Final Draft

I’ll be honest– I’ve been avoiding posting for the last two weeks.

I found out about two weeks ago that an old paramour (boyfriend isn’t quite right, so we’ll just go with this) passed away, in a very unexpected and upsetting manner.

I knew I couldn’t get away with not blogging about it. So I’ve been trying to figure out what it is I want to say, because as I’ve been saying to people over and over “I just don’t know what to feel about it.”

I suppose that hasn’t really changed, but I can’t really avoid not talking about it any more. I very much want to go to the service, but it’s a bit of a complicated situation involving paramour’s current fiancee. Granted, I have not seen him in almost four years, nor have we spoken very often, but he was one of those people that I thought about subconsciously more often than I realized (he’s from Brooklyn originally and we spent most of our time together in NYC, so I suppose it makes sense why I thought–and still think– about him so often).

It’s strange to have this constant/permanent belief that you will see someone again, like a silly movie “one-day-our-paths-will-cross-again” assumption, only to find out from nowhere that you will never, 100% ever, see that person again for the rest of your life.

Our parting four years ago would have happened much differently had I known that I would never see him again.

Perhaps the most confusing aspect of it all, is that while I was in Europe with le boyfriend, he sent me this page long Facebook message out of the blue, in which he essentially told me he regretted not telling me he loved me and taking a chance with me. Obviously I’m extremely happy in my current situation, and as he said, “who knows what would have even happened with us?” but it’s hard not to even think about it, or consider the possibility. Given recent events, I wonder if that letter to me served a darker purpose, a “last rites” if you will.

So being me, I went home last weekend and distracted myself by getting caught up in all the high school drama that was my little sister’s senior prom, and I’m going to Ithaca this weekend to see boyfriend’s show that he choreographed the fights for (Romeo and Juliet, how ironic).

The other bigger piece to all of this, is that paramour’s fiancee posted on Facebook about reaching out to her for details about a service. After a rather intense internal struggle, I finally did. I tried to be as respectful and un-threatening as possible, but I just don’t know her, and so didn’t really know what sort of audience I was catering to. I sent the message yesterday, and because of those bullshit stalkery read receipts that Facebook has, I know she’s seen it. I doubt that she’ll respond. While it makes me sad that I won’t be able to attend, I guess I really don’t blame her at the end of the day.

Other than this– nothing very exciting to report. Because the way my schedule is working out, I’ll basically be out of town every weekend for the rest of the month, so I’ll be very busy between S’s graduation, my cousin’s bridal shower, and my sister’s graduation. I can’t say I mind the distraction.

Below is something I wrote for my fallen comrade and former lover. It’s a bit more personal than I usually get while blogging, but I suppose that’s the purpose of the blogging game at the end of the day (and something I should probably improve on).

With thoughts and questions (because that’s all I’ve got right now),

jz.

——

I re-read your love note after you died

It’s funny how many open windows of understanding you see when the giver is no longer living

No longer taking up space on your emotional hard drive via internet check-ins and lazy questions of I wonder what you’re doing and if you’re happy

We assume that to think about someone is to set aside time for tangible thoughts, things like “I miss you, are you thinking about me, are you happy with your life, are you happy with her”

But how many times have I thought your name in my sleep, seen your face in the window of that Japanese place we used to go, remember the way you thought cigarettes were smoked best in a downpour—the rain filled my shoes this afternoon and I dodged yet another cloud of smoke I gave up inhaling—

Now that you’re gone I realized how often I thought of you without consciously speaking your name aloud to that other voice inside my head

On a train heading uptown at 7:47 am I mourned the beggar poet laying in wake in the far back corner of my mind, the poet that sat in a nest of crumpled sheets of reunions, meet cutes, drinks, and other countless ways that I had always assumed would come to pass with you in the distant future.

I always, always knew I would see you again.

My protagonist has died and our head writer is drinking it off in a bar somewhere and I did not choose this ending, you did not deserve this ending, I can write a better one I know I can—

There is nothing more hopeless than a writer at the mercy of a God who writes endings with razor blades, bringing together two lovers with booze and gun and making sure only one gets out alive

Please note, this ending is subject to change 

Please note, this ending is subject to change

Please note, this is the final draft, no further changes can be added

I once loved a boy who lived in Brooklyn and wore oxfords and oversized headphones— a South Carolina Highway Patrol trainee is dead and a woman is wounded after a domestic violence dispute this morning in Dorchester County.

I once loved a boy who watched anime and played video games and loved super heroes— sources say the woman called the authorities at 2 am on Saturday saying that her boyfriend had shot her twice in the arm

I once loved a boy who held me while I slept and liked to smoke cigarettes in the rain, who thought I was the most beautiful woman in the world— when authorities arrived at the scene no one answered the door

I once loved a boy who was equal parts debonair and silly, who danced with me like a was something precious to hold while making geeky jokes and making bizarre faces—police entered the home to find a man dead of a self-inflicted gun shot wound.

I once loved a boy who was thoughtful and courageous and wanted to do what was honorable and right—the woman’s name is not being released, but she is currently being treated for non-life threatening injuries and is expected to make a full recovery.

 

I once loved a boy who became someone else that I will never know or understand.

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