Archive for romance

Goodbye ..

Posted in Drum Roll with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 10/19/2012 by Angel D. Vargas

I don’t wake up crying in our old apartment anymore.

I don’t see our cats stalking across the living room toward me, tails up and eyes wide, wondering why my eyes are doing funny things like leaking water.

I can’t see the front door the apartment we used to share. I’ve forgotten what color it is.

I’ve been able to recall less and less of our neighborhood walks. My old haunts are still fresh in my mind, but they don’t include the memory of your presence. I don’t feel you near me anymore when I walk in my favorite park. You’re not whispering in my ear when I stare at the ducks at my favorite pond. I no longer think of the touch of your skin when I imagine the smooth caress of a duckling’s feathers.

The tightness in my chest when I think about your absence has faded.

I can’t bring myself to compare the women I meet to you anymore. Their curves no longer remind me of yours. Their eyes don’t sparkle with the same blues.  I am taken by individual personalities. I no longer detest the idea that my newest acquaintances carry similar personality quirks to yours. I evaluate on a case by case basis again.

I don’t remember what television shows we used to watch together.

How did we discover Tai Iced Tea together, or that the word “Pho” didn’t mean “enemy” in Vietnamese restaurants?

It’s time for me to move on.

I’ve stopped reading our letters to the phantoms of one another that neither of us could ever hope to be. I’ve stopped crucifying myself for not being the man I’ll never be.

I’ve stopped wondering what you wear to work. I don’t do your laundry anymore. I don’t wash your dishes. I no longer pick up your crap.

I don’t remember what your hair smells like anymore.

But make no mistake. I will always care.

Just as you were my deepest wound, you were my greatest love.

I’m still recovering my ability to trust. I am still learning the lessons of the heart that you tried to teach me, whether you know it or not.

We’ll always have the Space Needle and White Chocolate Mochas. We’ll always have the first time we made love.

I’ll always know your tender heart as you once knew mine. I’ll always see it in your photographs of roses. I’ll always feel it in the way you care for others. I’ll always remember it in your kiss.

I will always love you.

Goodbye.

Duck, Duck, Person…

Posted in The Flow and Rhythm of Life with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 04/30/2012 by Angel D. Vargas

It was another early morning wake up time for me.  The sun hadn’t crept into my room through my open window yet, but the cold air definitely made my toes curl. My blanket had gotten twisted off of my bed, a sure sign that I’d had at least one nightmare.  I’ve gotten used to waking up with my blanket in knots under my arms, or even with my blanket having been tossed to the other side of the room violently.  When I was in high school, I woke up once to serious pain in my right hand, and a knuckle sized indent in my bedroom wall.

 

I groaned as I got out of bed and dragged my computer to me like a willing lover.  I did what I’ve been kicking myself for doing lately.  I checked twitter, I checked Facebook, I checked the stats of my blog, and I checked a couple of other websites.  In truth, I felt hopelessly lost, like one of the Knights of the Round Table in search of the elusive Holy Grail.   I don’t even know what the hell I’m looking for anymore.  Checking the internet just feels automatic now.  I’m up, it’s time to check to see if my life on the internet is worth all the time and energy I seem to put into it lately.  Gotto tell you all, it wasn’t.  And none of my other friends were going to be awake anyway, so there would be no Skyping or instant messaging with them. I was alone again among a different crowd on the world wide web.

 

Once I was done messing around with my computer, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and got the fuck out of dodge.  My family was asleep.  So were their dogs, thank God.  Those yippie little motherfuckers have a habit of barking and giving away my position when I want to let my family sleep in.  They act like it’s my fault my parents were up late again watching bad television. It’s all I can do not to kick them both before I leave the apartment.  Worse, I’ve been feeling a cold sort of cruelty lately, a disdain for most of humanity that could easily become a dragon’s fire that consumes everyone in my path.  Maybe some of my muses are trying to wake the fuck up again so they can distract me from whatever is making me feel this way.  With my luck with writing lately, I just don’t know that it will happen.  Granted it’s only been a couple of days since my last couple of thousand words, but it’s still another frustration that I don’t want . I’m doing the mental masturbating that I’ve gotten so sick of lately.  My mind’s left hand is going either fall off or get really hairy.

 

But I figured if I was going to brood over something, I might as well go do it over at my favorite duck pond.

 

And it didn’t take me long to get there.  My feet were able to find the familiar path even thought the rest of me was so distracted by other things.  And it was nice to not be utterly surrounded with people at the park on a sunny, 45  day.

 

The pond was definitely pretty.  Morning sun reflects off the water in a different way than the afternoon sun does.  The ducks are lazier too.

 

They were doing something that I have never been awake and out at the pond early enough to see them do.  One duck would lazily swim along, his feet just kind of swishing behind him in the water.  Then without warning, he’d duck his head under the water as his body kept moving forward.  It was a bit like watching a feathered submarine.  When he wanted to see above the water again, he’d poke his head up slowly, like a periscope.  I had to smirk at that moment.  The hunt for Red October was on.

 

But then another duck showed up.  The first duck kept his head but he didn’t see the second duck making a bee line for him in the water.  Their paths were about cross.  It wasn’t going to be a violent collision, but maybe they would have quacked at each other or something.  But just when they were about to collide, they both stuck their heads below water and passed each other with two sets of moving ripples.  They were two feathery submarines with the same mission in mind, and they just missed each other by inches.

 

I love my ducks, but I don’t know a heck of a lot about them.  I don’t know if they communicate underwater using “quack” bubbles or anything like that.  But the sight of two ducks missing each other by inches got me to thinking New York pedestrians, and how many of them I witness each day passing each other like these ducks.  Instead their heads aren’t buried under the green, sunlit water of a pond looking for food.  The heads of these curious “New Yorker” creatures are looking down at their smart phones and their kindles, texting, reading, not looking where they are going a great deal of the time, and still managing to avoid each other.

 

And I find that sad.

 

I am not going to sit here and type out this BLOG post while condemning social media.  My hypocrisy will only stretch so far.  I am an American consumer, and like the rest of us, I’ve somehow embraced the tenets of capitalism and technology’s role in said norms.

 

But I can’t lie to you either.  There are some very interesting people in this world,  and I’m sad to see them looking at their smart phones instead of paying attention to the world around them.  There are teenagers with keen intellect in their eyes, pretty women and handsome, snappily dressed men with stories written all over their faces, old people with tales of their glory days just itching to be shared with young strangers like me.  And even in places like Central Park, they wander around practically Eskimo kissing their smart phones in an attempt to communicate while the world around them continues to exist.  Spring flowers continue to bloom. Tiny robins tweet (and not on the internet). Potential conversations with real people are avoided.  Gothic Architecture isn’t admired. Food festivals aren’t savored for the unique cultural experience that they provide. And even the potential for romance seems to fly out the window, replaced (most believe) by something known as internet speed dating.

 

I’ve done my share of internet “dating” too.  It flies in the face of everything I was taught about love and romance growing up.  Then again, maybe that’s not always a bad thing in my case 😉  Live  with my parents for a month and you’ll think that movie “War of the Roses” was a picture of paradise.

 

I met a special someone on the internet.  It isn’t always easy.  Only time, at this point, will tell me if it will work. I gamble with my heart when I think it’s worth it.  Deep down, despite my apparently cold view toward people, I think she has the potential to be.

 

My parents didn’t prepare me for that one.

 

But what does it mean when the people around you all start to look like ducks who bury their heads underwater looking for something special?  Ducks have a simple reason to “duck,” don’t they?

 

Maybe people have their reasons too, but I am only really beginning to understand what they are. I do it myself, and I’m still trying to understand why..

 

“Duck and cover” isn’t just something people say when fighting breaks out.

 

 

What do you all think out there in internet land?  Why do people lower their heads and avoid the potential for joy and goodness in their lives? I’d love to hear from any of you on this subject.

%d bloggers like this: