live to the point of tears (lachrymoselife) wrote,
live to the point of tears

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he gave her flowers and a lightning storm

do reality and fantasy overlap? every border borders another, and i'm just asking for a location so i can place one of my feet on each side and hold on for the rest of my life.
there's something familiar yet exciting in the comfort of your unexpected touch, something constant in your heartbeat and something thrilling in the way it accelerates when i press my face against your chest.
my heart responds with intuition, my mind falls victim to reason, to rationalization, justification. what is attraction? i see you and have no desire to undress you. i have no desire to kiss you. or so i think. until you look at me a little too long. or ease into a friendly hug so naturally. and the thought leaps at me. it seems so obvious, so redundant even though i've never let anything like it happen between anyone like you and me.
my solitude is no mystery. it feels more like a destiny, the fate of the ideals i cherish and the tendencies i've picked up along the way. untouchable boys humble me, intimidate me. i need to feel safe. like i control the pace, like there's reason to believe that if i let them stay the night they'll still love me in the morning. so i flirt shamelessly at parties until the pick up lines make me feel icky, like a generic target of testosterone, like an upgrade from your standard playboy magazine
[i am not an object. i would rather not be an adjective. i prefer to consider myself a verb. something active and passionate with the potential for change. i elude. i exude.]
yet i instantly overwhelm any boy who fails to intimidate me. i befriend them. i hug them. listen to them. coax them through anything and everything. i love them before i ever let myself consider falling in love with them. and then there's this mess there, just down a few flights of stairs, waiting at the edge of a drunken mistake, a conflict of interest, a divide between my heart and mind, lurking at the edge of every innocent touch, lagging behind the hesitant blink each time i stare you deep in your eyes.
it's a classic catch-22, a date with the inevitable in-between. i can only desire you from a safe distance behind a fence of insecurity, so i'll doubt myself and take the easier path the other way. and even if you chase me, i'll forget the feelings i once had, i'll see you approach and my heart beat will slow until i am waiting with arms extended to merely shake your hand and ask you to take a seat, to show you the grand tour of me, to trade in your boyfriend potential at the door for an unlimited pass on the platonic friendship express. and then we'll grow through all the late night talks and our bodies will inch closer to each other on the couch until our hips are alligned and our hands overlap on each other thighs. but it's much too late for butterflies. it's candid, it's asexual [oh, but is that even possible?] it's not nothing, but not quite yet something. it's the sound of thunder without the lightning flash.
it's a pity i never discovered how to divide by irrational numbers. friendship becomes inevitable multiplication by zero, tainting any possible gains we could make.
maybe i'm just impossible. i tell everyone i refuse to settle for less when i haven't even defined what is enough. i want a boy with arms strong enough to make me feel secure, shoulders broad enough to make me feel small, hair long enough to play hide and seek between my fingertips, and lips that soften at the thought of meeting mine. i want a boy with soulful eyes that know how to cry and calloused fingertips earned from hours spent fidgiting with restless guitar strings. abstract specifics that outline a dream i had two years ago, a dream i've been chasing in one form or another since that day we first locked pinkies in the backseat of my car in the company of twilight skies bursting with stars and hearts swelling with adolescent pride.
should you accept no substitute, even when the original is unavailable, when he eludes you like perfection, always surpassing the highest heights you thought you could reach?
should second best feel so subordinate? should imitations feel so second hand and dangerously worn in all the most crucial seams? my open mind can't even convince my heart to reconsider its biases. don't ever listen to anyone who says you can argue a feeling. love doesn't recognize logic; emotions never succumb to reason.

...i sit here at night and listen to love songs in the dark. i read sonnets from centuries past, and come to the same conclusions every time. songs are sang most beautifully when they are forelorn, poetry most touching when it is inspired by longing. perfect love is as dull as lack of desire to be loved & i doubt either exist in this world. the inequality in the distribution, the capacity of the overlaps, the perpetual state of wanting we exist in, these are the perameters of the human condition...

..and maybe it's like waiting for two planets to allign. maybe it just takes time. maybe it's vast like a sky, and you'll never catch it all at one time. so many stars to follow with your eyes. and no guarentees about how long they will shine. and is it better to burn out then to fade away? intensity or longevity? passion or security? i used to know these things. i used to believe that there was a right way. a right person. a right time for everything. that there was a reason to wait. but now i see that today is just like yesterday. only it's today. and tomorrow will probably be the exact same way...

...the boy next door can't really expect to marry miss teen usa. and i never had any real delusions that paul walker would be mine someday. ideals were intended to be lofty. but we define our own realities. mine came in the context of mendham high school, where i had all i ever wanted until i found something i wanted more. because as perfect as my first love seemed to me, there is nothing more striking than complimentary imperfection in another human being. he became my attainable ideal, the outer limit of what i could strive for. and the irony is that perhaps i deserve more. nobody deserves to be unappreciated. but we all take for granted what falls at our feet...

...for the first time in my life i understand that love doesn't have high standards. that society is just picky about what picture perfect couples are featured on the cover of their magazines; love doesn't demand blonde hair and blue eyes and defined muscles, abercrombie is just good at making shirts that accentuate those features. love doesn't demand i run a mile in six-thirty-five or that i pass on chocolate chip cookies at lunch time. it's my heart that wants to feel the accelerated pace and my waist the prefers to shave the excess fat away. love doesn't claim that straight a's are a prerequisite to self-worth, or that a life full of passionate extracurricular activities makes you desirable. it's my mind that wants perfection, it's my standards that are impossible to reach. i'm so terrified of disappointing myself that i wonder sometimes if i would even notice if anyone else had found the time to fall in love with this striving, continually self-revising version of me...

...but i don't want to meet a guy at a frat party. i don't the first touch to be on the pretense of fourteen beers. i don't want college. i don't want 2003. i don't even want dawson and joey, mainly because i've forgotten how to be that naive. all i want is something that presses my personal perameters of perfection, something that exceeds my expectations. [& they've been humbled - i don't anticipate surprise deliveries of a dozen long stemmed roses or pebbles thrown at my window or an original composed love song]. i don't want worship. i don't want melodrama. i don't want to be the cause or solution to your life of problems. i want something so simple that it's complicated, so common that it's extraordinary, so realistic that it's pratically impossible to ever really be...

now is the time to be definant. to show the world that i don't yield to impossibility, that i refuse to be typical and let the dust from all the shattered hopes settle heavily and weigh down my dreams. but there's something about this season that makes it all to easy to comply with falling leaves.

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