All human beings are unique mold castings, with a grotesque, writhing beauty so wondrous, fluid, and capable of transcendence that therein lies a spark of divine invocation – all unique, yet still, coequal.
They say the true romantics pretend to be pragmatists, and the opposite. I say, people with happier childhoods probably have reason to be more pragmatic than those without such serendipity of birth. Imagine if the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally did not, then in karmic retribution, you must either believe that romantic love is still out there somewhere, or that the game is unfair, broken, and by virtue, some people really deserving of love will never know of such a thing. This idea is too unfathomable for those who experienced a happy childhood, and too cruel for most who did not.
I used to believe some things were timeless, lasting, and unfathomable – an inside joke that only one person you met during your life, would seem to fully understand. Two wholly cast, and different people, would complement in their grotesque, writing beauty to create a new work of art neither better nor worse than either alone, but the only combination that would last. Both would know it when they saw it, as if a long forgotten memory, or a dream – childish dreams perhaps – like intertwining wisteria, or the honeysuckle and the hazel tree.
I thought I found the person for whom I would wait all time, patiently, for her to realize I was the one. Yet, if I were the one, would I have to wait once she found me? Perhaps I was waiting for her, and she was waiting for another this entire time – two orphans de-figured with time to no longer complement. Per chance, the casting that complements mine does not, nor ever did, exist. O fortuna, that such an existence was never meant for me – the only thing I truly ever wanted in life?
As I pondered saying my final goodbye to this, my last line toward transcended, timeless love that remained in my lifetime, I decided to do something I had not done in some time: I decided not to think, or over-think as is my tendency, but just purely act. I set aside propriety and grace, accepted the karma that could come, and reacted only with my heart.
I left as the sun rose and snow fell. My GPS kept failing, as if fiction, but somehow my reality, in a perfect reconciliation with the fact that for the first time in a long time, I had absolutely no clue how to get to what and where I wanted, or even if could.
I forced myself to keep driving although I needed food. I steeled my will to focus on the pavement though I required coffee. I just drove in the general direction of my current and temporary home.
When I could not take anymore punishment, I noted to myself that I was near Dartmouth College. I found it ironic that I could be doing post-graduate research there that very moment if I made different decisions in the summer of 2016. I refused to stop at the main exit for Lebanon, and instead, went to the next exit off I-89. The only gas station was 2 miles from the highway, but I kept driving. I came to a small station, filled my car with gas, and went into the convenience store for coffee. I looked too long at granola bars until found KIND PLUS cranberry almond plus antioxidants with macadamia nuts – all natural, vegan, and gluten free. I still felt festive enough for a small gingerbread black coffee, and I went to the register to pay. The cashier was a familiar sight, yet new and different. She had a nose piercing, and in general, looked like she just left a riot grrrl concert. She looked at me with instant affinity and recognition, although we never met before. I payed and she asked me how I was, and leaned over, like she truly wanted to know. I made a quip about how it stopped snowing, but it was starting up again. She remarked, “That’s New Hampshire for you.” She asked me where I was from. I looked at the person coming up behind me, and she nodded at her boss behind her, and told him she was taking a break.
I mused to myself that of all the days, places, gas station, cities, times, how in the hell did I end up here? She eyed me up like fresh meat. I reminded myself that in some small towns, I guess I am a walking special to a certain kind of person.
I also wished I had the imagination to invent such a story, but this was actually happening. The universe was forcing me to re-live my early twenties, whether I wanted to or not, like a sick, twisted, sadistic nightmare. I only wanted one thing, and the universe kept delivering the opposite. I was tired of fighting, and being good. I had been good a year, and what had it gotten me? Less than nothing. I got to hear stories of how men who didn’t care were closer to what I wanted, when I actually did care. Forget it. Forget caring. Forget everything!
I left all abandon behind, and threw myself into what I used to do best. It was like riding a bike, if slightly more boring the second time around, even with the new novelty-still hollow.
Imagine for the rest of your entire life, you can only have cheesecake.
Everyone around your gets a well-rounded meal with a slice of cheesecake at the end, but you only get cheesecake, because you’re you.
A lot of people are jealous of your cheesecake, when frankly, you’ve had enough.
I’m ready to get off this dessert wagon, but I get spurned and beaten psychologically every time I try.
The casting mold of my complement has been incinerated, somewhere somehow in time, or never existed.
Perhaps we’ve both become too warped with life to recognize one another.
Either way, I have to let her go, for my own well-being, although it is the very last thing I wish to do.
I’m tired of being emotionally beaten, when people who don’t care, get the only thing I care about.
I’ll disappear and eat the damn cheesecake by myself already.
I’m only a glutton for punishment so many times, even as a gleeful clueless optimist.