with the white sands and the distant lights, the cold wind and the vivid milky way, the smile on your face and your skin so bright, and perhaps my soul was flying for the first time while the music played, and laughing and singing and touching and living, and you never knew (I could never tell you) that I cried a little from the feeling.
I still do, sometimes, but rarely now. Just like how I rarely miss you more and more.
To wherever you may be and who ever you have become without me
(and to those many songs we share and the desert we once had),
Maybe we will meet again one day, at our place in the clouds,
I will always wish you the best,
Catherine