I used to think that I was lucky, too...
"What's it like to know that you blew something so wonderful and so sure with such a great girl?"
Unfortunately, I have the answer to that one. It's not expressed well in few words, however. To understand the magnitude of what I fucked up, I need to share one of my greatest failures. There was a girl who I met my freshman year in high school, and I had hardly had a girlfriend yet. She made it pretty clear to everyone but me (a fault of my own) that she was more than interested in me. She even told her mom that "someday, we'll be together. I'm not sure when, but I think it's gonna happen." We got to know more about each other, but I was still blind to how much she really cared for me. I always thought she was attractive, and had one of the most unique personalities that I had ever encountered. Of course, I never got the balls to talk to her about how I felt. Sophomore year came along, and this girl might as well have tattooed "date me" on her forehead. The signs were all there, and I really began to understand how I felt for this girl, but I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't mature enough to do anything about it. I didn't know how to talk to her about it, I didn't know when to do what, or even what the right thing to do was. So, another year went by where this girl dated other people, and where I dated other people. Neither of us got anywhere closer to where we wanted to be.
I didn't see her at all junior year. Maybe twice, but those were chance encounters where we might have said hi. Maybe.
Senior year rolls around and I see her more often, and she becomes the embodiment of everything that I've been searching for. I mean, she always was there, but I never really acknowledged how much I cared for her beyond a level of friendship.
I don't get many things right the first time. In fact, I'm told that a lot.
I started to see her more, and we had a great time. She is the only girl that I've met yet that I can sit down and talk to her for 6 hours straight. In fact, we did it on the first night that we hung out. And the night after that. and many, many nights after that.
Now I know all the wrong turns and stumbles and falls brought me here. And where was I before the day that I first saw your lovely face? Now I see it everyday, and I know that I'm the luckiest.
This was the girl that told me that she felt like she fit perfectly into my arms, and I told her that she was perfect girlfriend height, and there was nobody I liked holding more than her. This was the girl that after one long night of just talking, I picked up and kissed.
Random as fuck, but nothing since has felt as right.
When I was with her, I never feared the question "What are you thinking?" Ever. Mostly because we never had to ask each other. We just shared that information. She told me about how frustrating it was to chase after me for as long as she did. I told her jokingly that she should have put a sign in my front yard, as that was the only way to get me to notice that stuff freshman year. And she was thinking the same thing, and that became one of our inside jokes. I seriously shared every single human emotion that I ever encountered with her. I told her about experiences ranging from my dad teaching me how to ski, to the day that I wrote him a final lettter and placed it in his casket at his funeral the next morning, which was actually on my 10th birthday. I told her about when my uncle mike comforted me afterwards, how he became a guy that I always talked to about growing up. Then the next moment, I'm at his funeral wondering "what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
She answered all the questions about myself that I didn't have the guts or maturity to answer. She asked the right questions and even though she didn't always tell me what I want to hear, she told me what was right. That's much more important.
I am the luckiest. I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you.
We went to prom together, and I drove her to graduation. She was the first girl that I kissed in 2004, and the last girl that I kissed while I was a high school student. She was honestly the first girl that I loved without conviction, without any holds. I loved everything about her, from the way that she fell asleep with her head on my chest to the way that she made fun of me in the mornings.
I am the luckiest.
Honestly, I thought that someday, if things went right, I hoped would be lucky enough to marry this girl. I've never admitted that before.
Unfortunately, things didn't go that way. She has since joined the marines, and married a guy who could never, ever treat her as well as I did. If romanticism was a sport, I would be Lance Armstrong, and this guy would be Chris Farley. No fucking joke.
The night before she shipped south, she called me from a phone in a hotel in Troy. She told me that she wanted to see me one last time, and I didn't hesitate a second. It was almost 2 am, and I jumped in my car and drove for over an hour to a random hotel, just to see this woman one last time and hold her and tell her how I felt. When I got there, there was a guard watching over the door, and another one patrolling the hall. There was no way that either of them would let me through. I walked up to her window and looked into her eyes, and I felt so empty at that moment. The fact that she was so close, and yet I couldn't even hear what she was saying to me was maddening. I mouthed "I love you", and went to my car and drove away, not knowing that I wouldn't see this girl for about another year. When I got home, I sat down on the dock overlooking the calm water and put my head in my hands wondering when I was going to see her again. I stayed that way until sunrise.
Anyway, after she left, which was almost a year ago today, I thought about her constantly. I didn't want anyone but her next to me. I made friends, yeah. There were nights that I partied hard as fuck, but this girl stayed in my thoughts daily. I counted down the days until I could see her again. I was in the state where every love song sounds like it's talking about your situation. You love someone that much, and it overwhelms your consciousness. That love fuses with your soul and makes the gray cloudy days not so bad, because you see that one ray of sunshine that is the love you hold. The day that I was supposed to see her again got closer and closer, but when it came, she didn't come home. It turned out that she decided to marry the guy who would make as good of a husband as Bobby Brown, and I was absolutely demolished. I don't know that I left my room to do anything remotely fun for weeks. I felt betrayed and hurt, and I was afraid. I didn't like the effect the experience had on me at all. This is supposed to be how I felt at funerals, I thought. It felt like something had died, honestly. It was that sort of sadness and frustration you feel when something has been taken and you don't, you can't comprehend.
The worst part was I feel that it was my fault. I felt that I should have written more. I felt that I should have been more clear about how I felt about her. I don't think that there's any rationalization that has ever been given to me that satisfies these doubts about my actions. I don't know that one exists, but I've learned to live with it, as I've definitely learned a great deal from this. I just hope that I never make this mistake again, because this one hurt more than I could ever begin to express.
If you ever read this, Amber... I miss you, and I'm sorry.
I think I've read this book before, hard-bound, shiny cover, pretty colors, but an ending that's sure to disappoint.
It's not what you'd expect when you open the box. I know the things you'd wish you'd find, fleeting and taunting. Colors drab and ordinary, to brilliant white of not knowing what's inside. But how can I bear to behold that dream now that my eyes have adjusted to the concrete walls of this box that I've opened?
Unfortunately, I have the answer to that one. It's not expressed well in few words, however. To understand the magnitude of what I fucked up, I need to share one of my greatest failures. There was a girl who I met my freshman year in high school, and I had hardly had a girlfriend yet. She made it pretty clear to everyone but me (a fault of my own) that she was more than interested in me. She even told her mom that "someday, we'll be together. I'm not sure when, but I think it's gonna happen." We got to know more about each other, but I was still blind to how much she really cared for me. I always thought she was attractive, and had one of the most unique personalities that I had ever encountered. Of course, I never got the balls to talk to her about how I felt. Sophomore year came along, and this girl might as well have tattooed "date me" on her forehead. The signs were all there, and I really began to understand how I felt for this girl, but I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't mature enough to do anything about it. I didn't know how to talk to her about it, I didn't know when to do what, or even what the right thing to do was. So, another year went by where this girl dated other people, and where I dated other people. Neither of us got anywhere closer to where we wanted to be.
I didn't see her at all junior year. Maybe twice, but those were chance encounters where we might have said hi. Maybe.
Senior year rolls around and I see her more often, and she becomes the embodiment of everything that I've been searching for. I mean, she always was there, but I never really acknowledged how much I cared for her beyond a level of friendship.
I don't get many things right the first time. In fact, I'm told that a lot.
I started to see her more, and we had a great time. She is the only girl that I've met yet that I can sit down and talk to her for 6 hours straight. In fact, we did it on the first night that we hung out. And the night after that. and many, many nights after that.
Now I know all the wrong turns and stumbles and falls brought me here. And where was I before the day that I first saw your lovely face? Now I see it everyday, and I know that I'm the luckiest.
This was the girl that told me that she felt like she fit perfectly into my arms, and I told her that she was perfect girlfriend height, and there was nobody I liked holding more than her. This was the girl that after one long night of just talking, I picked up and kissed.
Random as fuck, but nothing since has felt as right.
When I was with her, I never feared the question "What are you thinking?" Ever. Mostly because we never had to ask each other. We just shared that information. She told me about how frustrating it was to chase after me for as long as she did. I told her jokingly that she should have put a sign in my front yard, as that was the only way to get me to notice that stuff freshman year. And she was thinking the same thing, and that became one of our inside jokes. I seriously shared every single human emotion that I ever encountered with her. I told her about experiences ranging from my dad teaching me how to ski, to the day that I wrote him a final lettter and placed it in his casket at his funeral the next morning, which was actually on my 10th birthday. I told her about when my uncle mike comforted me afterwards, how he became a guy that I always talked to about growing up. Then the next moment, I'm at his funeral wondering "what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
She answered all the questions about myself that I didn't have the guts or maturity to answer. She asked the right questions and even though she didn't always tell me what I want to hear, she told me what was right. That's much more important.
I am the luckiest. I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you.
We went to prom together, and I drove her to graduation. She was the first girl that I kissed in 2004, and the last girl that I kissed while I was a high school student. She was honestly the first girl that I loved without conviction, without any holds. I loved everything about her, from the way that she fell asleep with her head on my chest to the way that she made fun of me in the mornings.
I am the luckiest.
Honestly, I thought that someday, if things went right, I hoped would be lucky enough to marry this girl. I've never admitted that before.
Unfortunately, things didn't go that way. She has since joined the marines, and married a guy who could never, ever treat her as well as I did. If romanticism was a sport, I would be Lance Armstrong, and this guy would be Chris Farley. No fucking joke.
The night before she shipped south, she called me from a phone in a hotel in Troy. She told me that she wanted to see me one last time, and I didn't hesitate a second. It was almost 2 am, and I jumped in my car and drove for over an hour to a random hotel, just to see this woman one last time and hold her and tell her how I felt. When I got there, there was a guard watching over the door, and another one patrolling the hall. There was no way that either of them would let me through. I walked up to her window and looked into her eyes, and I felt so empty at that moment. The fact that she was so close, and yet I couldn't even hear what she was saying to me was maddening. I mouthed "I love you", and went to my car and drove away, not knowing that I wouldn't see this girl for about another year. When I got home, I sat down on the dock overlooking the calm water and put my head in my hands wondering when I was going to see her again. I stayed that way until sunrise.
Anyway, after she left, which was almost a year ago today, I thought about her constantly. I didn't want anyone but her next to me. I made friends, yeah. There were nights that I partied hard as fuck, but this girl stayed in my thoughts daily. I counted down the days until I could see her again. I was in the state where every love song sounds like it's talking about your situation. You love someone that much, and it overwhelms your consciousness. That love fuses with your soul and makes the gray cloudy days not so bad, because you see that one ray of sunshine that is the love you hold. The day that I was supposed to see her again got closer and closer, but when it came, she didn't come home. It turned out that she decided to marry the guy who would make as good of a husband as Bobby Brown, and I was absolutely demolished. I don't know that I left my room to do anything remotely fun for weeks. I felt betrayed and hurt, and I was afraid. I didn't like the effect the experience had on me at all. This is supposed to be how I felt at funerals, I thought. It felt like something had died, honestly. It was that sort of sadness and frustration you feel when something has been taken and you don't, you can't comprehend.
The worst part was I feel that it was my fault. I felt that I should have written more. I felt that I should have been more clear about how I felt about her. I don't think that there's any rationalization that has ever been given to me that satisfies these doubts about my actions. I don't know that one exists, but I've learned to live with it, as I've definitely learned a great deal from this. I just hope that I never make this mistake again, because this one hurt more than I could ever begin to express.
If you ever read this, Amber... I miss you, and I'm sorry.
I think I've read this book before, hard-bound, shiny cover, pretty colors, but an ending that's sure to disappoint.
It's not what you'd expect when you open the box. I know the things you'd wish you'd find, fleeting and taunting. Colors drab and ordinary, to brilliant white of not knowing what's inside. But how can I bear to behold that dream now that my eyes have adjusted to the concrete walls of this box that I've opened?