i felt disconnected all day. distant. disjointed. another bee in the hive. i don’t know why.

when i stepped outside getting off work, it was grey, breezy, devoid of sunshine.

the bass in my ears moved me. driving the beat of my heart. walking my feet.

the sun slowly came out, mixed bittersweet with the clouds.

and then you showed up. black and white across the street.

i kept my head down as you walked by, careful not to ruin that perfect image in my head. it was enough to keep me going. to make me smile when the most i could feel all day was neutral.

i love you but i don’t know you.

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Are you in love, Jeff?”

Hah.

Romance. It dies as we get older.

I’m not talking about love. Love lasts forever if you’re doing it right. I’m talking about the time when love is still mysterious.

Think of high-school. Over the bra, under the blouse, hoping to god your parent’s don’t walk in. When you’re exploring someone’s body with wonder. When you’re not sure how to act, how to interpret things, and you’re tearing your heart out cause you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

You lose that as you live and you learn and you grow. Confidence takes that nervousness away because you speak your mind, you share yourself, and the uncertainty is gone.

Maybe I’m just feeling old. Maybe I’m just clinging to the past in a fit of nostalgia, to the innocence of my youth when love was the only thing to worry about. Romance without practicality, boundaries, type, or class.

Maybe my more recent relationships just haven’t had that nervousness. There was always that immediate connection that leaves little room for doubt. As fiery as they were, there was no mystery.

Maybe I’m just feeling numb again.

John still comes to me with girl advice every now and then, when he’s losing sleep and he’s writing terrible, hilarious poetry. He hates the uncertainty, but I tell him to think of when he’s older and married to the same person for forty years, how much he’ll miss those feelings.

I tell him to enjoy it. To lose himself. He should be so lucky to feel so strongly about someone.

We all should at least once in our lives, before it’s too late and the romance dies.

I met a girl across the sea
Her hair the gold that gold can be
Are you the teacher of the heart?
Yes, but not for thee

So I asked out Jenn.

I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise; Jenn’s been — perhaps unwittingly — a source of quixotic inspiration as of late.

It was something I approached delicately, out of a sense of propriety (if indeed, such a thing still exists), and the fact that Aaron and Karen are our close mutual friends. An avowal of such a nature, handled incorrectly, always has the potential to be a cause of awkwardness at parties.

Not that I wasn’t already awkward enough around her.

Jenn’s presence alone would make me flustered. When I could speak, it would often be a flourish of nonsensical words. Something that’s humourous in hindsight, but rather frustrating in the moment.

To be so affected always took me by surprise.

And it worked, for a while. I moved on, having convinced myself of such an idea, never telling anyone how I felt. Then one day, I realized that I was only fooling myself. It became obvious when I’d think of her in the lyrics of every song. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t need to defend some part of myself from her. Until then, I never believed in love at first sight. I didn’t want to believe it. After all, how do you explain such an illogical, ineffable, irrepressible feeling? I grew, but not out of this, and in vain had I struggled.

She said no.

It’s funny to think that with the wisdom I’ve gained, the experiences I’ve had, I can still be reduced to such an adolescent emotion. I don’t think anyone, myself included, would have imagined this would happen to me again, not at this age, not with what I’ve been through.

I just wonder now, when we’re both at Aaron and Karen’s wedding, after giving me her polite declination, whether I’ll still feel the same. Sometimes you think you’ve moved on. You think you’re over someone, until you do something as simple as see them again and your heart stops. Love, attraction, infatuation, they’re never so conventional as to be understood.

What a silly thing a crush is.

I love you too much baby
For you to be with me
I love you too much baby
I gotta set you free

—Shea Seger, I Love You Too Much

You were the closest I’ve ever come to perfect in a girlfriend. In fact, you raised the bar. Now I know there are girls out there who are funny, intelligent, open-minded, caring, sane, and I’ll always be looking for the same now.

In so many ways, we worked. My love of dark chocolate and your love of milk chocolate meant that we’d never have a problem finishing off an assorted box. You’re so easy-going, while I’m so uptight. All the little things, like puzzle pieces made of clay.

Even though it’s been months since we’ve broken up, our video is still by far the most played item on my iTunes playlist. It’s such a beatiful memory, and I’ll always cherish it.

I still miss those notes you used to leave me about what you did during the day and when you’d be back. Those times we’d take the bus, and you’d rest your head on my shoulder. Those times we’d wrestle and fall asleep in a pile, right there, from exhaustion.

I miss all these things, but the fact is that it didn’t feel right, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to keep going. You deserve to be with someone better. Someone who will fully appreciate you and the things you do.

I know I never said it in our relationship, but I loved you.

And I still do.

The Letter To An Ex-Girlfriend series

1. Introduction
2. Ashley
3. Michele
4. Christie
5. Jackie
6. Louise
7. Bronwen

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I still stagger and fall. Of course I have that, it happens to me all the time, you just have to get very careful about it, because it’s inappropriate for an elderly chap to register authentically his feelings, you know, because they really could be interpreted, so you really have to get quite covert as you get older or you have to find some avuncular way of responding, but still, you just, really are just, you’re wounded, you stagger, and you fall.

—Leonard Cohen at 72

In 50 years, will I look at love with the same starry-eyed mysticism as I do now?

Will I be satisfied, having loved enough, requited and not?

In my dotage, will I be proud to say that I was adored once, too?

Will I still fall?

Hey Pat,

I don’t know how serious you thought I was about being the best man or MC if you ever get married. I know it may sound crazy, but you getting married is as important to me as it is to you. I love you, and I know I don’t tell you that enough. You are a true friend to me, and you know that I don’t have many.

I see this as a great opportunity to do something for you, because you’ve already done so much for me. Let me take on the responsibility and support you, to be there for you on one of the most important days of your life. I easily put aside the differences I’ve had with any potential people you may invite (I think that we’re smart enough to be open and discuss this), because it’s about you, not me.

These things are usually planned pretty well in advance though, so I won’t be surprised if you have someone else in mind. I understand that we’re talking about YOUR big day, so you should have the people YOU want involved in YOUR wedding. To be honest, I’ll be happy with whatever decision you make, because I’m happy if you’re happy. Bottom line.

In any case, let me know when you pop the question, and WE WILL FEAST.

  —Jeff

I wrote this two years ago.

Pat proposed to Jen a couple of months later. Several months after that, they bought a house, delaying the wedding until this year.

Last week, Pat asked me to be a groomsman and co-MC.

When I found out that Jason would be best man (as well as the other MC) there was a tinge of jealousy in my heart, followed by an overwhelming sense of guilt about this jealousy.

To feel this way was a bit of a surprise. Jealously has never been one of my prominent emotions. It made me realize that I’m a little insecure in my relationship with Pat. There’s so much good in him, compared to the hatred, darkness, and weakness in me. He’s not my opposite, but he’s the person I’m constantly striving to become. Just being around him makes me feel elated and relaxed.

The frustrating thing is that I know it’s his wedding. He should be able to do whatever he wants. There’s no rivalry between Jason and me. As studier of people, I have every bit of faith in Pat’s decision. The logic has finally kicked in, and I feel a sense of warmth and security about being up there with Pat, a group exclusive to a handful of people out of a seemingly endless number.

It’s only now that I realize how selfish and inappropriate it was of me to ask. Running around, making sure everyone is having a good time, giving toasts, hosting games, the duty of MC isn’t even something I normally want to do. I only asked because it was a way that I could show how much Pat has done for me, a responsibility I’d take on gladly.

I’m scared that I made him feel obliged, and I’m ashamed of being jealous for that split-second.

A feeling that overwhelms logic.

This was the weekend we first met.

The first time we kissed. The first time we held each other. The first time we slept with arms entwined, bodies bare and buried under the covers.

It was before the snow melted on the verge of spring, when I would open the windows to dry the sweat from our skin.

I put on a song that made me cry, because she said that it turned her on, and with the tears welling up in my lids, we stared into each others’ eyes.

From the moment we touched, there was never any awkwardness. Only a complete trust, a comforting familiarity, as if we’d known each other for years, a gentle nuzzle of the nose from my baby-faced doll.

And now it’s over.

There’s no room for confusion or regret. One can only thrust oneself forward, never looking back, never questioning what was once said. To learn from these mistakes is the only saving grace. Busyness is simply self-distraction, and to believe otherwise is self-delusion.

And do you try to love him more, because you can’t love me?

I want to take the bullet,
The one aimed straight for your heart.
I want to meet the wolves halfway
And let them tear me apart,
But that’s not the way they do it here.

I want to lay on the tracks,
Feel hot steel screaming at me.
Expose the bones on my back,
Let me show you what I mean.

Yeah, it’s a different kind of love.
I want to climb barbed wire fences
And warm our hands in blood.

And this is my gift
Asking you to fix my ruined hands.
And it’s a gift that keeps on giving,
And right now it’s all I have to give.

I want to write the perfect song,
And play it just for you,
While you are tangled up in sleep.
I need you more than I’ll ever know.
Until I stop breathing,
My lungs will take you for granted.

—Thrice, In Years To Come

I remember a time in my life when I was scared about love. A set of rather adolescent experiences in high school, of which I only now find myself comfortable speaking frankly, had caused me to cling to an unattainable ideal. In Lolita, Humbert Humbert well describes such a happenstance that similarly “made of it a permanent obstacle to any further romance throughout the cold years of my youth. The spiritual and the physical had been blended in us with a perfection that must remain incomprehensible to the matter-of-fact, crude, standard-brained youngsters of today”.

Eventually, I had given up my ideal, but still felt forever tainted, regretfully breaking more than enough hearts in the process.

And as fleeting as the entire experience was, it still enough to galvanize, to make me want to take that bullet, or let the wolves tear me apart. Being tangled up in that mad love, the love that goes against reason or better judgement, softened the stone in my chest, and it felt like I was finally alive.

Gimmie a girl who can make me feel this way.

The Thrice = Love Series

1. Introduction
2. The Journey
3. As The Crucible
4. Rock It
5. The Rush
6. Far From The End

Knowing that I love someone may make me strong, but knowing that someone loves me makes me stronger.

I can see it in your eyes
I can hear it in your voice
the signs are obvious
that all we had has run its course

—Matchbook, Strung Out

The hardest thing isn’t knowing this’ll end, because the certainty of such a fact was clear from the moment we started. It’s knowing that the end is coming and still falling in love that’s the hardest.

How can I distance myself when everything you do draws me closer? If only it wasn’t so fruitless to keep reminding myself that this will never last. All that can be said is that it’s worth it. Everything I’ll be feeling soon is worth another night lying next to you, worth another morning waking up with you.

So give me one more kiss, one more taste of your lips, and tell me how much you’ll miss this.

19. Have you ever been in love? Unfortunately.

—LBJ

Well, here we are again.

I used to think that love was only pain. That was when the only experiences I had with love were bad, when everything I ever felt was unrequited. The fact that I felt this way was representative of the fact that I hadn’t gotten over those feelings at the time. How childish, inexperienced, confused, immature I was. This feeling shaped much of my personality in the last few years, although I’ve recently been able to come out of such an emotional blockade.

Having a relationship where most feelings, however confused, however torrential, however temporary, were shared, has allowed me to come to terms with the past. Such an incident has benefited me greatly, has let me know that I’m not so numb anymore, that it’s possible for such a relationship to exist even if I may never experience it again. Perhaps I was so scared that I would never fall in love again that any such experience would have shocked me into getting over what had happened in the past.

Now I embrace the feeling of love, embrace the fact that the simple act of listening to a song can fill me such poignancy, completely regardless of whether it’s good or bad. Not only do I enjoy being able to care for someone, I enjoy missing them as well, as difficult as it can be. I like the fact that something can turn me terribly, illogically weak. Every emotion involved, whether it’s pleasurable or painful, fills me with the urge to write, to create, to express. This is what I look for. This is what I need.

Now only good can come of love.

It always interests me to learn how some people are changed so suddenly in their lives. An incident, whether it’s retirement, graduation, death, or anything of such a magnitude, cause some to have new revelations or epiphanies. The fact that it takes something as drastic as these situations to affect some people seems seems a little odd to me.

Do these people not think at all in their daily lives? Do they go through one day to the next without looking at the big picture, without seeing some sort of perspective?

I think I’m generally unaffected by such extreme events because of the fact that I try to find meaning in almost everything I experience (risking pretension). It ends up being that something like the loss of a favorite shirt can affect me as much as failing an entire university course. I feel as if I learn enough about myself from both events. As a result of this, I sometimes change on a day to day basis, although it’s generally on a miniscule level and takes a while before it all builds up into anything noticeable.

Of course, this also means that very little ends up surprising me. I’m rarely shocked by anything, and often feel like my emotions have been leveled off, perhaps numb or simply accustomed to change. I don’t get drastically affected anymore, and in turn, can think and act clearly according to my set of logic. The only thing that ends up overcoming my cerebrality is hate.

And love.

How odd that the themes of my writings have mostly shifted in one direction. I always wonder what people think of what I say. I would imagine that people think I’m being melodramatic, that I’m looking for some sort of protagonistic pathos, or that I’m being some pretentious fuck.

It’s as if a single incident has shifted my mindset, that I just can’t seem to completely get over what has passed. The hurting has stopped, to be sure, but the thinking isn’t done. I still get inspired by memories, ideas, emotions, almost anything I’ve experienced through this.

I was once scared that I would never fall in love again, and I used to be emotionally numb. Perhaps all of this was simply a result of a life of stagnancy, of boredom. Now I can write again, I have things to think about, I have emotions to experience, I seem to have things to look forward to.

Can heartbreak be so beneficial? I know that I can feel. I don’t need to force my artistic writing. My mind seems to be filled with new endless thoughts. I can even appreciate certain music on another level now. This complexity, this mysteriousness is so interesting.

My only worry is that this new vitality will level off into nothingness.