Never want it to end
Is it possible to fall in love again? With a boy? Regain faith in the kind of human that’s usually nothing else than entertaining and mildly interesting?
Is it possible to be loved? By someone who would otherwise find you solely entertaining and mildly interesting?
Maybe I was simply the wrong person to try with. Then again I’m flattered to be the one. I honestly really wonder what went wrong. Not that I mean to blame anyone or anything. I’m pissed right now, furious. Because things are the way they are. They would have gone differently if I would have done things otherwise, but I didn’t know that so cursing myself isn’t going to help. I would say I was only trying to be myself but that’s not true. I tried to be someone else, drop the macho act and show my oh-so-vulnerable self.
You might think I shouldn’t have, but I don’t think anyone is ever truely himself around others. Ask someone to give an honest opinion about a personal matter, and you can expect nothing but lies. Which is great, I experienced first hand how destructive honesty is.
But what went wrong? What pushed her away? Where did I fail? "Professionals" who discuss how to get laid on the internet say a woman wants a strong man, who waits a few days before calling back, and well, wears the pants. I found it not only amusing but it’s also more or less the opposite of what she said. Then again I asked her to be honest so I expect I’ve been lied to.
Man oh man. Aren’t I entertaining. the "HOW TO GET LAID!!" site may have been full of rubbish (in my humble opinion) but it did have one point: Get A Grip. Even when things do look shitty, moaning about it won’t help. SO! Enough of this! I’ll never get an honest answer to my questions so I better learn to live with it. I got a guitar for the fingerwork and my right fist for the rest so what am I complaining.
My sister’s friend had an acident. I first heard about it on the news, some kid missed his turn with his bike, drove into a tree, and ended up in the canal. His name was Maarten. My stepsister called my sister with the news, saying "maarten has died". Although she knew it wasn’t about me by then, my sister called me that morning at work, to tell me and to check if I was okay.
I tried to write down my thoughts when I got home, but I failed. Just a bunch of scared thoughts, trying to put into words how afraid I was. Monday’s newspaper will have his name in it, and mine. In the death message section. Hard to imagine, he never knew that bike would kill him when he bought it. He didn’t know he had 2 more weeks to live, 1 week, a day. He just kept laughing and crying, making plans for the future, trying to decide who to share it with. Just like the rest of us. And now he’s gone.
He was a good friend of my sister’s, possibly even boyfriend. I had heard her talk about him, and I accidentally found a picture of him on our computer the day after the accident. Call me selfish, but the first thing that went through my head when she said his name, was ‘That could have been me’. I still get that feeling, although I know it’s irrational: I could have died that night. That kid’s parents are devastated, so are my sister and the rest of his friends. But he’s not here to know it, he never will.
I don’t believe in life after death. That should be a motivation to live life to the fullest, as if every day is your last. But somehow, it isn’t. I still wallow in self pity and piss and moan. I hope he had a good last day. I hope he didn’t have regrets, that he knew he was loved. Maybe I should focus more on those things so I’ll have my shit in order when I die, possibly tonight. I don’t want to die, I’m not finished. But that doesn’t matter, the kid didn’t want to die, either. I just hope I’ll be finished when the time comes, but I doubt it. I’ll know when it’s too late.