feelings from a wannabe lover

I've tried.

Once or twice before—to hold someone else’s heart with mine. Gosh, what a nice idea. Funny thing is, I haven't even gotten far enough to hold their hand.

Typically, it's from me that feelings grow—like little leaves just sprouting from the snow. Nothing ever happens, though. Not even the courtesy of letting them know. And maybe some of it has to do with fear that I need to work through. But I think most of it has to do with falling for the wrong person every time.

Now, in terms of burning time on a person where anything even reminiscent of a love story fails to grow because feelings from the other side were never there to begin with is what I mean when I think "wrong" person. Because at this point, it seems like the possibility of kinetic love is already dead upon arrival—the chance to experience, much less manage, even naïvely challenge its volatility.

I actually fell for someone this past fall. Another wrong person if you didn't guess already.

She lives in London and is at least seventeen years older than me—just to add to the impossibility of it all.

I met her over the summer while I was taking a class there.

The story goes...

Every morning I'd wake up, take the Tube down to Central, get to class, and then go home. Essentially. I'd sightsee here and there, of course, but this was mostly what I was doing. I did, however, always stop by this one restaurant on Lexington for dinner. And that's how it all began.

By the end of the summer, I'd made some sort of impression on the staff working there because they started to remember me.

On my last day, I left a card on the table for a few of the people I had talked to the most—one with orange lilies on it. I picked it out because it went well with the light blue walls of the restaurant. It really wasn't anything special, just a few words and my number, just in case any of them wanted to keep a connection.

And. Well. Shockingly, they used the number.

She used the number.

And so from late August until right about now, we've been talking.

I'd send something. She'd respond. She'd say "hi." I'd reply. Just like that.

Being someone who feels mostly detached and goes about the world being mostly detached, it was something undiscovered to be confronted by attention. She strummed a few of my strings, and I heard tiny bits and melodies I had never really known before. I became enchanted by the music and followed the feeling.

It is what it is. And it is what it's been—a tightrope walk between the lines of crush and something that could look like love.

My imagination likes to show me Beauty's possibilities, painting pretty pictures I believe. And I'm not going to lie, it's been nice to dream. But. Seeing so many beautiful things, gosh. That's so many hits to take.

And the thing is, I've been cracking all over—falling apart, really (as slowly and silently as I can. I've never been one to draw attention to myself). My thoughts are feeling more like poison—the ones of love or lack thereof.

I never thought I'd let her get so deep. But here we are.

More and more I'm just wanting, waiting for all these feelings to be on their way. But, as you know, feelings can be stubborn, especially ones of this breed. They never listen to the words of Convenience. One of Love's strangest mysteries lies in its power of latency. And tell me this. How are you supposed to stop liking someone who has done nothing but inspire you to put your heart to good use?

Trust me when I say this. I never wanted her to know about any of this.

I knew there'd be no point to it. I knew from the start that she was the wrong person, and I knew that saying anything would do nothing but ruin everything.

But then I found myself drunk and on my phone. So. Imagine what you will.

I was never really keen on the whole "life is too short, so just tell them how you feel" idea, and, to put it mildly, I'm still not.

I wonder where I'll go from here...

I found myself on a swing set trying to watch the sunset. But even the sun won't bleed. Not today. Not where I am.

At least the sky's still blue.

Honestly should have seen this coming.

After all, I've always loved the color blue...

Been finding any feeling and feeling it fully because the numbness of before, it's much worse.

Joy is very short-lived at the moment. Not much brings her around these days. And when she is around, she never stays long.

Been trying to find things to revive her, bring her back, keep her around just a while longer.

Trying, trying, trying.

But she's just so delicate. Even a breeze makes the flame flicker and wind blows her candle out completely.

And she's always so skittish, like a bird who feels danger, taking flight for clearer skies.

I have to remind myself that I've seen Magic before, and I'll see it again. It's not gone. It just likes to hide.

These have been the few small gifts that remind me of my reasons:

"A Sky Full of Stars" - Coldplay

I've been using this to kickstart my heart. A spoonful of sugar to sustain good faith.

The song itself captures the feeling I'm chasing after. It's what I think Hope sounds like—her serenade for Beauty.

I probably discovered it when it released on radio. I can't really remember anymore. I had heard it a couple of times, but it was more of a back-shelf item for me that I never really took time to look at until now.

And I never bothered to watch the music video until recently. But I'm glad I finally did. It makes the song that much sweeter. It really does.

I'm able to witness the act of inspiring joy where needed and necessary. That's how I've come to see what love could be. Being sweet to be sweet. Nothing more and nothing less. Not to force connection. Not to move into someone's space. Not to gain something from them. Just to create happiness when needed and necessary.

Also, this is the only song besides Nick Mulvey's "Fever to the Form" to have made me physically cry. And I'm not typically one to cry often—if ever.

@friggin_priest Divine Memer Instagram Account

My sister made this meme account last summer (2019) that holds all the humor we share. Every single post she finds funny, I always find funny as well. And I think it's always been like that.

Being a triplet, it's always been a little harder to be separate from them, more than I'm willing to admit. We all shared the same room until we were eighteen. To put it into perspective.

So when I went away to college and they stayed behind to take a gap year, I was stuck in an entirely new place, trying to adapt to an entirely new life. Didn't go very well. I found myself falling harder than I've ever fallen before into depression and what you could might as well call love—both of which are things I never experienced before. I found myself so far down the hole that I had to go home.

This meme account helped and continues to help me stay bonded to my sisters, not to mention the hilarity of it all.

Murderino - My Favorite Murder

I came across the podcast itself while I was volunteering at The Gentle Barn during my junior year of high school. I overheard two girls talking about it and decided to check it out for myself.

It's a true crime comedy podcast that always gives me a reason to laugh. And the photo itself has to do with Georgia Hardstark's tendency to jumble her words. It's one of my favorite jokes of theirs, but more than that, it reminds me that imperfections can be one of the best things life can give us.

The word "murderino" refers to anyone who has an interest in true crime. It has become a bond for people who have found community through this shared interest. And while I don't necessarily consider myself a murderino, mostly due to the fact that I always have trouble feeling at home within communities, being able to watch how this true crime family has grown together is certainly a reason to believe in magic.

Anyways, these are only tiny ounces of joy I've been able to collect in my bucket. I've been trying to find more. To fill it even half way. It's hard work, but I'd like to see this through.

At times I’ll lose my mind. Other times I’ll lose myself completely, amidst all the searching. But my heart always stays—in a place where I can always find it.

What is the purpose of my travels?

to appreciate freedom unsought.

to understand without definition.

to remember Peace in Disaster.

to cherish Love's latencies.

to recognize strength over time.

to take after Happiness.

and to feel Beauty again.

even if it takes a lifetime...