Friday Night Lights

 There were very few, if ever, truly romantic moments in my life. I've had plenty lustful and spontaneous, to be certain, however "romantic"(idyllic) has an altogether different quality that is rarely, if ever, spurred by the consumption of alcohol and a throbbing pulse of the latest club hit.

I take you to one of the most vivid of my memory: the state game.

I was 15 and hopeless. Desperate to attend the game he said he would be at (I never confirmed this to be an invitation, but that would not stop me), I got two friends equally dizzy with the thought of an entire stadium of well-bred, (hopefully) Catholic boys to go with me. This was this stuff of miracles.

We arrived and I immediately sought out the object of my desire. I don't recall the approach, but I imagine it was awkward and forcefully "accidental". My friends made friends with his friends. We stood near them, in seemingly-staunch loyalty to the side we had chosen, and I imagine that was enough for a while. 

The chatter is indistinct, though I do recall the moment when he put his varsity jacket on my shoulders. Ah, the perfect touch of chivalry. It mattered not that he answered I was a "friend" to an inquiring eye. At some point, his arms were wrapped around me, probably with the hope of sharing body heat as I greedily indulged in his warmth.

We stood there, his arms firmly around my waist, as we watched the final minutes of the game. 

A win.

Somehow, it's snowing. The crowd is dispersing. We're standing there, huddled for heat, facing the field. The flurries gently covered the stadium, ushering the remaining fans out except for us.

I turn and gaze up at his hat, which has just enough snow-covering as to not be obtrusive. Some have fallen about his brows. With little reflection or intention, I happened to look up at the same moment he looked down. Our lips meet. The snow, the echoing remains of fanfare, and us. 

We stood embraced in the cold, without a care for the dripping noses or sore throats we would surely have later. This continued for some time, until one of us remembered our ride(s) home.

Romance is the indulgence in the accidental.

(One should note this was written some months ago -- I do not want to give undeserved credit to my 5am self.)

A Nostalgia Shop

I want to create the universe in which my goals are actualized and it's as easy as getting into the right car at the right time. (Midnight.)

I revise history in my mind. I imagine the present as if I could write the screen play while playing the part. (It tends to involve a lot of monologues.) My hyperactive imagination considers the dialogue to be a crucial element in constructing realistic scenes - it requires more than a few takes to get it just right. This tends to keep the mind occupied til the wee hours -- time better spent dreaming about living those dreams.

One of my favorite remarks to make about this tricky, tricky time involves having a squeaky-clean mind. (As you see, mine is quite dirty.) I stole the premise from a Liar, except instead of erasing the memories of a person, I would erase the past 1.5 years of my life. "In an instant", I add emphatically, and whoever is sitting across me, earnestly trying to relate, nods vigorously.

Like Icarus seeking eternal sunshine, I too may be making a dreadful mistake by trying to escape with such cheap machinery. I realize this now.

For although I say I can save the "good" parts - souvenirs of the almost overwhelming kindness and compassion I have encountered throughout this ridiculous test of strength, what would I save? A hospital band attached to a "get-well-soon" dancing frog doll? A half-eaten sleeve of the Saltines I practically lived off of? A borrowed t-shirt to sleep in? A train ticket to Connecticut in the middle of the week?

But what of words? hugs? An understanding about "calling anytime"? Cupcakes and cab rides? The juice. 10 different juices. "I admire you."

No context. I have a midterm tomorrow in a course that attempts to emphasize the importance of it.

Written accounts of exploits and a handful of letters left up to scholars to translate have had piles and piles of commentary attempting to reinterpret the interpretation -- and I'm trying to work off some receipts and recyclables.

Happiness is all about the baseline. And if these many months have made the ability to walk a block without wheezing something to rejoice over, then I suppose I should leave them be. I am quite fine being excited over the ordinary.


(I'll fix this later.)

Tuesday's Grey (And Wednesday Too!)

Romance.
Lying out, nerd-ily mapping out the stars atop a half-unzipped sleeping bag, all while forgetting we're in a public park and there is some sketchy dog walker lurking around the bend.
Sharing a first kiss after the big football win as snowflakes gently fall around us, on us.
Furtively holding hands during the gooiest of songs at an outdoor concert, stealing knowing glances with each slight grip.

These are isolated events. And although our mating rituals now revolve completely around the local watering hole (devoid of all things warm and tingly, replaced with hot and sticky), we should take into account the importance of the ever-elusive "romance". The word itself is laughable, much like the varied attempts at it. I suppose it's because the "right" result is accidental. Or rather, feels accidental (enough). This is unfortunate, because not trying (i.e. waiting for the 'accident') is poor form. I refer, of course, to the "moment". The "gesture", of course, does require effort -- it is the effort.
(I'll finish this later.)

Romance is the umbrella term for the moments, gestures, and (often subsequent) feelings associated with the big L. (As opposed to the little l, which has its own, deceptively similar shenanigans to manage.)
(This too.)

Many have suggested that the feelings are there simply to cause problems. Easily tricked and confused with related conditions, such as a stomach ache or an anxiety attack. Is it lust? love? like? Some combination of these? I love your sense of style - want to rip off your shirt -- I think you're okay sometimes?
(...aaaand this.)

One of the Big 3 (religions) wisely suggested that one's life mate should stimulate the mind, eye, and heart. One of the most renowned sex educators of our time had a similar take: the relationship should have intellectual, emotional, and physical intimacy. But what if one branch is picking up the others' slack? What if the best possible score is simply a 2 out of 3?

I'm looking for inspiration. Triple-inspiration.
(Just don't be boring.)




(As an aside aside, you should probably know my absence is partially caused by my cheating on you with tumblr. I can't help it; it has pictures. Pretty ones.)