A Loose, Baggy Monster

When my sister has kids, I shall raise them as good little Russians, and read War and Peace to them every night. They will be well acquainted with the themes of life and love by the age of ten and will have digested those subjects concerning all that they’ll never understand. I hope my sister does not begrudge me this liberty.

I am poor at communication. This being the case, a wealth of things to be expressed often grows inside of me. I feel the swelling of things with such importance bound in a love of life and others that must be told and understood. The resulting eagerness with which I try and say everything often comes off childish and disregardable. This is my flaw. I am the singer who, feeling and believing in the music so profoundly and honestly only allowing himself to sing at the most essential of times,  cannot for the life of him discipline his voice to sing on key when the time comes. Despite the awkward noises, it is not a mockery of music.

All that loaded talk to say: I wish I could express what’s inside me. It’s so much better than what you hear.

I wanted to say something to Danielle yesterday when I saw her at the street fair. Something beautiful and honest. Something like, "I miss you. I love you." Her cold, detached response to my presence was an obstacle I did not overcome though. How is it that this girl, whom I once held so affectionately in my mind and whom once seemed to appreciate my presence, could be so ambivalent to me now with a conventional, emotionless hug and a "see you around." Adding to the confusion, moments later Stephanie greeted me with brilliant, intoxicated eyes and inflections… though she and I were hardly even acquaintances. Hannah said, "Danielle’s just gotten bitchier." I will never be able to come close to believing that. I will always remember the affection for the girl I must believe is still hidden behind the eye-shadow.

The passing of time has never agreed with me. Change and I were never good friends. Alterations imply a move away from something understood to something to get used to. When this change conflicts a little with a past understanding, I tend to not deal with it well. The past exposes this repeatedly. I label the change as contradiction. Through time, Contradiction has become vile to me and a hated enemy along with its sibling Meaninglessness. Both wage war with Truth, Honesty, Life and Love in my mind. A war I only scarcely involve myself with nowadays, only when it appears on the news from a tv screen in some dark bar and I ramble drunkenly about "my side."

And here, case in point, I write a truly important, honest entry… and I make it difficult, long and inaccessable… resulting in its message more than likely being lost to most. Just like War and Peace.