I met with three women tonight I haven't seen in forever. One prepared me for the other, and the next for the last. For the first we synthesized energy, and perhaps we shall find collaboration. With the second: closure. The third put everything in perspective.
The first will understand the mortality of the title I chose (and these words are for her*). I spoke to her, about why. And we went deep. For her: these words, I do not color. She convinced of one thing in three parts: Why: am I not being who I am.
A similar process happened twice more.
There's this woman... and she walks into the bar I'm in. She moved on from the valley a while ago, but she likes to discuss deeper than most and I haven't seen her since a Christmas ago. I will share, now, the things caught my mind, while we were catching up, discussing creativity, and that one time she wrote in her book.
First, we talk about vulnerability, and it reminds me, that it's the feeling I miss most from relationships I actually want. That moment you plan to turn over your heart to someone. And saying: do your worst. I've been lucky so far, most have done their best.
Then: Magic. Analog photography, is the real magic for her. But I insist it's really in all creativity. She is right, nothing compares. Watching pictures form out of the developer will make you believe in mother-fucking miracles. If you've never seen it, you are missing out on one of the greatest things to come from chemistry. There's no way to overstate it.
I joke about her being my muse. She volunteers! I refuse her offer, it's both terrifying and exciting, later (right now) I realize, maybe I shouldn't have dismissed it out of hand. But just between us, that fucking terrifies me. Binding my creativity to another; I feel like I'd just disappoint.
I talked about a one-act play about our conversation: a musing on creativity. And then... awkwardly we parted, at first at least. The last farewell and hug felt right. Easton is weird. You can say good-bye and then still hang out for an hour.
For my second encounter: I had been a shithead to her. She disappointed me about a year ago, and I stopped initiating texts for a while, I thought she might get understand and get the message. And I thought she did. One day, earlier this year, I figured it was safe to see a movie this last spring, with her. That was one of the last times I spoke with her.
I waved to her. She got up and started toward me. I was leaving. She confronted me in the hall. I told her I regretted not getting back to her.
It hurt me more that she never saw the first, or the biggest movies of this summer. I invited her to the crazy one this fall.
I did not get absolution (this is real life), but I did face her.
The night capped off with a woman in real pain. She lost someone important: I gave what I could. Her mother came to comfort her, then her mom flirted with me. We drank and hugged and assuaged each others pain as best we could with clothes on, in a bar.
I offered to walk them home, and then we got stuck in a familiar sight. The hang outside.
She hugged someone she hadn't seen yet. Then she tried to apologize and suck it up.
At this point I realized I was tuned into a similar loss and pain, so I told her:
No. Stop it. Don't apologize. Cry if you need. She snuggled and blubbered into first this one dude, a good bar friend of hers, and then snuggled into me for a second. I was glad to comfort the broken-hearted, but I still don't want to dance yet. Her mom asked me to dance, and I don't usually refuse. I felt guilty for a second and got over it. I've grown since I was young.
I walked them home, she and her mom danced, it was fucking beautiful. Life goes on, as they say. I left them after that, and cried my way home. It came to me that crying for others is more important, then mourning your own loss**.
This turned out to be more journal than anything, but I'm desperately seeking this thread, something I can do, something I can write. I'll end with a toast:
To all three women, my grandfather, and me (mostly):
Here's to me trying this me thing out again. This trying to be honest with me. Here's to trying myself out again. What's next? Is it to dance really fucking high and with closed eyes? Perhaps.but I'll let the tears dry on my face first. For my grandfather, and you, and you, and you, for getting me to this place.
Skol! I'll see you in Valhalla.
Skol! I'll see you in Valhalla.
*And for whom I shall attempt to submit this without self-doubt.
** Woah! Way to pat yourself on the back for feeling something for someone else. Compassion is literally the thing that makes life worth it.***
*** Really!!! Be honest, dude. You were affected by her feelings reflecting yours. Then found yourself overwhelmed.
