Blueberries...

When I said, "I love you," I meant I love you. And though it hurts more than anything in the entire world, I don't care. I don't care if it hurts, because that's what I 'm going to keep on doing! It's a promise I made, and it cannot just dissappear.... not so easily... in fact, never... It's a stubborn side-effect of nobility... The kings of our world are not born into some monarchy of privilaged popularity and figurehead pompousness. They are the ones that, alone --O, so alone!-- commit to all matters of masculine standard and dignity... And commit to LOVE... of all things... but that's the point, that's the reality of it, my carnal stupidity may have wants of lust or revenge... but the fact remains, Love, true, undying, devotion and care are selfless... completely, and utterly selfless. That is love. And this is when I have to bloody prove it...

And it hurts, but that's my battle. My private, inward battle that will keep me pressing towards the next goal, that will overwhelm this cursed apathy that this dead location yields....

I'm going to keep going, and when I look at her, and her at me, I know she'll figure it out, that what keeps her so cursedly trapped in the sea of her own self-conscious need... she's learning to thrive in that society she is a part of.... I can't help that. That's her...

"Occupational hazard of soulmates."

Why did we break up? Why?! Why has love failed me, what part of 'me' wasn't good enough to have at least one part of my life worthwhile.... My ultimate goal was her, and it still is... but the one thing I didn't count on was her 'leaving'.... she reached down into the heart of my future and ripped it from its nest... But that's fine, it would just be a complication to my present goals, college, academia, novels, international realities and law... I need to focus so long and so hard on that reality or it will never come... Now is when I mold myself into the being that controls his own future... History repeats itself, and hope arrives out of the most unexpected places, I cannot forget what the atmosphere of reality was in the months and years leading up to our perfect weekend on May 14th... Only this time, I can't throw it all away for love, because without anything to fuel my life... no goals, no accomplistments, nothing, I won't ever succeed. A failure to her, an appaling waste. She was perfect to me, imperfect to herself... But I was imperfect to her. She couldn't forgive that, I can't forgive myself for it either. Just turn this mourning into anger, because anger I can use, funnel into my writing and passion and drive to excel at these tedious matters that are big enough to distract me from the reality of my empty heart, desperate, frozen soul... and yet, simultaniously, it will ultimately form my future, that will be large enough and powerful enough to appease my emptiness inside... I will have the means to achieve and grant almighty Support to this love I'm searching for. Adelia is not patient enough to wait for "then", for "when" I step beyond this helpless boyhood shell into an accomplished being, as far as this society is concerned. Enlightenment into the realities and relativities of wealth and society and credentials does nothing... If the woman I love is part of the world I hate, then I will put my hate to use and turn myself into a superior part of that world. I will earn her back, or die trying. And she will have grown, she will understand what she had, what it means to love, and she will prove it to me, prove that she loves me... Because, even once I earn her again, I cannot hide the pain that will surface.... the scars of this tare will last forever, it seems... I will not just take her back if all she loves about me is my success. She has to love me, as if I had nothing.... Hopefully she understand how to do that then.... even though she can't do it now. And I can't blame her for now.... but I do blame her for this pain, and I do blame her for not understanding the immensity of patience that love requires.... She doesn't understand that before she can love herself, she must be willing to sacrifice whoever that is for what is truely worth living for.... That's what she's got to learn.

If she doesn't.... Then I died trying.

"I love you more."



...

Haeman's Belmar

Part II.

Speechless and

Screaming Then

I was speechless, without words, with nothing to say that was worth saying... I mean, I tried, but it just wouldn't come, the thoughts that I wanted to think were frozen in an immutable silence... far away....only able to give a moment-by-moment account to himself, and wonder, Why?

He was alone. Why! Why do I need to feel this, go on yearning forever that some invisible force will somehow, somehow, just cease this goddam heart! ...or, if not, if not... Then appease its plea, I won't be silent with it, I'm desperate for it... Just love me! Please, someone, anyone.... look at me, and want me, just as much as I want you, want to care for you, and to see you smile... Maybe then, I can face the world...

He sat on the deck, the wharf for the paddleboats nearby, the snack shop behind him, no one around, and just a grey cat meowing all over the place... It jumped on his lap and spilt the coffee in his cup all over him. Summit Lake was almost over, it would be the last time he would ever go. He'd been there three times before, and every time, he would leave, wondering, why did I even bother going? These were church retreats, intened to regevenate and reitterate one's knowledge and faith... They never worked like that, though, the lectures interesting if the speaker could tell jokes well, but never taught anything that wasn't already obvious. The sex-talks were ludicrous, so stupidly vague and afraid and embarrased to openly describe anything... the ultimate taboo in modern churches. I would later learn why, that everone else was guilty of the same sins, were all just as human when faced with the carnal need for sex. The end of eleventh grade, mid-summer, the last summer of my youth, at Harvey Cedars, the church's beach camp, four guys who were men when it came to admitting what they thought was unspeakable. While sitting in their humid dormroom above the kitchen and without air-conditioning one late night, Phil admitted to looking at pornography, then Ben and Dave also admitted to it. I was close friends with them on-and-off, closest right before I left that church... But they began the Accountability Group, designed to unearth the hidden taboo of sex that plagued the church's conscious. The one person I didn't see there --and come to think of it, anywhere-- was R.D. Back at Summit Lake, back in the taboo, lukewarm days, I was affected by his brave statement that, because of his past premiscuity, he and his new wife lost their first child... His deep, sincere heartbreak effected me deeply. I never forgot.

These thoughts and more sped through the boys mind, while sitting in the stupid classrooms that he hated. Years before he had experienced all those retreats, back in middle school, he was just beginning to taste the problems that would plague his adolesence. The middle-school world would permentantly be a severe oppostition to the church world that co-existed... this linear reality would carry on throughout academia, and not stop until he was almost out of high school. This duel-reality gave the boy two chances to make it in this strange, new social world of emotions and friendships, and relationships. If school failed, he had the youth group. If the youth group failed, he still had school. If both failed, he had home. If home failed, he had his homeschool friends. And if all that failed, he had himself. This multi-world function was a perfect set-up for the boy, and it allowed him to have escapes, back up plans.

Period 2: Mr. Cutting's World Culture's classroom. Mr. Cutting was a kind old man, who didn't have much grasp on the mind or attention span of a 7th grader. Still, though, he tried. It was a brown classroom, with the desks on two sides of the classroom, with a large space in the middle which the desks faced, and the teacher paced, while describing old Europe. This class emphasized 'pretty' work, and rewriting what the textbook said in the Section Reviews that were its only homework sourse. Occassionally, the boy would do them during homeroom, if he did them at all. He always remembered disliking Amber, the large black girl who typed her homework, and copied the entire chapter into her answers. Mr. Cutting praised her openly and often. It was annoying. Not much else happened in that room, Homeroom was average, Period 1 was hell, Period 2 was a break.

Month One was still going full-force. The boy had a slew of new friendships and middle-school girls on his side. He was so cool the black kids liked him, and you gotta be really cool to do that. However, as time went on, he slide from popularity, because of an awful allegiance conflict within the boy. But that's later.

The boy had to decide which girl to go out with. He liked them all, sort of... Actually, he didn't. He liked only Lauren Ashley, little miss LA. She was the best-looking girl he had ever seen, because, as a 7th grader, she was the most developed. The boy was too young and inexperienced in his own feelings to understand that her breasts were what he liked most... he just had a general 'like' of her. You know, 7th grade level romance. However the boy took to long, lulling over the joy of having, now a week or so into the year, 24 lovenotes. The first thing that kept him from 'going out' with the other girls there was his other life. He actually had a girlfriend named Jamie, from church already.

But more on that later, because, alone, in the dark, the boy was pacing, back and forth. It was cold, but clear. The flowers needed adjusted, he took the cheesy plastic wrap off... Now, he had a real dozen roses. A quick shiver from the cold briskly flittered with his blazer collar. Gritted teeth fought it away quickly. And the boy smiled. It was cold. But it was worth the wait.

But even so, where is that bloody bus?




Endthought.

This is short. Love is worth the while, but to really love, everything must be sacrificed. Everything. So, if love doesn't work... Was it worth the while? For the chance, yes.

Because, there is nothing else in life that is worth living for...

Nothing.