It’s been an emotional time. I’m in anti-social mode, but I force myself to get out when the opportunity comes along.
One day, we hit up a diner around noon. I wore my flip-flops, and cruised west with the wind numbing my skin. My stereo gets louder as I accelerate, and it only made me drive as fast as I could to see how loud I could push Wild Gardens. For a moment, it filled me with serene bliss, and that was enough, among the steel and pavement and summer heat in spring, to give me hope.
It’s that feeling I’ve been craving. To be the only living boy in New York.
Audra tells me I smell nice when I haven’t left the house for days. Gives me the breath-stealing hugs. And the fact that she’s so sensitive about crossing my boundaries makes her the sweetest redhead I know. It’s hard not to believe in myself when she believes in me so well.
I find it funny that I have exactly the same lifestyle now as I did five years ago, with the only difference being Tai Chi substituting for table tennis. It’s almost like I’ve regressed to the time I was still living in an apartment with two roommates, and had a brand new career.
Am I happier? Not really1. But I’m not sadder either. I can only say that I feel like I’m a better person. Stronger, wiser, and at a better place in life. I can’t ask for more.
Every fresh flower is a reminder. I suppose she became a habit and I’m still going through withdrawal, a symptom that manifests itself as such tremendous longing.
It’s for this reason that I’ve been avoiding romantic movies. I watched Adventureland, and I really shouldn’t have. It’s this Hollywood hope that makes it hard, because you can’t help but see yourself in every situation and wonder why it didn’t work out for you. Maybe I’m just too cynical now, and the cynicism ruins every happy ending, because I can’t believe in them anymore.
People still ask me how she’s doing, still tell me I’m good with her. So much for resolution. So much for leaving the past behind. But as the book says, we may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.
For Easter, I had a some home-cooked, maple-baked ham, and some brilliant conversation over dinner. In one night, all these little bits of life came together that I don’t get to experience often; bachelorhood isn’t conducive to big meals and family gatherings. I take in as much as I can, because I never know when these moments will come again.
- Admittedly, that was a pretty happy time in my life. [↑]
Hey, the 1st one looks a bit like a Normal rockwell poster :)
Interesting. I’ve been playing around with colours lately, and trying to mimic the look of old film and vintage paintings. It’s hard for me to tell it’s working though, because I have the bias of what the scene looked like in normal colour, so it’s good to have someone give me some insight into this.
Oops. I meant Norman Rockwell.
This has nothing to do with your post other than that for no reason lately I’ve felt so isolated and lonely, even though I live with my SoulMate and best friend.
But that’s beside my point. The picture of the child. I know most people would find him adorable in most circumstances, but the wide angle of your lens makes his beautiful blue eyes look enlarged and other-worldly…
and it only brings me back to my fear and terror of children. He looks curious, but he also looks like he is contemplating something serious.
After hearing about the bullying cases in New England that caused that beautiful Irish girl to kill herself, it only reminds me that children are all ruthless, and it scares me to no end. Especially now that I’m married, everyone expects me to pop out the kids and keep telling me about it: “You’re going to be a mother of four.” I want to tell my father in law that he can fuck off. There is no way in hell I’m spending $1M on a bunch of brats I can’t take back to the store.
On another note, as always your photographs are amazing.
I have the exact same trepidation about having kids myself. We’re led to believe that we’re supposed to have unconditional love for our kids. What if they just happen to be a bad egg, even though you show so much love and attention and “do everything right”? How could I love my child if he/she was a murderer? The thought does scare me.