#meanwhile J is just… she’s also obnoxious but not to the same level. but she does annoy the hell out of me

[fingertipsmp3]

There’s something weirdly nice about finding out you’re not the only person who dislikes someone. It’s such a relief to be able to be like “okay thank God I can bitch about this person now”

[thinkingaboutsanfrancisco]

At least they shouldn't be. 

We're all supposed to be individuals in this life. We're not born alone and we may not die alone, but it's up to us to solely carry the burden of everything in between. It's the prophecy of Newton's third law: the vitality of our peregrination is dependent on our varying movements working to interact with whatever and whomever we deem to be worthy to endure the path with us. The universe might place people on the trail, but it's up to us to act if we want them beside us and we have to make a good decision instantaneously because the intertwinement will inevitably mutate the rest of your life, luring you into surrendering total control and permitting foreign access to the bloodiest of your lacerated wounds that are throbbing to be mended by the careful and tender hand of another. You're under the guise of so many promises, some of which you've told wholeheartedly to ensure precious diligence... 

Diligence that's never guaranteed. 

Whether developed by nurture or influenced by nature, most people are reckless. They've come to possess an appetite for destruction that proves insatiable, intentions be damned. They can promise whatever the hell they want, regardless if they intend on fulfilling it, and the fucked up thing is it becomes genuine the moment you believe it. Even I was fooled by it this morning. Hindsight is always 20/20 and I didn't know any better because I didn't know them, but there's something about their chaotic decade long pattern of promises of change and inevitable subsequent failure that strike as familiar to me as the back of the hand holding the rapidly disintegrating flame my eyes fixate on. It's all I heard for fifteen fucking years. It's amazing how many times the same shit can be recycled into something new. Perhaps if people put as much work into doing something useful instead of bullshitting the people they love, some actual, physical, change could happen. Shit, maybe global warming could be stopped, maybe it already could've stopped. I sure know that, if not for the product of my polluted environment, I wouldn't have taken up this filthy little habit. I don't know what's more unfathomable: the amount of money I could've saved by not being a disgusting smoker who gets side-eyed by every conscious passerby or the number of cigarette butts I've trashed Oakland and San Francisco's streets with in the last three years for them to trample over... just like my dad trampled all of his promises of sobriety and extinguished the bright light of the progress he had; the six years that kept validity in my mom's unshakeable faith that this time was it. The thorn that had been wedged in our lives was removed and the cut it'd sliced within me could start to heal so that it no longer hurt to see the way that they'd absolutely bloom around each other, so that I too could open myself up to the fresh air of their prosperous spring where the threats of crack and Corcoran were history, my dad was here to stay and we were all going be a family again...

But I've always been fooled. 

Because, at the time, it wasn't bullshit. It was pure, unbridled, optimism crafted from a wait that only love could endure, the culmination of understanding why she stayed after so many years of watching her painstakingly build from the wreckage he'd left us in when she could've listened to me and left it so we could've started anew on our own. Despite all material odds that I thought proved me right, their persistence finally broke through my stubborn teenage skull to show that all I've wanted was to be proven wrong...and I was. I've always been, in countless contradictory ways. I was right to think he'd tarnish it, yet I was wrong to count on it. I was right to think she should've separated from him, but I was dead wrong for wishing it...

I was wrong to leave that night and right to come back. 

No matter what our egos are deluded by, we're all sinners and saints simultaneously. Our consciousness of change is the grey wedged between the permanent black and white of immortality and virtue. People aren't starkly either and rarely can they be. We're all victims of circumstance and criminals for continuing it, yet that can only be realized in retrospect. The present is a lawless arena where proven patterns and common sense are off the table to gamble the chance that this time will be different because this time is different. Last night being heaven doesn't void tonight being hell and vice versa. As shitty as Lyd's method of communication came off, texting provided them with a luxury and a curse. They had time to think. Unfortunately, S is now thinking backward, trying to return to the safety of last night where the truth was bright and everything seemed so right and he knows he can't be back there. I've seen this desire to be put out of nostalgic misery taint the vibrance of so many eyes; green, grey, and now S' too. It's one that'll always break my heart to look at because I understand it. 

When I look in a mirror long enough, I catch it swimming in my own blues.

So despite his plea, the only benignant remedy I can give him is, “Yes. Quit second-guessing yourself. You know what you need to do and the sooner you do it, the sooner the pain can at least start to cease. Everything has come to an end eventually, no matter how wonderful or terrible it might’ve been, and it’s clear that this relationship is begging for it’s merciful out. All you have to do is let it happen.” 

The words coming out of my mouth feel almost as good as the cigarette that I manage another drag from. It's been a long time since I've been able to verbally combat the nastiness of nostalgia and rally for a situation that can be changed positively. It's been a long time since I've felt this satisfied. I didn't count on cracking a smile now but it's been a weird fucking day. The things that normally don't line up did, the things that should've lined up didn't and, as frustrating as the pendulum swing has been, I've come to respect the equilibrium. His embrace of my suggestion of drastic change isn't happening as immediately as I'd hoped, but his stillness is okay. The longer my words sit, the more I realize that "letting it happen" isn't as easy as it was to say it, but at least it's being taken into consideration. 

While he continues to ponder, my focus eventually drifts away from the momentary standstill of his dilemma and...back to the buzzings of my own. The worries that I'd blown off earlier rage back to the docket, like checking the time so I can check the MUNI route or the Owl Cars if by the scary chance it's after midnight, and trying to figure out if there's time for me to swing by a 7/11...

And check if Ray texted me back...

But I can't. I can't leave him here without knowing what the fuck he's going to do which, the longer my antsy ass waits, the more I realize is not going to be as concrete as I thought. The definite "You're right J, thank you so much for making me realize something that's been right in front of my face for ten years!" is not what I'm going to hear. Maybe eventually, but not when there's ten fucking years to give up, not when there's a friendship that could still be there. He's spent so long building up this idea of her, surely it can't be knocked down like that...even though that selfish prick part of me wishes he would. I don't want to sit here all fucking night, man. I can't. I have to get home, I have to get to school tomorrow, I have to see if she texted me back...

I have to know if I've lost her. 

The optimistic rational part of my head tries to relieve me; I wasn't that explicit. It's not like she can read minds--- Except for she. fucking. can. Or rather, she'd adept at reading me and all of my stupid fucking mistakes. Again, she's that smart and I'm that dumb... 

So what the hell does she even want to do with me anyway? 

On most of every level, we're total opposites and if she took two seconds to catch our reflection, she'd know how fucking weird we look next to each other. I swear, she's so polished it's almost stereotypical. There's never a stray blonde strand on her black shirts, even though she's always letting her gorgeous hair cascade down her shoulders and back. Seriously, her hair defies the vortex that can be San Francisco's wind and always falls into the right place, but even when she doesn't deem it suit it's gone with a graceful flick of her fingers, whereas I have to obnoxiously throw a hand through mine and then waste a vain amount of time staring at myself trying to fix it until I give up and walk around looking worse than I did before. I'd love to know the science behind the way every article of clothing she wears looks so meticulously thought out. Each piece mixes together so cohesively regardless of differing patterns, colors, or fabrics and they all look tailored to fit her specifically. I'm just talking about casual clothes too, she's also the only student I've seen so far who looks more put together and professional than some of the teachers with her ironed collared blouses and a gold watch delicately adorning her wrist. Meanwhile, I come in looking like a total curmudgeon in whatever shirt is clean, the same jeans I wore yesterday, and any weathered jacket that was in reach. The things we do have in common are school and not eating at school, but even then I'm nowhere near par. Her manners are impeccable. It's her thinking swiftly enough to open the door for me, because, chivalrous tradition be damned, gentlemen are always first. She waits for me to get my food before she touches hers and even coaxes me into having the first taste of her "chips" while I wait, as well as after I've already scarfed down my lunch since she doesn't act like a starving child and takes her time to eat properly. Her most exemplary moment comes during the times where I'm so spent that all I can do is slouch against the booth and zone out while looking out the window and when I finally snap out of it I never see her checking her phone. Whether it be rain or shine her eyes follow mine, watching the cars breezing through Bayshore until she realizes that my lazy gaze has broken. She never tries to snap me out of it, she only gives me a warm smile that somehow tells me that she understands and, no matter how far gone I am, I always find myself returning one to her. It's never forced either, it just falls into place... 

She's given me everything wonderful, yet I can offer her nothing but trouble.

While I'm sure she's roamed here during the daytime, she'd never set foot in this dark and desolate park at this hour. She'd never be caught dead smoking this cigarette, not without spitting out her Doublemint or ridding herself of the stench by spritzing a healthy dose of perfume that's probably so expensive I'd have to sell an eight ball or two to be able to afford it. I'm surprised she hasn't prodded me to quit yet and I almost wish she would. It's such a disgusting and selfish habit to carry around in the world. There's nothing beneficial about walking around and penetrating the fresh air with this stick of toxicity. Who the fuck am I to think I'm worthy? I'm certainly not. So begs the question again...what the fuck does she want with me? What is it in me that saw so fit to acquaint herself with on that February morning and keeps her coming around after two months? She says we're friends, but why doesn't it feel like it? Friendship is supposed to be seamless and, don't get me wrong, I enjoy being around her and I enjoy that she considers us that but...it doesn't make sense. 

Maybe she wants something more... 

Ha. As if. Jesus fuck...where do I get this silly shit? Is the sleep deprivation finally breaking me? It is. The fact that she's already fallen victim to my mind's twisting of our delightful connection into this desire for something more is beyond fucked up as it is but to consider that she could reciprocate is straight-up delusional. S' theory on Shakespeare not writing any of his works made more sense, at least he had a substance to blame for his insanity. A world where Ray has feelings for me doesn't exist. If us being mere friends into our twenties is laughable, a shooting star would definitely steer clear of that wish. 

But it's not that easy. I mean I know it's certain but I can't speak for her either. I evidently don't possess her telepathy and can't confirm every thought running through her head. Who the hell am I to say we won't be friends in our twenties? I wasn't planning on us being friends for two days, much less two months, and two years isn't that unfathomable of a concept. I should be comforted by that, but I'm not. 

Because S didn't plan on being here tonight either. He didn't plan on coming to this park tonight and breaking the news that he did to me because he didn't plan on receiving it, he didn't plan on having to continue the pattern because he never planned for there to be a pattern to begin with... 

 He never planned on her breaking his heart.

I can't blame him. Carrying the load alone gets tiring and lonely, another hand offering to tend to you is like the gates of heaven opening up. Why deny it? We all need someone to love, right? It's so fucking pure and innocuous. Ray's so pure and innocuous, just like how Lyd was when S first met her because they were teenagers and didn't know any fucking better until it was too late. Shit, he even admitted that meeting so young stunted his abilities and I absolutely fucking believe him since he's still harboring over his eighth-grade crush at twenty-four. If by a miracle I can even make it to twenty, there's absolutely nothing about how I am or how my life is right now that I want to be lingering around like that rotten stench. Even though it might be a briefly pretty one like a dandelion, anything to sprout in my dour spring is a weed that needs to be ripped out by the root so that it doesn't spread into that uncontrollable mutation of a littered garden blooming with dangerous thorns. It'd only be a matter of time before I contaminate and sicken her... 

And I'm not going to let it happen. 

With my left hand reaching up to my lips, I take what's left of the Parliament and tuck it into my palm as tightly as I can, crushing and sizzling out the tiny but ferocious flame of those thoughts...those beautiful, terrifying, wistful, delusional, and bittersweet wishes, hopes, and dreams before they can burn me any further. The wince it provokes is only a physical twitch because this doesn't even hurt, it's nothing like what I'm sparing myself from. I could do it again and again and again if I wanted to and I'd be okay because I'm playing with a fire I can burn out whenever I want and, right now, the power's all mine. The small circle searing into my skin activates that familiar rush through the rest of my hand and throws me into my fucking senses. Ray doesn't feel that way about me, but if by some fucked up chance that she does, then it's too bad because the best fucking thing I'll ever be able to do for her is to deny her and spare her from this shit. She doesn't want it, I don't want it, and we're better off without it. We always will be. 

After a second, the initial sting relaxes into more of that nice steady and soothing throb and I allow myself a moment to revel in the sensation. It's so intense that a shiver drives down my spine as I inhale the cold, clean, air of the element I should've never left. Tucking my arm underneath the rail, a crooked smile slithers when my fingers unravel and that useless nub of ash rolls away from me and onto the wet grass below.

The burden of love can't destroy me if I destroy it first. 

The same can't be said for the man in front of me, the vision of whom shakes me into a sudden embarrassing awareness of my surroundings. Fuck, I hope S didn't see me do that... I don't think he did. He's still tip-toeing the around the obvious and, at this point, I have to shake my head. 

C'mon man...you've got it easier than some. Her intentions are clear and she's not dead in the fucking desert. You've been through this before and you know that this is for the best, you know that the future's brighter beyond this, you know I'm right...

Maybe I should reiterate that to him again, but I already feel like a broken record. He gets it, he's just trying to avoid it, and there's nothing I can do to cure that. The only thing I can do at this point is to light another cigarette and hope that eventually he'll do something while the ball's still in his court. A buzzer-beater slam dunk might be out of the question, but a simple point would suffice for now. It's after the flame meets the fresh end of the Parliament stuck in my lip where he breaks his cycle and starts coming closer to the bench, my eye narrowing as I notice what I think are tears and...shit... I know I didn't bring him to tears, it's the situation and it's a tough pill to swallow, but it still tugs on my guilt for not giving him the answer he wanted. He's ashamed of it, he doesn't let me see his face for long as he buries it in his hands, and I don't let my stare linger any longer. The action is enough to spell out that there's nothing else he wants me to do, there's nothing else I can do now but leave him to process this in private. He's been stripped of enough tonight, the least I can do is respect the dignity he has left.

“I’m really gonna be alone for the rest of my life, J....” He admits and, while I know that for him it's merely an exaggeration driven from his sorrow, it resonates with me enough to whisper...

“I am too.”