...and He's Come Out of Hiding

*Thinkers: not the best allies to align yourselves with. Joke. I’m a thinker; she’s a thinker; he’s a thinker; that’s what we all are; at least, what we have the potential for being at our utmost cores. And if that’s still too broad a contemplative jump to undertake, let me narrow it even further for you now: to the subject of she and I and a summer it then took me `til mid-winter the following year to recover from entirely. When we two began to fuck with one another’s emotions and I began to substitute that for the actual thing in the hopes it would eventually turn to the real thing, then, in a season’s absence on her part, things began to change, with a twist of apathy on mine, and, I suppose, that’s what happens when people like us start to mesh, to mould, with one another, uncertain of how delicately to proceed. And, as I now proceed to analyze the following, I’m beginning to recognize just how dangerous mixing spirituality and romanticism can be, a thing completely other than that of blending the former concept with that of love. The one has almost no place to reside with the other while the next has just about everything, in every aspect, to do with the one. Before this is taken any further, though, I think you’ll need to be aware that you’re in no position whatsoever to tell me otherwise. My eyes are cold, hard as granite now; they’re not soft and warm, nearly as inviting, like they were when we knew each other. And I haven’t seen that welcome simultaneously coming from hers lately either, so that’s what might’ve cooled the burnt-out ember past the point of even possible reignition.
*Probably sometime shortly after the halfway mark of June was when it all began happening; it was the summer, she was beautiful, and my heart melted at her posture when one of my friends here introduced the two of us. I swear it to God, though; when I spotted her, sitting from where I was, on a day prior to that one, the light peering out from behind those iridescently green eyes behind that pair of half-glasses automatically sent chills down my spine and I did my best to avoid any interaction whatever with her up to that point, but, as time had its way with me, the stars had another say in the matter. Hoping for something more precise to come of this, though, completely fucked with me because, reminiscing on a day going throughout the next couple-month span after the time, forcing myself to go over to the table where she was stocking goods and talk to her, when she’d given me her phone number, the usual presence that inhabited my being back in those times had gone out from me, that being a period when everything, only short of being suicidal, came to call; I was so glad, in those moments, she’d not come in that day to find me in that manner because I’d been in that spot before without any logical conclusion for why I’d not gone there then. She was young, though, and I probably knew better, though I’d gone the route opposing then, than to invest myself like I had because, as I’d come to find out, upon taking this swift plummet, one that I most possibly would’ve taken even had I known, we both eventually had our sights set for her to be able to go to Europe for the semester upcoming and, as it came to pass, those expectations were met; wait… that’s not it, though, so, casting all that aside… Dancing together, though, in that way, figurative, mystical, and exhilarating while it’d all been taking place though it was, with several instances when I’d just fallen to tears in sheer ecstaticism at the numerous recollections I find myself still holding onto these days are the few, impossible though they seem, to consider as ones not coming back now because of the way in which things have manifested themselves and they’re mine to claim; you can’t have them, this detachment not supposing to have happened. The apparent obsession, in the midst of all of this, though, actually comes more of the nature of the sciences, from experimentation, just in the way things work; that, along with the fact, realizing I’m not precisely the excavator I’ve always made the hopeful attempt at being, wondering where else my mind will wander as time goes on, is what drives me, and I thought this a fascination she and I had in common towards life, however, that possibly being the case, I hardly consider us to be pursuing such a matter in the same fashion anymore. The most difficult of issues at hand here, though, just comes at its being hard to accept sometimes that everything, as it ascertains to certain crowds, may not be appropriated likewise by others, but that doesn’t change the fact of the matter being that, after constant wear from the masses, some have turned a blind eye to cultural relevance, not complying with its mostly being about termination, the acknowledgement that there’s not a way to know if there even is a scientific explanation that needs pursuing.
*Nah… The essentiality of it all, after having fibbed to yourself so long, is the very thing romanticism gets mistaken for so much of the time. Everything else is just mishandled, nasty conspiracy so oftenly misconstrued, which even serves to turn people against each other in some regard. Contradictory and unpeaceable, but I’ll just let your mind wander freely here because there actually is a point I’m trying to make. Holism, want, and love – the three all coalesce with one another, understanding that love comes with persistence and, for such to be present, the thing so being must be sought after and, with its all making headway here, when it becomes apparent the thing so desperately desired by one is actually longed for by the relationships accompanying, thus is borne the stuff of holism. Merely as a side quotient now, though, the tragedy of it all occurs when things get jostled with, strewn about, thrown out of proportion because, as it so turns out, there actually is an order to things. Want can’t stand in place of holism, nor can either be brought to a standstill before love’s taken center-stage, so there won’t be any nonsense here as far as saying how substitution’s possible for one or the other before everything falls into its proper place. Oh, yeah… Memory. That, too.
*The story starts out, reaching more towards the end of things, slowly inching its way backward, but, as things remain now, it continues without a definite say one way or the other; the initiation, however, comes in telling about the latter half of this past October when I’d gone up to Chicago, having heard from the man with whom my soul aligns that we’d be receiving an award with our friends for a radiopiece the lot of us had done, with an insistence that I be there. So, I went, the details of the trip being deemed irrelevant, as that’s coming out in a whole other volume, except for one poignant detail made apparent the day after the festival, as we were strolling along a sidewalk in downtown Chicago, among friends, the man just made mention of above making the comment about the way I’d been walking being more unsteady and off-balanced than it was the last time we’d seen each other and the comment festered, making me reflect on a time, more toward the day we’d met, when I’d unjustifiably been annoyed with him for being unsupportive of my laziness. Somewhat silly, but yeah, that’s some of the shit I remember… Even after the lingering comment, though, I’d stayed, mostly using my chair, that being the case for the next couple months, its being, however, interrupted a little over halfway into it when I’d visited a dear college professor friend of ours, as he’d told me the same thing, prior to a night in a suburb of Chicago, repeating what our professor friend had mentioned to me about said condition to the man I’ve been making reference to all along, and he agreed, stating, more piercingly, about the way he wasn’t a fan. After that night, though, and the moments we’d had together then, it was still just so upon returning to San Diego until a few nights after, as I was sitting in the coffee-shop, waiting a couple hours more than was previously orchestrated for my ride, along with everything else that’d been going on at that point, I went mad with the personal chaos produced by all’f those noises in my head only I could hear, making the decision right then of not wanting this anymore. And, with the next day’s being New Year’s Eve, I just took it to recover from the night previous and, having already set the blasted wheelchair aside by then, I’ve just been walking around everywhere ever since having recuperated, and, having lost track of the chair now, making light of what’s being considered, I’ve just been strengthening and adepting myself accordingly as time continues to evade itself…