gayNwyo

Ever since Randy's contact with Rosalie, his heart began to ache for that kind of love again. Not the complex love that had developed with Katherine. Could he even say that there was love there anymore? Being alone, and that's how he felt, alone... Randy had to face so many emotions he had been masking with drugs. One of those emotions he felt wasn't exactly love, in regards to Katherine. So much had happened. So, so, too, too much. All at the hands of Randy. Randy's selfish and angry mind had bent and twisted the love that existed into something else. Something like deep sadness and hollow regret. The kind of regret that had spite in it. Spite and shame and pain.

He came into my life like an angel. He was my savior, my knight, my love. My angel. Like the sunrise rising in the east. He set in the west, wicked.  My flaming angelic sunrise, set.

Randy's sister gave him a bottle of marijuana, complete with a cork on top, for his birthday. He stashed it away for a time, secure in knowing it was there if he needed it. He didn't really feel he needed it at the time. But in the months that followed, his marriage was headed for hell. He was all to blame. The trust had been broken and he was almost certain that he would never get it back, even though he felt the damage he had done was minimal and he deserved that trust, it wasn't that easily done. Trust, once lost, is nearly always impossible to get back. Randy's intentions were selfish. He didn't mean to hurt or damage any of his relationships. Drugs, however, and addiction in general, destroy any and all relationships, period.

June 2nd 2016 To my Brother I hope my letter finds you doing well! I wish very badly I could talk to you. I will try and come see you. :) The thing I miss the most already is coming to visit with you. I know your situation is temporary and we can hang out again soon. You just need to know how much you are loved by me and so many others. Aunt Clara sends her love to you. She wants you to know your cousins and family care for you deeply. Whatever direction you take in your life, I will always be your sister and will support and love you unconditionally. Your purpose for treatment is all about you and your personal goals.  My desire for you is to be YOU! and be HAPPY~!! You are very bright! AND~ You are in control of you. :) Your future is what you make of it. I will assist and support your happiness. Ryan! I love you. Write me back if you would like. I did give Rochelle your address. I hope that was ok. Much love and many hugs and more hugs to you. Love, your sister, Candace Renee

"And if it all ends... and I choose to end it all? What then? Is that all? Is that where it really ends??" He asked desperately.  "No! That is where is finally begins!"

He left them, ever so carefully.  The trail of crumbs. For him to find. He found them. And he loved him still...

Roger and Victoria were planning a trip to visit Randy at Alpine Recovery Lodge for Mother's Day. Randy was reluctant to have family see him at this point in his treatment. He felt it was too early to meet them sober. There were emotions as old as he was that were so strange and mixed. Of all of the investments his parents had made for him over the years, this one seemed so unnecessary.  Randy had created such a mess in such a short amount of time. But he'd done it fast and he had taken everyone down with him. So, he'd been shipped at his most vulnerable and weakest point to drug rehab. Because his wife, mother, father and family felt he was that far gone. Had Randy known three months ago that he'd be there, with those people, he may have never lit up that first bowl of blessed marijuana. 

"Why was I not enough for you?" He asked. "Because I was consumed with too many other things." Too many other things.

They had an intimate, intense fight in the kitchen. "You don't care about what I want or how I feel!" He erupted. He was never without anything he wanted.  And the other he cared entirely too much about how the other he felt. 

They were outside smoking, which is just what they usually did. Two gay men, supposedly in love. "What would you do if you won the lottery?" One asks. The other answers. "Oh, you'd never see me again..." That spoke volumes about how he felt about him.

Dear Ryan, Don't worry, this is not a pathetic attempt to win you back. I'm writing because I need to get some things cleared up. I figure this is the best way, since we can't seem to talk very easily to one another. Please understand that I don't want that. I'd like for us to be friends and have civilized conversation. To be able to talk about anything that is in our brain at that moment. I realize that that won't happen for awhile. I hope it's not too late or too long. I'm really sorry about yesterday, and some of the things I said. There was no excuse for it, and please don't say, "I expect it!" or "I'm used to it now." Just a simple "apology accepted" or "you're forgiven" will suffice. Try to understand how hard it is for me!  Every single day I see you. There's not a single thing wrong with that. What is wrong is, one day you were in my arms, I in yours, and then the next day it wasn't allo...

We got matching tattoos.  Which meant permanence.  Which meant commitment.  Which meant, somehow, forever.  It was all for not...  Not meant to be.

"Dost thou reckon thyself only a puny form when within thee the universe is folded?" - Baha'i Teachings

Being with you has revitalized my life. I never knew such passion & connection were possible. You really are what I have waited for and wanted all my life. I love you deeper than you may ever know. Steven

"Your penis is a tool, not a toy. Tools build and create, or deconstruct and destroy. Toys are for passing time in fun and pleasure. Tools have power and allow you to do things you just cannot do with your hands. Toys have the power to enable you to enjoy yourself in ways that you couldn't normally do on your own. Tools placed in your hands give you the power to create the simple and the extraordinary. Toys placed within your hands inspire imagination and your child like nature." He had a way with words, for sure. He continued. "My point being, young man, is this. If your penis is treated as a tool, you could potentially create a masterpiece. As a toy, you may as well remain a child." Randy thought to himself. "My penis is both, a tool and a toy."

"So, what is your story, what are you writing about? You don't have to answer me, I'm just really curious. You seem so intense, focused and alive when you put pen to paper. I'm fascinated."  She was overly curious for someone whom had just met Randy. It caught him off guard. "It's the story of my life, in a way. All the shameful and guilty things that I can't tell anyone. Pieces of myself. Things I remember. The things people said to me, or did to me. Fragmented memories that tortured me and found their way onto paper. Emotionally discouraging things. Dirty things. Things I got to get out. There is some beauty there, too."  Randy laid it out there for his addiction counselor. She reflected, appearing to understand. "I see. That is beautiful, and healthy. Keep doing it."

Who's was Randy? Down deep in his core? He couldn't honestly answer that at this stage of his life because there was far too much emotional baggage tugging him down. Far too much. Too much to be able to process at this point in the game, and so little time to do it. Three months seemed like the blink of an eye compared to his entire lifetime. Perhaps, though, after all is said and done, Randy did know who he was at the core. Once all the drama and the bullshit was wiped away, he could find that Randy. The one he used to know, the gentle, kind and compassionate Randy. The one who hopefully didn't need the drugs and the chosen distractions he had deliberately placed in his life.

Ryan, It has been an unbelievable 2 months! I LOVE YOU! This will represent our growing love... so don't kill it. Steven 

He cornered me, with a threat. "You're in a hall of mirrors, and you better watch your back." I laughed in his face. "Do your worst, I'm not afraid of you anymore."

Elementary school, and preschool before that, allowed me the opportunity to grow. I found I especially love art, music and reading. I made friends easily, especially with the girls. A few male friends I had were close, but I rarely made the commitment to hold onto many friendships. For I knew that life changed and people came into, and went out of my life quickly. Forming attachments to others, however strong the desire on my part, only ended in disappointment when the connection with them was lost. There were a few exceptions, though, some friends are friends for life, regardless of distance and time. Middle school and the changes of life were a rude awakening for me. I wasn't well prepared or educated for that existence I was expected to live in. My teachers always made a point to tell me how special and unique I was. Which I believed, but perhaps they said that to all their students. I was bullied by other male students, in and around my age. They would tell me that I looked and...

Dear Ryan, Hi! I hope you are doing ok?! It's hard not to being able to talk to you, I didn't realize how much I text you until I couldn't do it anymore. I do message you on Facebook sometimes. You can read them, or I can erase them for you. It's just my way of being able to talk to you. I wish I knew how you were doing! I spoke with Mary a little today and she says that you seem to be doing well. She mentioned that you like to spend your free time alone and I expected that, it's how you are. I do hope that you are able to make friends there though! The people seemed nice when we were there. Anyone in particular that you get along with? How is your room mate? Is he the same one we met? I miss you, mostly when I'm alone at work or late at night. I hope you do not always resent me for encouraging this. I did it because I love you and I was concerned. I hope it is helping you, not just with the substances, but with the depression and anxiety too. I also hope that w...

"I was a sloppy mess last night, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me??" He could barely remember how he'd got into bed. There were clothes scattered about. He pieced things together, as best he could... "Yes, sir, you were! So was I. We're lucky we got back here safe." "That's true. Do you forgive me? I mean, if you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best." He felt ashamed and vulnerable. "I'm getting to the point where I don't know if I can handle you anymore..." He confessed, raw and honest. "I totally understand that. I can hardly handle myself, I shouldn't expect anyone else to."

I knew Brad. He lived close by. We'd met before. Small town boys know small town boys. He came over. We got naked. He smelled like old lady baby powder. It was the douche he used to rinse out his gaping ass. Which I fucked. He wanted more. But went home empty handed. He is now a woman.

"Can someone please tell me what they think the absence of addiction is, anyone...?"  There was silence, in the group of addicts sent to rehab for various substance abuse issues. "Well, of course it's sobriety." A girl rang out. "Obviously. We need to be sober, is that right?" "No." The group counselor came back. "You want us to be sober, that's why we're here. We're getting sober..." She didn't understand. "Wrong." He stated. "The absence of addiction is human connection. The more genuine human connections an addict has, the less likely they are to use addictive substances." "But..?" She interjected. "There's nothing and no one that can make me feel as good as the drugs and addictions that have consumed me." He sat, puzzled, for he knew not what to say...

Dear Brian, I'm writing this letter to you, but for me. I'll never send it, you'll never read it.  My heart was always on fire when we were together. The butterflies were always there. The love was always there. It's still there, deep in my heart. The love I hold for you is the deepest love I've ever felt. I will never be able to explain that level of love, and I may never find it again. But I had to let you go. I had no other choice. It's as if you had died. The grief I felt when you chose to leave my life was harrowing. It broke my heart in every possible way. But I understand why you had to leave. You couldn't connect with that level of intense emotion. I was too much for you to handle. I held you too tightly. I blame myself for that. I'll cherish the beautiful moments and memories that I experienced with you. My heart will always hold a place for you, and my heart is missing a big piece because of you. Wherever life takes you, Brian, I love you! Ryan

Dick-boy, I HATE YOU, YOU PUNK! Just kidding. I had a great time sexually harassing you, and I know YOU LIKED IT!! (HA HA) I will miss you. Because I'm actually in love with you, Really! Rita

Ryan, Thank you for helping with Walter's meds this weekend.  I love you and I owe ya a pizza date and a BJ. XOXO Brian

you look gay :)  BKJ :)

Ryan HAPPY BIRTHDAY RYAN! I'm sorry to miss your birthday. Have Brian tell you the story behind your gift, I hope it makes you smile. :) so for now: Here is your fancy gift for a fancy lad for a fancy morning! (Brian helped me write this) Hope you have a beautiful birthday! Maria

Al died the next day. Bad things tended to put the good in perspective for me. Mom took it harder than I did and had an early afternoon mix, she said, "to celebrate the life of a damn good dog." I knew better. Whether he died of loneliness or just age I'm not sure. Loneliness was the culprit, and I blamed myself for being so inattentive. But he was a good dog. We'd had him since I was five. Mom got him for me the winter dad had left us. We'd had our days in the sun with him, and maybe the move had been too much for him. The back yard seemed the customary place for burial. Jilly, as I came to call her later that summer, came by and helped me dig the grave. She brought daisies for mom, who was half drunk, and remained inside as we held the service near sundown. I will say I heard her weeping. Over Al. Or maybe it was still dad. "Poor guy." Jill said. "Never got the chance to really know him. I'm sure he was great." She spoke about him like he...

Izzy invited me over. Into Pavillion. He was working a ranch there. He was private, alone, not out. "I'm Isaac. Call me Izzy. Wanna get naked?" So we did. It was sweet. Sucking dick and eating butt for hours. But never did we each ever cum. Sweet Izzy.

He'd been awake for days. High on meth. With his boyfriend, too.  They had a fight. He walked out, bruised, bloody and barefoot, into the snow... And died.

"I heard one of your friends died yesterday?" My mom asked in the parking lot of the grocery store.  I must've been 15. "He jumped over a fence and choked on his own vomit. Did you know him, his name was Cameron?" I knew Cameron very well. He'd bullied me for weeks at school. He'd taunt me and knock my school books out of my hands in the hallway. He'd call me gay and laugh while his friends laughed, too. "I knew him. I don't care that he died. He was mean to me." Was all I could say. 

Her legs danced far above my head. She swung them sweetly to and fro, parting them gently and briefly and then crossing them back. She poked her head over the edge. "Why did you say those things? I took you out for ice cream hoping maybe we could have a nice time. Thanks for ruining it." She disappeared. Her form passed through the cracks of the two by fours that made up the tree fort. "I'm sorry, really." I attempted to be sincere, but again my mouth ran amok. "I just wanted to know if maybe I wasn't the only boy you'd done... what we did... with...." I was getting sloppy. She didn't say a word. Footing myself on the bark of the tree, I began climbing. "Are you apologizing? Do you really think that... of me... that I would...?" She struggled too, and she began to sob. When girls turn on the water works, it's all over. I needed to say something valiant, something heroic. Something that would make her smile, or laugh, or do any...

The next morning was surreal and silent, save for the quiet hustle of the river some distance away. I awoke first. His face was so alive, it struck me so as he slept. Perfection, I thought. He was beautiful, rugged, pure, strong and serene. I watched him for only moments, before he awoke. I couldn't speak or face him. I slipped away to the river to sort myself out. Aside from my routine morning erection, I was in love with this boy. He was in love too, for awhile. He sat next to me, by the river, silent and intensely so. There beside me... No words were exchanged for days. He was hoping I'd be gay with him. And vice versa.

As I sat across from Jill, she delicately caressed her banana split with a long plastic spoon. I thought about how stupid I had been in the weeks before. "Good, huh??" She chirped. "Yeah, great!" I rang back. My spirit soared. Here I sat with her, the girl who haunted me so seductively, casually lapping up ice cream. "What do you say, after we finish these bananas and ice cream, we go get more apples from the tree for my mom??" She had been thinking about asking for awhile, and so had I. I sucked in a quick breath. By now that tree must be bare... Without a split second thought, I blurted out. "So how many boys have you had up your tree?" She blinked with puzzlement. "How many boys...?? Up my what...???" "Do you take other boys up to pick apples?" Were these words really spouting out of my mouth?? "How many others have seen your shoe box full of naughty pictures??" My audacity surprised me. My pulse quickened. She sp...

Mom went about her days and let me go about mine as if nothing in the least was wrong. I walked Al every morning and night, watched movies, read comic books and played video games. And while I did so, I plotted. I thought about each question I was going to ask Jill, right down to the question marks themselves. Late one Saturday night, after mom was almost passed out, I crept out of bed and edged my way down the stairs. The steps creaked in the middle so I slid down the wall with my back pressed against it. Mom was a light sleeper, even if she'd had a couple before she hit the sack. She did like her evening mixes. My destination was Jill's window. On the ride home with mom I'd made a point to remember the way back to her house. It was dark and the entire layout had changed. I was on an adventure, determined to get up to the glass, tap on it very romantically and convince Jill to go back to that tree. As I started out that night, the stars seemed to sigh Jill's name. The ...

"Why are you spilling this all over the internet, so late at night?" He asked. "Because someday, this will be all that's left of me. I need to share my sinful, shameful stories, my late night confessions. Even if no one reads them. I need them out there, out of my mind and soul." He understood. 

Joel was seventeen years my senior. The older man. He was sweet, shy, tender and trusting. He craved an intimate and meaningful relationship. And sweet sex. But he never stayed for long. We had intense passion between us. Sex or not. But he had deep, buried shame that kept him from connecting. Joel, I loved our time together.

Ryan's heart was on fire that day, because he was with Brian. "You must be so happy today?" Brian noticed. "You can feel it?" Ryan asked. "Yes, you're radiating it..." "It's because I'm with you." Ryan confessed. They talked, and shopped together, and had sushi by the river. They returned home. Kisses were exchanged. Brian left, never again to return.

Scared in the dark closet, understanding that the monsters are there, waiting to pounce. Waiting for that exact breath that brings them out of silence. Fear that begins to restrict his lungs, as the intensity for each silent gasp of air builds under the realization that the monsters are already in... Panicked in the dark, they begin to creep out, not from the corners or the crevices. But from the lungs, and the brain, through each and every part of his body and soul.

He hadn't been through all this madness for nothing. He hadn't faced death and denial and defeat to be undone now.  No. He had places to go, yet, and things to do.  Not sure exactly where, yet, but there was some place, somewhere. Somewhere. Something, and perhaps, someone... Should he wait for that? Should he look for that? Should he settle and accept? Should he move on and be alone again, to perhaps be alone for the remainder of his life? His heart told him this was a very real possibility. For if there were something, or someone out there for him, it or they, must accept him for exactly who and what he was. For that was something quite rare, for him to find the ultimate outright acceptance from someone else. On all levels.

"Fuck you and your book, and your slippers, too! Take them all and get out of my house!!!" Suddenly it had all become hers, and I was doing all this to her. As if I was just a stationary object that had been inconveniently place in her way, a burden. As if nothing whatsoever had been happening to me. I hadn't already been through everything. I had faced down my old, own demons. I'd just chose to share them with her, after the fact. I thought that the burden would somehow be shifted, or lifted, or dealt with in a way that may save me, or both of us, from something so much more than either of us ever imagined.  This was too much for either of us to ever recover from. It could take years. It had been months already and he still hadn't let her touch him. Not truly, not at the intimate level that would ever mean anything at all. He felt that intimacy would never really be there again, ever, Even if he wanted it. He had laid his soul bare, there with her, and she was no...

Lance was a bit lonely. And horny. He was a chubby daddy with a sweet fat D. I let him in. We rolled around naked, and then some... He regretted the next morning. He had cheated. Sweet, lonely Lance.

Silence can breed a loneliness that can be inviting and comfortable. Then again, silence can become an addiction as well. Loneliness. Loneliness is knowing that if you step out into the world people may insult and shame you for being who you are. Loneliness is not accepting the company of others because you fear being wounded by what they may have to offer, share, or say to you. Loneliness is fearing the people you love the most. Loneliness is not trusting a single soul in the universe. Not even your own. Loneliness is falling asleep alone and waking up alone. Loneliness breeds time for the devils to work within your mind and make promises they don't intend to keep.

Kent and Randy's relationship changed after that evening and morning. Kent knew that Randy had offered more than a friendship, and Randy knew that Kent would never cross over that line. And so it was the end of another remarkable friendship, quickly undone and unmade, with six simple words. "Or know what's being offered you?" Kent was a skinny hippie with long brown locks like I was. We were approached once by a perverted older man and asked if we'd like to make a porno with him.  Friends, of whom Kent had many, called him Jesus. For he did so look like Jesus.  He had a true handle on who he was as a person and what he wanted in life.  He created magic on stage with Randy, and the chemistry was undeniable. 

Kent had no issues with any side of his personality. He was no ones fool and he lived by his own rules. He had an open book sort of nature about him. Randy could read this book by simply looking at him. His book was bewitching. But they were friends, and that's all that there ever was. Yet, Randy had fallen in love with Kent, through the years. It was an evolutionary kind of friendship, trusted and true, best friends in crime, sometimes. But never lovers. After three years, Randy offered Kent his love, after an all night camp out with several friends. They all shared ecstasy, marijuana and cigarettes. Randy remembered hearing and seeing epic stories around a dancing night fire, the earth pulsing, and him, confessing his love for Kent at dawn, over a smoking pile of ashes.

"Anyone who has ever been a piece of my heart already knows." Ryan explained. "So nothing should hurt anymore. Nothing." He knew this wasn't true. He had a whole world of hurt ahead of himself. So frightening that he may not have just made that point, of nothing. There must be a point where shame no longer follows you around, he thought to himself. "Did you consider that there are those out there that may hurt, use, or despise you, still? There will be hurt and there will be pain, and a bit of anguish. It will all come in time, but never when you'll be expecting it. So, on with you, my beautiful, boyish man child...."  She'd struck a nerve, a nerve in my heart, connected directly to my soul.

"Where do I even begin with you?!" Rosalie screeched at Randy from three steps away. When she got feisty and serious, it was venomous.  Randy answered back. "What do you mean? What do you think I'm hiding?? I've told you everything there is to tell..." His voice trailing off into silence and darkness. I said one thing more, then nothing else. Rosalie was completely deaf. She could understand nothing from me, unless she was looking directly at my lips. This had it's advantages, and disadvantages. Mostly advantages. 

Question... Back when, were you sort of into me? Yes sir, I was! Really? Yes! Can I ask why? Even though I'm straight. There was just something sexy and vulnerable about you. You were so honest and whole and genuine. We're you trying to turn me? And, yes, I'm honest to a fault. No. You can't turn what isn't. If only girls could see that. And to be honest, of it wasn't for the sex stuff, I thought about it. We could've snuggled. Maybe. But I understand. At least it was a thought. That means a lot. Thank you! A friend of mine who might be bi tried that once. He slept in my bed with me. I've done that before and it didn't bother me at the time. But afterward I started thinking and it made me uncomfortable. Trust your gut. Everyone is innately bisexual. I'm a touch centered person, and that touch, after the fact, was weird.  I get that. I mean, I've been overseas and we had to shower together and all that and there was a playful brotherhood vibe,...

The birthday party was elaborate. Neighborhood parties always are. Kids were invited that weren't really Jill's good friends, but when there's a birthday party, friendship or no friendship, everyone was invited. Balloons and streamers, confetti and silly string, noisemakers and even a Twister layout were part of the festivities. At twelve, some of these things still held fun, but I was more focused on Jill. Jill's mother had delivered the homemade apple pie, much to my relief and mom's surprise. But Jill seemed much too busy entertaining her numerous guests to pay the slightest attention to me. This is what Al must feel like sometimes. She hardly glanced my way for hours. Poor Al, he'll probably croak soon. Seating arrangements grouped us accordingly around a massive picnic table, with none other than a red gingham printed tablecloth. Boy it sure was mesmerizing. I tried to distract myself by stuffing German chocolate cake in my face. A dopey boy with thick glas...

"You should write about the pain, your pain. Get it out there, in black and white. Even if no one ever reads it but you. Get it out..." She encouraged.  So I did. All ugly things. All of them.  It felt amazing. 

"You look like a girl, walk like a girl and talk like a girl. You stupid faggot!" He said as he passed me outside by the football field. I was 13.  Words cut deep... I was still a boy, underneath it all.

"It's the things you've forgotten, dear Randy, that you need to remember again. Time has a way of making you bitter and estranged to almost everyone around you. You need to forget about the hurt and the pain, and the resulting anger. You need to forget your loses and see your gains. You must forget the longings and the lusts. You must, you must, forget."  Victoria paused, allowing Randy to absorb the words, then went on. "You must remember the good that is within you, always. Never truly buried, always a glowing ember of truth among the ashes of time, emotions, trauma and psychic connections. You must always and forever remember the light inside you. Let it shine brightly for all to see."

They all four stopped into K-Mart on one mission. To find sexy underwear and many condoms. Many. On the road trip back to their summer of dreams resort village, Pahaska Teepee. They all worked there for the summer, each alone with their partner of choice in a cozy little cottage of tiny conjoined log cabins. We all had our naughty little minds whirling with wicked delights, and all of them were fulfilled that sinful summer. The summer of 97, July. I was seventeen years young.  Sex, every night. Some times two or three times. Morning sex. Afternoon sex. Quickies on breaks and the lunch and dinner hours.  Sweet afternoon sex with only the afternoon rain showers as background noise. Sweet summer rain air in the lungs made for beautiful orgasms. 

"Let's get right down to the real nitty gritty here, shall we?" She spoke forwardly and sternly. "Is this your first psychological evaluation? Have you ever done anything like this before?"  "No." Randy answered simply.  "What had he gotten himself into??" He thought to himself. "This should take roughly an hour or so. Answer all of the questions as best you can. Shall we begin? Are you ready? You can relax... You look tense." "I'm good to go, let's get it over with." Randy answered back, doing his best not to look tense. "Is there any history in your family of mental illness, anxiety, depression or disorders of the mind?" Randy hesitated, then responded. "Where shall I begin...?"

Benny would return randomly, late at night. He'd knock on my door and want sweet, soft kisses. So I obliged.  It took all I had not to jerk off while at it. But he wasn't about the nasty, grunty man stuff. He wanted soft, sweet, simple kisses. So we kissed, for hours. My erection pulsed and ached and my balls felt as if they were being squeezed ever so gently. I needed release, and it had been some day or so since I had. The tip of my penis slid under his shirt and the pee hole of my urethra touched his belly button. I burst, all over his sweet, smooth abs. I quaked and quickly melted into his chest. He promptly stood up and left. Sweet Benny.

"You are just like me, Ryan!" She rolled over and jerked the bedspread after her, closing out any hope for intimacy that night. "You are just like me!" Repeating herself for emphasis.  I was convinced that she was right at the time, but would come to realize much later how wrong she was. We were nothing alike. And when she had wasted so much time and energy trying to convince both of us she was, she finally realized it too, and gave up and let go.  She couldn't change me, but she had tried. And I had tried to change for her. Valuable life lessons, learned the hard way. She'd yell and scream and thrust her hips from side to side. She'd say things. "Why won't you look at me!?! Why don't you say something!?!" I'd shut down and curl up on the bed and bury my face during those episodes. "Are you depressed? What's wrong with you?" She had built me up in her mind over the last five years. I wasn't who she thought I was at...

So, yesterday, when I was going to make the last of my deliveries around campus, a drunk Indian man hit on me. Told me I was cute, put his arm around me and followed me a little too close. I ran him over with my delivery cart and laughed about it later. He was creepy. He kept saying, "Ryan, you're cute," and, "Ryan, be nice to me." I about punched the shit out of him. I've been hit on by guys before, with this was extreme, threatening and disgusting. I directed him where he wanted to go and told him to have a nice day. Should've called campus security or something. But as for how upset I was, I think I did very well not knocking his drunk ass out. Reason number 378 to leave this sorry town: Gay Drunk Indians.

As he laid on the beach, soaked and gasping for breath, he noticed how still the lake was suddenly. Not as it had been in the violent moments before. Looking out across the silvery spread before him, there was no sign of a disturbance, no bubbles, no ripples. No evidence. He'd left nothing behind. It was all buried now, deep under the silvery mass of water.  All he had to do now was to let the searing sun dry out his clothes, walk down the road to where he'd left his car, and drive back to the woman he'd fallen for. No more secrets, no more lies, no more double lives. He'd made a mistake with her and she'd tightened the noose a little too tight around his neck. He had just removed it.  They were down there somewhere, slowly swelling with water. She and his unborn child. And he was headed for his place in the sun. 

There was silence. There was stillness. And a sudden peace as she looked out across the prairie of waving grass. She was alone now, the only soul for miles. It was a welcoming feeling, and a liberating one, to be suddenly and completely alone. No more disrupting and threatening sounds from the room down the hall. The gurgling had stopped. The moans of anguish had ceased.  The landscape just outside the window stretched out for miles. A single cloud far across the distance was the only disruption in a sky of pure aquamarine.  She really hadn't the mindset before to notice. Was this really her backyard? She'd seen it before, millions of times. But now it had beauty, depth, space and vivid color. A blackbird soared, ducking wings, diving, then disappearing entirely. The landscape was hers now. He was finally gone, dead. She was free.

And then there was nothing. For the longest time. Only silence and the darkness. And just when that silence and darkness came to be familiar and comfortable, they too were gone. I wasn't alone. I knew I wasn't. It was like that feeling you get when you come out of a deep sleep and you haven't opened your eyes yet, but you know there is someone standing over you, looking at you. It was like that. Maybe I'd met them before. Maybe I knew them. Maybe they were coming back to meet me and were trying in some way to reach out and help me. They weren't human, I knew that. But they had presence, a demanding and familiar presence. I had had experiences with spirits before. But nothing this intense, nothing this real. Nothing this overwhelming. But I wasn't frightened, more humbled and paralyzed. Subdued and frozen. If only my mind would take over and jerk my body awake.

You are the piece of a scattered puzzle. One with so many lost pieces. I'm happy to have found you. You may not fit, and you may not stay. But that's okay. I like you that way. You're grooved in all the right places. And worn just enough to play with. But, at the end of the day, you may just be thrown away. And that's okay. Uncertainty is life's only certainty. That seems so contradictory.  Yet some how satisfactory. We may be tossed aside today, and that's okay. So, let's play for awhile, cares to the wind. A few precious moments let's spend. It's okay, just stay. Two mismatched pieces, finding a temporary place to fit. And it's okay.