Loitering the Lingering Feelings of Love

I wrote a collection of short stories awhile back that I have recently started re-editing. Each story follows the impossible task of 8 different young adults finding love against whatever odds they are up against. Some of them are gay, some of them are straight, what they all have in common is that they are all young and confused about who they are, and how in the world they could let someone in, and walk with them in this life.

While all completely different their stories share the same thread of being horrified by love and what it could mean to fall for someone. I decided to entwine some of the lines from the collection in this post. I feel as though each of their voices connects well with many of the voices I hear everyday. This is basically entirely prose. I write about this subject best that way.

Dear Sweet Queer Peers,

I have asked this question many times and I know that I will ask it again and again because there are literally a hundred answers to this very simply worded question. And that question would be:

Why are you (we) so scared of love?

You are young and with that comes the fleeting feeling of constant fun; managing that kind of social scene can be exhausting. Parties and late nights that lead into mornings where you could not be angrier to see the sight of the sun. A happy and often friendly disposition of ignoring of the future, because the future is just that: The Future. And that is much too far away to even begin to map out, to think of, or comprehend. So we’ll get drunk at happy hours and fall in love for 10 minutes on the dance floor. And when the DJ set is over, we will sidle back to our friends and act like courtship is a thing that only King and Queens ever did.

Because there is no reason to falsely think that someone would open up more then their arms. Because there is no reason to think that you could open your heart? Your brain? The thought.

The pain.

It is fun. This youth. This twenty something.
It is hard.
The truth of time still passing, and this small notion that in 10 years no one will have an inkling or a care about what you were wearing, to that Friday night party, the outfit you threw your week into planning. And whether or not that girl you’ve been crushing on cared, hell if you’ll even be able to remember her name.
And if she kissed you as you lit her cigarette.
I mean who cares? Come next week it will be another. Or maybe not. Or maybe…

You do not need to need anyone but yourself.
You do need to treasure relationships. Be they friendships or more.
You need not shut your emotions down to those who could break you.
There is more to this life then a beer and a shot. There is a place for love and unfortunately a place for heartache.

Clarity comes through the unclear
When all my lines are completley blurred and distorted
Its then when the reasoning I’ve been looking for
Becomes all too clear
She called me
I never thought the day would come
Her voice
She’s perfect
And I’m a wreck

Shes beautiful
So fucking beautiful
I lay on my back and say:
So what is it you came here for
I’m a fucking mess
I’ve got bandages on my arms
Wounds that still make me cry
Baby you could have a quarter back
So why are you in here with a broken guy
My brain is so twisted
I dont even think I could count the knots
Apparently Im starting over
I cant even begin to connect the dots

You don’t want this. Because you fear this. Because in the dark if she can feel your breath after sex and know that all you’re doing is thinking, she may get up and leave. She is questioning why this isn’t just fun for you. Why you can’t just let go and fuck. So you refuse to take those breaths. You get up and leave after a night of, lets not call it passion, a night non the less. A conquest. You leave and you take to the streets and tell me, tell me for a moment, you aren’t wishing that you could still feel her. Not inside her, next to her. And she, she laying in bed, is questioning why no one ever stays.

She sits down by my side
And puts her hands on both sides of my face
I have trouble looking into peoples eyes
But theres something about hers that screams safe
She opens her mouth
But no words come out
We sit here in dead silence
I knew that she’d be hard pressed for something to say
Hospitals either evoke streams of words smothered in emotion
The uncomfort of forced silence
Of absolute uncomfortable nothing
Finally she breaks it – looks at me and says
I dont know exactly what youve been through
But I know what lonely is
I know that darkness can be a feeling
I know how it feels to want to shake it and start new
Light seems as distant as a promise of some heaven
But I’m still standing
I know what it feels like
To be faced with your downfall everyday
But you dont know what it feels like to have your sould ripped away
She starts crying
I pick up my battered arms
I hold her
I kiss her
She knows I know that she knows
And I know she knows that I get it
I love her more then words
And here in this moment I dont regret whats happened
Because now she’s here
And through my haze of pain
I manage to ignore the past that bubbles so close to my surface
I want to prove to her what she truly deserves
And that the two of us are worth more than hospitals walls and doctors calls
That we are our pasts
But we are also each others futures
We can take our life
Our love
And own it

I can’t get used to the feeling that comes with love. It scares me. Because that person, they are now a part of me. Everywhere I go I will carry them with me. I can’t get used to it because it somehow always scares me. But it does not sway me. It is a fear that drives me. It makes me go somewhere that nothing else steers me towards.

I walk home real slow
Let my feelings explode
As I kick rocks into bottomless potholes
We talk for hours on the phone
He meets me every morning
But what he doesnt know
Is everything about him stays with me all day
Theres no possible way
To explain how hes got me
But boy has he got me
And watching him walk away
For the first time its an ok feeling
Because I know that he’ll be waiting
At the end
Of everyday

So none of us were raised ideally. Not you, not him, or her; you can’t pick you parents, and hell they didn’t pick you. We all look at mom and dad and see these people who we can’t even imagine at our age. Falling in love with each other, taking each others breath away. But somehow they got there. And somehow we will all get there.


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