"I Remember"

This was another journal from my Poetry class, and I decided to share it here...

Journal #4 "I Remember"

"I remember there was mist/swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake/there were candles all around/and on the lake there was a boat/and in the boat/there was a man…" Those lines haunt my ears every time I think about Phantom of the Opera. I see the passion, the love, the devastation that follows in the rest of the story just thinking about that, and those memories… Well, they just make it into an even bigger deal.

How can anyone not see the curiousity there? That innocent curiousity, which as we all know can be devastating… It's a reminder that heartbreak and betrayal are easy, and can happen in the blink of an eye.

It's a common theme everywhere, and the fandoms I find myself involved with all seem to deeply deal with it.

What is it about betrayal that becomes sensual in the darkest of ways? Why are people drawn to committing actions that hurt and betray others? I'm not talking about a physical hurt, just a deep emotional one, like the stabs of the ancient Grecian dagger against the ribs, leaving scars on both skin and bone.

Many people seem drawn to that pain when they witness it coming from others - so much so that it almost seems like they live from the misery and pain of others.

Where does that come from?

We all have to deal with it, so why do some people gain pleasure from such horrible things while others don't?

I think that may be part of the draw of the gothic genre. That darkness coming from one person to another as it flows off the pages of the book and stings you, the reader, straight in the heart.

Is it just that the pain makes us feel more alive? Or is it that such pain, whether experienced in real life or through the feelings of another (even a character from a book), allows us to better see the joy in life as well? How fine a line is there to cross between despair for the sake of being depressed and despair for the sake of realizing how good you actually have it?

I remember being on both sides. I hated one, yet I'm drawn to the other. It's scary. And I want more than anything to let all of that out of my system. I don't want to enjoy others pain, even if it reminds me that I have a great life regardless of my opinion on each particular day.

Is it just that everyone needs some negativity to focus on, or are we as humans in NEED of that sweet anguish?

I wish I knew the answer to that, because I bet I'd make a lot of money if I wrote about it and got published. *snort* At least in my head, that sounds like a good idea… Not sure how well it actually translates to real life though.

"I Should Have"

This was a journal for my poetry class, so it's very close to my heart... Please keep that in mind as you read.

Journal #2 "I Should Have"

I should have not let Andy go. I should have fought harder to prevent the loss of our friendship. He was my best friend, the only guy who REALLY knew me. I should have realized when he stopped wanting to hang out that something was wrong. I should have looked to see what his eyes were saying. Were they full of pain? Were they weary? Were they wary? What would I have seen if I'd just stopped for a moment, and not been so selfish and all about me?

In those last few months before we dissolved our friendship, Andy would always say he loved me, and I'd respond in kind, thinking that he meant close friendship, nothing more. Did I read him wrong? Did he read me wrong?

It's hard to blame either one of us singularly, but I can't help it. Does he still feel the pain of not having someone to talk to like we talked? Was I replaced instantly or not? There is no replacement for Andy. He was everything I was not, and then some. We laughed together, fought hard, smiled together, thought it was hysterical when we were confused for brother and sister…

Can that relationship really be over so quickly just because someone had to say goodbye?

Did I hurt Andy? I would never do it intentionally, unless we were fighting, but we had known parameters of how far that would even go. Was he in love with me? I remember still the days we spent over a month of weekends curled up together watching The 10th Kingdom. He laid on my favorite pillow, and demanded that I use him as a pillow. I remember that damned smirk on his face as we continued to pause and laugh at scenes in the movie while discussing them. I remember the comparison between him and one of the characters in the movie… I found the character attractive, but, as I laughingly told Andy, him not so much, probably because I'd known him too long.

*sigh* I should have realized that all good times come to an end. I wish I'd seen the signs beforehand. Instead, I'm left clutching each memory of the taunts, the fights, the laughs, the smiles, the hugs… And still not over him.

Someday, I'd love to go out on another random drive with him. Not really going anywhere, just a drive to wherever the road takes us. I remember the silly street names we'd call out, then the exits off the freeway. I remember laughing over getting lost, and how finding our way home again took almost the entire night. Those memories fill my head almost all the time.

Hell, Andy's taken over my mind. I can no longer read my favorite poem without thinking that it's talking about me and Andy.

To quote said poem, "If I should meet Andy after long years, How would I greet him? -With silence and tears."

Tears for the lost time, tears for the pain, tears as I try to find enough voice to ask him what really happened. And how would he respond? I have no idea. But if he approached me, would I even have enough left inside me to open my mouth and turn sound into words?

Andy has moved on. Why can't I?