Cryptic Messages/Ghosts of Christmas Past
You may call me many things, but long-winded I am not. What follows is a terse relation of a story that may or may not have some basis in the truth.
Bear in mind, that if I tried to reminisce in too much detail, I would cringe to the point of illiteracy, so I will be ambiguous. Still, I will aim for beauty. What more can a man do?
I was _____teen and very awkward. I had caught the disease of self-consciousness in middle school (if I could decapitalize any further I would) and it wrought desperate havoc in the realm of my social skills. In my elementary years I was fairly good at getting along with everyone. I would even go so far as to say that I was a likeable little sod in those days.
Anyway, returning to my story. I was ____teen and very awkward. I had my friends, but I was an absolute failure with girls. There was a particular one, whose name is written in boldface at the back of my mind even to this day. She is an incredible person. I found her ravishing on her worst days, and I could scarcely sit still--breathe normally, even--on her best.
My ailments restrained me. The crippling self-doubt and the paralysis of its consequent self-loathing. I would resolve night upon night to ask her out, and in the morning I would buckle. Nightly I would climb into bed and dream about her. Painfully sweet dreams. I would awake and sigh. So much so that I feel that even now I know of no other way to exhale.
Days become weeks become years become missed opportunities. A couple of years removed and I learned that there had been no reason for my doubts and fears. I had squandered time.
He mocks me now. I hear him at every moment. The night of the discovery of my failure I had to take a long walk. I wanted to let her know the way I felt. There is no way now. Every cliched "It's never too late" shreds my insides. I find comfort in resignation and detachment. I don't expect. No longer do I dream. I can't remember my last one.
Failures in love carve a deep niche in a dark place. Relish vanishing time and know that there is no reward for dalliance except regret.
But if you have lost your chance keep moving. Try because the act is beautiful.
Earn the right to dream again.
Bear in mind, that if I tried to reminisce in too much detail, I would cringe to the point of illiteracy, so I will be ambiguous. Still, I will aim for beauty. What more can a man do?
I was _____teen and very awkward. I had caught the disease of self-consciousness in middle school (if I could decapitalize any further I would) and it wrought desperate havoc in the realm of my social skills. In my elementary years I was fairly good at getting along with everyone. I would even go so far as to say that I was a likeable little sod in those days.
Anyway, returning to my story. I was ____teen and very awkward. I had my friends, but I was an absolute failure with girls. There was a particular one, whose name is written in boldface at the back of my mind even to this day. She is an incredible person. I found her ravishing on her worst days, and I could scarcely sit still--breathe normally, even--on her best.
My ailments restrained me. The crippling self-doubt and the paralysis of its consequent self-loathing. I would resolve night upon night to ask her out, and in the morning I would buckle. Nightly I would climb into bed and dream about her. Painfully sweet dreams. I would awake and sigh. So much so that I feel that even now I know of no other way to exhale.
Days become weeks become years become missed opportunities. A couple of years removed and I learned that there had been no reason for my doubts and fears. I had squandered time.
He mocks me now. I hear him at every moment. The night of the discovery of my failure I had to take a long walk. I wanted to let her know the way I felt. There is no way now. Every cliched "It's never too late" shreds my insides. I find comfort in resignation and detachment. I don't expect. No longer do I dream. I can't remember my last one.
Failures in love carve a deep niche in a dark place. Relish vanishing time and know that there is no reward for dalliance except regret.
But if you have lost your chance keep moving. Try because the act is beautiful.
Earn the right to dream again.
posted by Lord Horatio at 9:20 PM
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