My computer was on the fritz so I apologize for the lapse in posts. I will continue posting a Journey of Music (2 of 3) once I locate the back-up and/or re-write the excerpt. Tonight, Jack and me will be pontificating about misguided Love.
For every one of cupid’s arrows in his quiver, for every aim and shot he takes, sad to say, there are missed opportunities.
Tonight I saw her again. She wasn’t the one that got away exactly. She was the one I had no idea how to approach. I was scared, alone, and uncertain. The last state of being, most crucial. For uncertain, there was self doubt and with self doubt, followed complicated mixed signals.
I didn’t know what I wanted then. I have a better idea now, but seeing her again… it reminded me of wanting better. Not just for myself, but for everyone I care about. She’s included in that list whether she knows it or not, because however briefly we connected, we connected. That’s all that matters. Through the traverse of space and time, through the infinite combinations of algorithms, through wavelengths of energy, we connected and together we existed for however briefly it was.
“It’s complicated.” She says.
“It always is,” I say.
On those first cold winter nights, moving back home, her voice was a reminder that home wasn’t the prison I envisioned. That I was free to live and breathe outside the confines of my complex scenario, that I was free to love and free to touch the souls of others… hers was a soul corrupted for loving someone who hurts her.
Maybe not entirely, but enough, because there was and is pain. There is sadness. In her eyes, in her avoidance, she was not free, trapped in her complex scenario.
That was the kicker. That despite meeting so briefly and sharing the same wavelength, we were, for better or worst, from different worlds. She would go back to him, and I would continue on alone. Our paths diverge, and we trek endlessly in space. She found herself progressing to a bartender position, and I found myself there drinking alone.
“Another Jack Daniels on the rocks, please.” I barely speak, a mumble really. I need to project more.
“You’re bored?”
“Yeah…” and I mumble. It must have been inaudibly, because she didn’t respond.
Like daggers, I wish I can make her see. That it doesn’t have to be so complicated, but I know better. I’ve never really made thing exactly simple. Had I really an honest chance before? She was and still is in love with someone else. Someone I can never be, in her eyes, and in mine. That’s the other kicker, the one that makes you doubt your own ability to help others… to help yourself.
So I drink and wonder, how misguided Love makes drunks of us all?
