They say it takes an average of 10 times hearing a song to like it, and an average of 3 weeks to make or break a habit.
The operative words there are on average, and I am anything but average.
If it’s something good I have one day, one night, one listen and I am addicted.
Love songs are drug songs (1) and I was an addict.
Fuck waiting 3 weeks, 3 days. I have waited long enough.
After this relapse and perhaps one more, I am coming clean.
I don’t know how to quit you (2)
I am a smart girl, I could figure it out if I tried hard enough, truth is I don’t want to.
Everything else is disposable, he is not.
I had this grand mal epiphany last night, and it might be too late. But it feels like the right thing to do.
Regardless it’s my lesson, I will get it tattooed and it will be mine to keep forever.
I’m surprised he stayed as long as he did.
I am sick of my own shit. I am better than this.
Last night was decision time on whether or not I went back to work and I quit that too.
I had this plan to write my swan song. Use Good Will Hunting as my jumping off point.
“I’d ask you about love and you would quote a sonnet.”
That is all I’ve done here, quote things. (See above and below)
One of the first quotes I remember reading was “My heart is a sharpened dart of longing, coming towards you always.” I typed it into Google looking for the author and my blog came up. Fuck. We could just call it case and point and be done with it.
I lost sight of that somewhere and my heart became a single flip flop on the floor at a foam party. Only one person needed it and it was lost in this giant mess and there was a disco ball and bad EDM music. My head hurts and I just want to go home.
I have never been to a foam party, sounds dreadful.
But I do know what love is.
Its sacrifice that feels like freedom.
It’s saying and meaning I’ll give all of this up and fly across the country for one minute with you.
Sick, well, cranky, happy I don’t care. All of that is you and you are all that I want.
I have said my goodbyes to everyone else so I can say an honest, clean hello to you.
I have buried my dead and the girl I was alongside them.
She was everyone’s girl, now I am just yours.
All these things I held so dear don’t matter anymore.
I had to stop being the things he ran from. I didn’t really like those parts of me, they were outgrown and didn’t fit. I was just being stubborn.
When I was 16 years old, someone told me to become a writer, a real writer I had to throw out my quote book. In my stubbornness, I still have the thing. It won’t be coming with me. It is time to set aside childish things.
The only advice approval attention I want is his.
“The reason you are so loud is because no one ever listened to you before.”
I now know what it like to be heard and it is not what I imagined nor what I want.
I had the whole world listening to me and I don’t want to hear anything but your voice.
“Sarah, you are all over the god damned place.”
I didn’t even argue. I knew he was right. For one minute I had nothing to say. It was a good minute.
My place is with him.
I was walking the dog just now, planning this thing out in my head, and like I said, wanted to do something Good Will Hunting themed…
And the rowdy tea party in my head was yelling Silver Linings Playbook
“The only way you can beat my crazy was by doing something crazy yourself. Thank you. I love you. I knew it the minute I met you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to catch up. I just got stuck.”
And then this…
“O my father, favor me now. Lord of Flies, favor me now. Now I bring you spoiled meat and reeking flesh. I have made sacrifice for your favor. With my left hand I bring it.” (3)
The actual fuck now?
Paired nicely with Elton John’s Sacrifice in my head, and that quote from Beautiful Creatures. But on paper it looks like that car wreck I mentioned. I have been focusing on one shiny thing right in front of my eye and when I sat up and looked I realized it is just a piece of what once was a windshield and there is blood and carnage everywhere and I am still holding the steering wheel.
I am not left handed. The sacrifice is this, this blog. This compulsion I had to write about stubbed toes and skinned knees. Screaming infidelities (4). These memories I held so scared mean nothing to me now. Please let it be enough that I came to this on my own.
Mostly. He nudged me gently before he left.
I think part of his confusion was seeing my mess after only knowing my clarity. I would have run away too.
When I write to him, for him, about him I am focused.
“That’s the good stuff…”
“And then we get to choose who we let in to our weird little worlds. You’re not perfect, sport. And let me save you the suspense. This girl you met, she isn’t perfect either. But the question is: whether or not you’re perfect for each other.”
We are. And I am not stuck anymore.
Now if you will excuse me, I have one more thing to write and then I have to go see about a boy.
(1) X Ambassadors
(2) Brokeback Mountain
(3) Stephen King
(4) Dashboard Confessionals
Italics = Good Will Hunting