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Sunday, 29 March 2009

Generic, 1

WARNING: Mind the warning in Generic, 2, and do mind the labels.
I want you. I want you so badly. I miss you. I love you. I do. I need you. I need to see you. I want to do more than just glance around and look some other way, walking towards cars, tripping because of my shaky knees, trying not to see you, hiding so you won’t see me. I don’t want to run away from you. I don’t want to avoid everything related to you, however indirectly, trying to avoid a situation I can somehow imagine will lead to anything, trying to make sure I don’t get my hopes up. That’s all I’ve been doing since I told you never to talk to me again, never to try e-mailing me, chatting with me again. That’s why I no longer keep you as a contact in my messenger, and I no longer keep your cellphone number in my cellphone, though I know them both by heart, in case you haven’t changed them. I even decided not to congratulate Alb for his birthday because it somehow made me think of you. I came up with this ridiculous story where congratulating him, after he congratulated me, led to us talking, and I had to make sure that wasn’t possible. I’m fool-proofing myself shut, thinking I can keep myself away from you, hoping I’ll be able to forget you knowing I’ve done everything in my power to keep you away. Thing is, even when I manage to keep you out of my thoughts through a day, or most of it, I dream of you. All it takes is a glance in that surreal world, where I don’t really run away. Sometimes we talk, sometimes I hug you, sometimes we kiss, sometimes I just see you and it’s all enough to remind me of just how much I want you. I want talk and to be talked to, I want kiss and be kissed, I want to hug and be hugged, I want to see, to be seen. But it won’t do if I can’t talk to you, if I can’t kiss you, hug you, look into your eyes, feel you near me, feel your warmth, your smell, your hair, your hands, your ears, your lips, your taste, you. Just the memory of the memories is enough to drive me crazy. And I know I’m doing it all wrong, if I’m trying to avoid you but can’t help trying to find pictures of you, if I hold on to what I should consider rubbish just because it reminds me of you. It’s wrong for me to look at your facebook profile as often as I can’t keep myself from doing so, hoping to learn something about you, still getting butterflies in my stomach just looking at pictures of you, deliberately going through as many of your pictures and messages as I can, trying to put together an idea of what your life is like without me. Hating myself for it, too, for finding you’re moving on just fine. You’ve had other girlfriends, you have good friends, you go out, you party, you are loved, you have fun, you enjoy yourself. And here I am, stuck. Wanting what I’ve made impossible and hoping that in spite of everything I’ve done you’ll someday see me and talk to me. Like any good could come from that. Like you’d bother. Like you cared. Like you loved me, as if you ever had. And yeah, thinking on it, I figured out you probably never did. You most likely never did love me, it’s the best explanation I can find for all this nonsense. You see, I think a lot, and I have a very strange memory. I remember your birthday, I remember your cellphone, your home phone number in Ctg. I remember the day I fell in love with you, I remember the very moment I realized I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I remember the time when I realized I was in love with you and didn’t just have a silly crush on you. I remember the first time we went out, the day you asked me to be your girlfriend (which you really never did), the day we first kissed, the day we broke up, all the times I screwed up. I remember being in love with you and not being able to tell you because you liked some other girl. I remember trying to show I cared about you. I remember buying you that stupid wallet for your birthday, bringing you candy. I remember feeling like an idiot, and knowing myself to be one. I remember buying Rf a wallet too, trying to look less idiotic. I remember you mentioned kissing a girl you called Ursula, some code name I figure. I remember you saying you jerked off 3 times a week. I remember the rumor about you kissing MaA. I remember you hugging her in the pool and wanting to be her. I remember you having a crush on a girl called Dna and being all silly around her, trying to be near her all the time. I remember you also had a crush on Cln, and kept a letter for her in your wallet. I remember we were only together for about a month. I remember you once called me and said you loved me very much, you asked me to tell N1 and L who were with me, I remember thinking you were drunk and being very scared. I remember shaking with fear. I remember feeling nervous every single time I called you. I remember the time I mistook you for your dad, and the time your sister asked “is that linaThumbe?”. I remember counting your kisses, and remembering every second I’d spent with you during class. I remember loving you. I remember my 15th birthday. I remember you telling me we needed to talk, walking with me away from everyone, away from everything, and kissing me. I remember wanting to jump on you and have sex with you right then and there. I remember us holding hands. I remember your numb arm, my numb legs. I remember texting you to tell you I loved you and missed you. I remember wanting it to be right, asking for advice to A. I remember the heavy hints. I remember being stubborn, thinking I had it all under control. I remember the day we broke up. I also remember Alb telling me you didn’t love me, a couple of days before, and crying so hard my eyes were puffy the next morning and people asked me about it. I remember your kiss that day and the amazing facility you had for finding my lips with yours. I remember you were absentminded. I remember you kept looking away, and playing with your cellphone and making it spin on the table. I remember thinking you were trying to find that other girl, whomever she was, and I remember feeling helpless. I remember you asked for vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce. I remember that last kiss. I remember you made me so nervous and stupid I mistook my mom’s car for another car. I remember you calling later that night to tell me we were through. I remember that night: sitting on the balcony, staring at the moon, hearing the rustling of the wind passing through the palm tree, talking to you. I remember realising we’d never talked for so long. I kept calling you, trying to make you change your mind. You said I didn’t love you, I did not show it. I did nothing as often as you would have liked, and probably not as well as you wanted me to, either. I asked you to place a bet on me, the corniest analogy, and a very stupid one too, I asked you to put all your love and bet it on me, or that’s what I meant to say, at any rate. I don’t think it came out that way. You said you loved me. I couldn’t understand it, how you could manage to love me and let go of me though I loved you too. I just don’t understand why you never believed me, or why I ever believed you for that matter. I blocked you, and relished the times when I could “sense” you were online and found out you actually were, kinda like the time when we first met after you asked me to be your girlfriend, and I could “feel” you outside the door, just before you came in and gave me the best hug I’ve ever been given. Every hug after it, every touch unlike it feels sacrilegious. I remember I eventually gave in to my need for you, and trying to make use of the fact that you said we could still be friends. I tried being friends with you, I really did. But then, one day when we were chatting, you asked me if I’d moved on, and I tried to make up a lie, I even called A to elaborate on it, but I couldn’t hold it in, and I ended up blurting out it was all a lie, I was still in love with you. Later, when we were both here in Bta, I believe you asked me again, and I couldn’t help it, I told you the truth once again. You tried to be sympathetic, you tried to be nice about it, trying not to hurt my feelings when you mentioned other girls. I remember my 18th birthday, and going out with you and A. I remember that embarrassing moment where you found I had pictures of you in my computer. Pictures L1 sent me, knowing I longed to see you. I remember going out with you, your friend, and A. You were pretty drunk, you took us to some apartment and at some point I remember you lying on the floor, with your back to us, and A poking your butt with a stick. I remember thinking that should be my butt, I should be the one touching it. Such a stupid feeling, that sort of jealousy. I remember buying you and your friend some more booze in the nearby supermarket, and I remember you hugged me to thank me for it. I was in bliss. So much so I couldn’t help remembering the hug every time I passed by similar stores. That night we met Captain Planet, who offered to show our fortune. He handed us all 5 cards, and said what they meant in terms of years past, the year then present, and the years to come. You said love was in the year coming, and that he’d been very accurate about everything. I only remember a card with no name on it, unlike the others, of an angel holding a heart in its hands, which I thought was love, too, and secretly I thought maybe there was a small chance that you and I would be together again. Then came the day when you asked me to go to your place in secret. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone, including A. I actually didn’t. I said nothing, and came up with some stupid lie to tell my parents. I was afraid I wouldn’t get the address right, I asked a lot of people to make sure I got it right and one of the doormen actually misled me. We talked. School stuff, mostly. You mentioned some old English teacher of yours was starting to seem attractive. I should have picked up on that, known what it meant. After a while, you tried to lead the conversation to the reason you’d asked me to be there. You said I sort of rocked your world, I hugged you and said I’d never stopped loving you, or had even dared to love you any less than I ever had, and after just laying there, you sitting on the bench and me, by your side, hugging you, you asked if I wasn’t doing anything else. I’d had a couple of years to know I had to show I loved you, so I kissed you. I suck at it, I know, but for what it’s worth, if there was any way for you to know, to notice, to care, I meant every kiss, every hug, every caress, every blow job. I gave it all my best and hoped you’d feel just how much I love(d) you. Once again, I made myself believe I was your girlfriend, though you never actually said it. Once again, I realised it only when it was already too late, and pointless to point out. Then there was the girl-in-the-shower-picture episode, the silly conditions. The conditions… You said your friends were more important to you than I was, and that I was forbidden to tell anyone about you. You threatened to break up with me if I didn’t do something new every time I met you. You seemed able to read my mind, every single one of my moves, and expected me to know what you wanted, what you thought and expected of me, but I didn’t. I remember being jealous of the matches you played with once, when you refused to kiss me unless I did something new. I remember how you liked to kiss me while I was on the phone with my parents, or when people were passing by. I liked the playful nature of it all, I thought it cute, and told myself to learn to keep up with you. So it all eventually led to the first blow job. Once, all I did was kiss it. It started out in the open, in the park, where anyone could’ve seen us, which you liked so much. Then we took it upstairs, to your place, and went through with it though your sister was right upstairs and your dog kept staring at me. I kept getting tired, and stopped when you were about to come, which, I understood much later, built up to making you come harder. You said it was beautiful, made me drink water before kissing you, and said it tasted weird, so you simply didn’t. I was glad enough to have made you that happy, if I couldn’t understand you, if I couldn’t make your life better, if I couldn’t make any real difference, I could still put that silly smile on your face. That’s the only reason I let you touch me, though it hurt, the only reason I tried to keep up with the conditions, the only reason I called girls I didn’t know to ask for sex advice, and then called a friend and asked her too. I am thankful to her for never mentioning it. I remember the time we were out on the grass in the park and the doorman came to us and told us to stop, and how embarrassed I felt. I put up with the lying to my parents, with the trouble I put them through to go to your place, with the beer in my school bag and then in my closet, with paying for your cigarettes and with so much bullshit just to be with you, somehow thinking it was good. Then you broke up with me for some stupid reason as we chatted one night. You asked me again to go to your place, after that, and I figured nothing was going to happen, but I made sure my breath was fine anyway, you know? Just in case. I was determined not to let you have everything your way without knowing what your way actually was, and I asked you what you wanted, what you wanted of me, and I didn’t get an answer, but the next thing I know is you asked me if we should start over or pick up where we’d left things, and I tried to pick the “right” answer, the one you wanted to hear, and said it was silly to start over seeing as we’d already done quite so much. I never got an answer, and I never cared while I was on time to make anything of it. That once, we kissed, you said I tasted like spearmint and I was glad I’d brought the gum with me. You said you’d leave to Ctg for a month, you asked me if I wanted to be with you then or if I wanted to wait till you got back. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted you so badly. (God, I still do…) I just asked you not to be with any other girl while you were there, even if she made herself very available. And then came the rumors… I had Jdt, with whom I hadn’t spoken in such a long time, giving me her advice, telling me you were a son of a bitch and that I’d better get it all over with. I thought of breaking up with you every time I called you (you never called), but I put it off till you got back, telling myself it was cowardly to do it so indirectly. So I waited, and told you about it that once in the park. You said it wasn’t true, just like you said it wasn’t true you had a crush on some other girl, that day you first broke up with me. You used up most of my phone credit making calls to Ctg. We didn’t spend much time together that night, and yet I somehow found a way to forgive you, or forget you’d had sex with that girl, I just wanted to be with you so. I remember when, some other day, when we were together, your dad called you, and you told him you were with me. You said something about him meeting me, someday. I was happy, thinking maybe we were going somewhere, that you could be serious. Then that once I told your mum I wouldn’t have dinner with you and your family, though I was starving. I felt weird, and tried thinking you wouldn’t have felt comfortable either, with your mom, her boyfriend, your sister and me in dinner… she’d cooked mushrooms… You tried being mean, you tried being disgusting, talked about hitting your little sister, not washing your hair, leaving a beard, warning me when you were about to fart, and having me give you blow jobs on days when you’d been exercising mattered nothing to me. I never disliked your smell, your taste, your looks… anything about you. Not much later, it happened, yet again. I went to your place, and I was so anxious to see you I got there 15min earlier than we’d agreed, though I tried to stall. You were mad because I’d woken you up when I called to ask if you were buying cigarettes that afternoon and if I should wait for you outside or go in. I never forgave myself for waking you up, or, for that matter, causing you any discomfort. Your kiss that day was cold, stiff, but it was still your kiss, those were your lips, that was you… I think. You led me to break up with myself. All I did was lay my head on your shoulder, wanting to be with you so, when you refused to let me hug you when I thought you were cold, when I thought your shaking was due to feeling cold. I later figured you were probably nervous, and now I’m thinking you were just pretending… like that once when we had ice cream in Ctg, our first date… you said you were a good actor, and almost cried. I think, and I was told, you wanted to kiss me then. But all I remember is just how incredibly down I felt when I saw you about to cry, and all I wanted was to make it all better, to make you happy. You made me break up with myself. You said there was someone else, I asked which school she went to, like I knew that many people (I never have) and you told me… I learned to hate every girl in that uniform, thinking they could all be the bitch you loved, the bitch who was your friend (which I never was), the bitch you cared about, the bitch who might turn you down. I kept wanting to leave, it was getting late and if it got too dark I wouldn’t be able to walk back home, but you made me stay for such a long time after I broke up with myself. I don’t know why, and I sure as hell will never understand, but not crying while I was there with you was very hard. I had time to decide I wouldn’t make you uncomfortable (as if you cared). I had time to decide I’d try to leave with some dignity, which is why when you finally let me go, when it was already dark, I managed to tell you never to talk to me again, and never to try to communicate with me in any way. I walked away, making sure not to look back, as if I was Orpheus and I could somehow get you to call me back to you if I didn’t look back. But you didn’t. I got myself to the nearby mall as best I could and after trying to soothe myself with ice cream, while my parents got there, unsuccessfully, I got myself in a bathroom and cried. It all hurt. Losing you, not having you any more, never having had you, not really having lost you. It all hurts. Loving you, missing you, thinking you loved me, having dared to be happy with you, daring still to think there’s hope of happiness if I could be with you again. I have this very great yearning… I hate the fact that the correct word is “yearning”, because it means it won’t happen, that it’s impossible because I’ve made it impossible… I yearn for you. I yearn for you to kiss me, to hug me, and to love me. After all these years, I can’t get you out of my head, I can’t imagine kissing anyone other than you, and even when I try liking someone else, on purpose, I go to sleep and dream of you and wonder why I ever bother trying to imagine being happy with anyone else. I know I’m going insane. I know I’m obsessed. I know it’s sick. But I also know I cannot help it. I don’t like wanting you, I’d like to want something else, someone else, I’d like to want to forget you, I’d like to forget you, I’d like to be over you, but I want you. I know what I want, I just don’t want to change it, and don’t know how to. Even knowing it’s impossible, I want you and I hope you’ll somehow want me too someday. I want you to want me… me. The nerd me, and not one you’ll be embarrassed of. The ridiculous, shy, weird, goofy me. The me that wants you to love me for who I am, regardless of what I look like, but still dresses up and worries about her looks cause maybe you won’t like her for them. The me that doesn’t think I’m pretty, regardless of what people say, because you don’t love me. The me that’s a mess, and will not get better. The me that likes to think, and discuss, and wants to understand you and talk to you, hold real conversations. Damn it! I love you and I don’t know who you are. I don’t know your thoughts, your feelings, your desires. I don’t know what you like or don’t like, what you crave, what you fancy, what your fantasies are. I don’t know what you need. I don’t know what you want. I wish you I could somehow be the answer to all your questions. I wish thinking of you and making myself be creative, planning stuff I think you’d enjoy, loving you, and wanting you could somehow make me the answer to all those questions. I want you to be the questions to all my answers. All I know is I have such longings for you, every so often, and I try to keep myself from thinking of your for too long, because I know it all leads to this incurable sad madness, and somehow makes it worse. But sometimes, I just can’t afford to hold back my tears when I feel this lonely, when it’s all a wreck. My life as a whole. My parents owing money, not being able to pay for my sister’s education, leave alone being able to afford mine. Failing subjects and not being as bright a student as I should be, as I’m expected to be, as I need to be if I were ever to earn a scholarship. My best friends gone, in one way or other, leaving me alone, and so unbearably lonely. My life so hollow, and nothing but this poisonous remnants of gangrenous so-called love to eat out what’s left of this shell. Thinking of you makes it all worse, but I somehow think it could be better if I had you with me. I want you… I love you… I miss you… I… *sigh*… Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, all alone, so lonely. No kings’ horses, no kings’ men, indeed no one or nothing can get me together again.