Sometimes I have a feeling that the only one who will remember me is the login form on my WordPress page.
– Are you OK?
– No… but I never felt better.
She knows that no is just me playing my fantasy of living in a movie so she waits with a smile for my drama to end. It takes over me, like dopamine. She knows it is part of the promise I made to her – it will never be boring.
I am her dramaking, but I still treat her like a queen.
We had something wonderful.
There is always someone better, said to me a friend who I saw moments ago smiling as he never smiled before seeing his girlfriend walk into the room. Love of his life, he said one day to describe her. He is one sober motherfucker.
I did my best.
– I see you looking at all those girls wishing one of them will wow you. They won’t. Do you still love her?
– I do.
– No you don’t. You just remember her. You remember everything about her. All the moments, all the little things. You remember the feeling when you made her happy.
– I do.
– Yes you do, and you will. Until you forget. But for you it will take longer, as you remember like no one I met before.
– I do.
– You want her back?
– I do.
– Well, you shouldn’t. She might be good for you but you were too good for her. You need someone who is too good for you.
– I do.
– You think there is no one out there that would like you.
– I do.
– And that is your mistake. People liked you before, people will like you again. And by people I mean beautiful women who will go home smiling after they saw you for the night. If you know what I mean.
– I do.
– I know you do.
And it will never be wonderful again.
It’s about a journey, about playing her your favorite song and her not liking it. It’s about not caring that she does not like it because she likes you. It’s about her not being perfect but still saying to you she is worth the drama. Because when she does something wrong and you get mad she knows she shouldn’t argue but she should show you her tits because that’s crazy, and you love crazy. You love her, it’s about that, it’s all about love.
– That’s the most poetic thing you ever said.
– What, the glass thing?
– Yeah, that thing about alcoholism. That it’s like looking life through the bottom of a glass, no matter how clear the glass might seem, its always distorted.
– That’s just something my dad used to say.
This is something I rarely talk about. Of how I abused my wife. Many years ago I was married and it was a typical, run in the mill, marriage. We had it all, if you mean a life of content without little ones to share it with. We were not ready we said to each other. And I to this date admit that we were right. No for each other as it seems but only for the kids part.
It was a gloomy day that day. Should have seen it coming, I now say, but are we not all 20/20 after the battle. I walked home that day from work. Even though I worked from home and I was running my own business we still had an office for more of a psychological reason. I am good in what I do and I never did wrong with one of my own. They are my family away from home and I love them as such.
I was thinking and concluded that the thinking I had to do that day deserved a walk home in the rain. A happy walk. A one of those moment-she-realizes-that-she-loves-him walk. Never did much of them, so I reminiscence. Now I think about it in this state and I have to say that the walk-in stereotype is not all that it’s cracked up to be. Nevertheless I have not encountered one, still.
She was crying and I put myself aside and tried to say the right things. To do the right thing. I said them, but it was not me she expected to hear them from. She confessed to an affair with a friend we both knew. She told me in full detail and I said nothing. Even though I felt everything.
To this day I said nothing to her. Left her with everything but a letter in which I cruelly listed stuff I think I should get. Like this notebook in which I am writing this email and some general sentimental stuff.
She did her best but I stayed faithful to me. I am proud of that I did.
Wonder what will people think when they find out I killed myself. Not much to do but to send you this for you to post it on your blog for everyone to read. Do it in the middle of the night please, give me that much. Who knows how much grammatical mistakes are in this text. This tekilla is to be blamed surely.
Now that I reread this pages I written in this hours past I see that this is to be judged as my style. Have to say that that is fucked up. Pardon me. Think about it fella, they judge your last action even though the last action is only the result of all the actions you took during the long years.
Machiavelli should have written it differently. I am about to meet with him so I am feeling a bit cocky and will change one of the selling points of capitalism.
Means justifies the cause. No. Cause is judged because of the means.
I love Mariella. Love her so much that I turned up on her weeding today with Kenneth. Congratulated them both, sat down, stared blank, stole a bottle of tekilla and went home under the excuse of work being it a week day.
One more thing. It is not a mistake, just ask Hemingway.