11:41 p.m. - 2004-05-31
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It’s hard to think that this moment is the result of years of sense and time.
It’s easy for me to relate to final consummations in real life and in art; but never in the happiness, just the ending.
I sat prepared, preparing myself for the most emotionally satisfying moment of my life. They pulled into the street from the adjacent right street, like entering from an unexpected back door. I watched them walk towards me and stand before me like a savior, like a parent, like a posthumous lover.
“You look like a businesswoman.”
“I just came from work, I thought I would dress up.”
“You look nice.”
“Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, I decided that if I had to experience watching them eat crab meat for one more fucking second that I was going to explode.
“You’re leaving already? Well, don’t be a stranger.”
They winked at me, I smiled with thick affectation, and I left.
After all of these years, I really thought that my ending would include us as another beginning, and I would be the triumphant, tragic figure escaping adversity for the last time.
But now, staring blankly into the clean and perfectly empty distance of my life, I can see that I never was in it with anyone. In fact, I was never sure that it was a plausible ending, even in my most optimistic thinking, to not end deplorably or, at least, in significant deplorability.
It’s over. I guess at least that much is clear.
I’ve never felt like I’ve ever been on the same temporal level as my friends… it seems that people want to leave right when you start needing them, right in the middle of the story of you and them.
All of the pain is in my chest and we have reached a symbiotic relationship and I have felt this stale and painful for so long that at this point, I don’t think I could name it.
Where does it hurt?
Everywhere. Everywhere.
