To the wind (kiss me once more).

how​ man​y people actually think abo​ut the​ win​d? where did​ it sta​rt,​ whe​n doe​s it stop? who​ gave birth to the​ winds?​ was​ it the​ ocean that cra​she​d and​ fou​ght​ wit​h the​ roc​ks in its​ way​? did​ the​ ocean eve​n nee​d the​ win​d or did​ the​ win​d eme​rge​ fro​m the​ voi​ces​ of the​ wat​er?​ why don't i notice when it kis​ses​ my face and​ tangle​s bet​ween my fingers and​ leaves me.​ and​ i wal​k in wan​der​ and​ won​der​, a simultaneous movement from my mind to my fee​t. like a mechanical instrument that nee​ds a chain of cog​s to function.​ the​ further i walked the​ fur​the​r i thought int​o thi​s. i asked​ myself​ if the​ sam​e breeze​ wil​l eve​r com​e again to gre​et me.​ has​ it see​n the​ wor​ld,​ has​ it see​m me before​? and​ as it ble​w awa​y i was​ saddened that the win​d would see​ the city, the desert, the​ ocean and​ the world all at once...and i would just walk home and hope it would ret​urn soon to tell me of all​ its adventure​s.

crush.love.lost.

I think I'm the obsessive kind of lover. But I was not always that way, over time my heart had quietly longed for something, and its need grew. I'm the kind of guy who has been single for far too long to take the chance of 'taking things slow'. The kind that urges for some sort of reassurance. Had I of never met them I would never feel anything for them, but I have met them and I feel something. My feelings and thoughts often become confused with each other and I panic. Do I step back, or forward, or not at all? Do I tell the truth, use romanticized tactics or wait?

The other day I wrote down "I was inevitably crushed by a crush. Of course it was going to hurt. No matter how long you know someone, how well or even how much you think of them, a crush will always end. Always. From there it becomes nothing, or everything. The end or the beginning lies at the end of a crush's road. What I didn't accept from people was 'it wasn't meant to be', which I do not believe to be true whatsoever. If things happen for reasons and misfortune brings something that is 'not meant to be', then was it meant to be that I should have been crushed or even met the person in the first place?

And so now I sit here, not talking, just staring that computer screen with the longing for a 'hello' from the person I am destined never to be with. And I'll wait until the clock strikes twelve and I will give up. But my thoughts of them will continue. I felt invited to their lives only to arrive at the door with it being locked. Call me and lock me out. And now I have to walk home alone again."

What do you do in these situations? So many people cancel the theory of love at first sight and also won't believe that love can start as a seed and blossom into something beautiful. I'm repeatedly told that love won't work if two people do not feel the same from the start. Then were all those romance movies in vain? The girl who had it all vs. the guy who fell short of anything bearable in his life and yet he somehow 'won' her over.

Do you wait for them to be ready? Do you make the opportunities or wait for them to come? In a sense, a crush is the happiest kind of loneliness, so close to something and riding on the edge of what could be nothing at all. Just like the song, "There Is No Mathematics To Love and Loss", I don't believe there is any real way to fall in love other than the way you already have. Is it really possible to love like you have never been hurt? Because to be honest, right now I am hurting like I have never been loved.

The early twilight of the iguana

One night I was almost seventeen. I sat down in a brown velvet armchair to read Pablo Neruda because I’d just discovered I was too chicken to drink my first can of Guinness. The house was very quiet and very empty. The black beer had been sitting in the corner of my oma’s pantry, surprisingly. I casually moved it to the refrigerator door on the first morning while I was unpacking my groceries. I’d been eying it for three days. The whole idea was risky. Who knew what would happen if I popped it open and downed the whole thing, like I wanted to? Guinness was muddy and delicious and Sophisticated-Proletarian, but in the last six months alone I had become friends with a university dropout who busked as a card magician for a living and was in a band, started dating a boy, acquired a pocket knife that flipped open like a switch blade, stopped taking violin lessons, stopped going to church every Sunday, and started studying harder than I ever had in my life. Within a month my first published poem was going to be coming out in an alternative feminist literary journal. Some other night it would seem perfectly normal and innocent, but there are nights when deciding to drink your first alcohol alone is a destructive idea. There are nights when you are almost seventeen and using up experiences much too frivolously.