Spilling a glass meant for her...
I was carrying two glasses � one in each hand � and they were quite full to the brim with liquor and metaphor that I wouldn�t understand until the night had run its course. They held my attention as I passed through an ungraceful crowd, carefully keeping them intact so that these small gestures would eventually become something of notice. But then the dancers parted and I looked up from the glasses to see her leaning over the bar. And slowly, the loud noise and commotion seemed to deaden and blur. I halted in my path and lost focus on the glasses, lowering her drink to my side� spilling the promise on the dirty ground.
We have this human nature that looks for reasons and purpose in a mostly random and pointless world. We subscribe to fate and direction from the heavens and the universe to make our mundane choices seem guided. We fashion intent into every breath and see signs under stars that twinkle because of the combustion of gases and nothing more.
But somewhere in the chaos that I know is as random as drops of liquid spilling from my glass� I had started to find order and make foolish plans. I had become caught up in wishful thinking. Over these few months, I had let my heart feel a little too much once again.
So we check ourselves when we have these moments. And suddenly, I�ve lost my purpose. My plans were childish and forged too soon and easily dashed. Without purpose or plan for my life again, I see this cycle. This unending repetition of starting back at the drawing board can only play out a thousand times before I lose the will to try once more.
I look to her at the bar because I can�t look away. I can�t approach and yet I can�t bring myself to leave. I feel broken and ashamed with large puppy-dog eyes and so I set down her spilled glass like I set down this chapter of my life.
I don�t want her to see me like this. But I see her finally, in ways I never understood. She�s leaning over the bar with his hand on her back. And he�s just resting it there, like that�s where it belongs. Her beautiful face moves to his shoulder.
So what else can you do but laugh at what a clich� you�ve become? You were naive and hopeful and that was your first mistake. You have no one to blame but yourself.
I shuffle through emotions in my mind like a deck of cards, each one more ridiculous and ill-fitting than the last. Should I be angry at her? I wasn�t led on to believe I was in a relationship by anything more than her smile in our exchanges. I was the one that read something into each laugh and each touch. Should I feel rage toward him? Honestly, I�ve known him for more than a decade and the man is nothing but friendly and witty and fully deserving of someone as perfect as her.
But jealousy is a new sentiment for me. It�s overwhelming. I�m suddenly jealous of every couple in the room. Their ease in which they find their place. Their comfort in conversations. Their confidence in their future and the plans they are able to carry out. They all spend the rest of the night growing closer, in every sense of the word. The girl I came here to see is having the experience I wanted to have, making her own set of plans to live the life I wanted to live. And I�m left with one glass of mostly sour liquor and a small puddle on the floor.
Posted by heydomsar
2007-12-30
go back | random brainstorm | go forth
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