The Land of NeverWas

Where all the "Might Have Beens" live

Archive for the category “relationship”

the insanity of cupid’s arrows

Is it cowardice to armor one’s heart against the barbed arrows of a Cupid gone mad? One who shoots his arrows without regard to consequence? Is it cowardice to wish to avoid the pain of his pernicious arrow sinking in to my heart alone? The arrow that he so maliciously forgot to also shoot into the one I fell in love with?

“Perhaps, it is. But I don’t care.” I think as I buckle the armor on and shut my beating heart away into the darkness once again.

shaking & shattering

I’m shaking.

I don’t know whether it is from the coffee on an empty stomach or the flurry of emotions that are swirling inside of me, bumping themselves along my nerves and up against my skin. I think it may be a combination of the two and I hope that the emotions aren’t able to find a crack in my facade and work themselves out. They are trying with everything they possess. I feel as if I have an earthquake dwelling within me and it is only a matter of time before I break from the constant shivering.

What started it? What was the butterfly effect? What seemingly innocent action somewhere else set into motion the little ripple that grew into this tsunami inside of me that threatens to drown me in ruin? I don’t know. It’s probable I don’t ever want to know. I wonder how he did it? What words did he use? What caught her eye about him? Did he make her laugh? Did he make her feel special? Did he make her feel sexy? What did he do that I never could? What was it about him that turned her on so much? What the fuck did he do or have that turned her away? What caused her to leave me here

shaking and shattering?


I am lightly dreamt and poorly written.

A ghost of memory spied upon the mirror.

The falling echo of a word unspoken.

All that I am is see-through and you walk within me unknowing.


I want to say
that the pain made me
crazy, just for a minute,
and I lashed out from
hurt and thought if I
wrapped myself in anger
that it would shield me
from the pain I felt
but it didn’t work and
I can never stay angry
at you very long and
once that went away
it all rushed back in and
ganged up on me and
also I knew I wouldn’t
be able to stop talking
to you without some help
so I said the meanest
things I could think of
so you would be angry,
or hate me, just so
no matter how I begged
you would never respond
ever again because
otherwise I just can’t
stay away from you,
the drug of my soul,
but I never thought you’d
turn indifferent to me and
I think that hurts more than
anything and now I wish I
hadn’t done it, but I was too
successful at what I
was trying to do and
now we can’t speak
at all, and I am going
crazy because talking
to you was like making love
to you with my words
and I think I got off
on that more than
anything else because it
touched my soul and
not just my body but
now that is all gone
too because I was
too good at being an
asshole that very last
day, but I wish you
could just forgive me
and let me back in but I
know that won’t happen
because I destroyed it
all like I planned, so
impulsively and finally
and now I’m lost
without you.



“I’m sorry. It’s just not working out.”

As I said these words, I could see the look in her eyes as she collapsed inside. God, I knew how she felt and I felt like shit. But what was I to do? My heart was a ball of lead and she had done nothing to melt it. I didn’t think it right or proper to keep things going longer than they needed to.

She left in tears and I just lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling fan, trying to hypnotize myself into being someone else.

Maybe I shouldn’t even be doing this yet. I know I’m not ready. I’m really doing this to try and ease the pain a little, like drinking, but I’ve never been that much of a drinker. I find a bit of surcease from being in the company of other women. I find I forget about everything while I am interacting and out and about, but the truth is that once I am alone it all comes rushing back in. No matter how many emotional sandbags I put up, the flood doesn’t stop.

I know why I am doing this. I am trying to find a replacement. I’m trying to fight fire with fire, to douse out the old flame with a new flame, but no one is catching me on fire and man am I doing a lot of damage in the meantime. I am leaving behind me a trail of destruction that can probably be seen from space. I try to tell myself that I get out before I hurt them too much but the looks on their faces tell me otherwise.

I just have to stop. I know how it feels. I know how devastating it is and I don’t want to be that guy.

I don’t want to be a heartbreaker.


I didn’t find love where I thought it lay but I can assure you that I will find it some day, some year. And then, finally, I will wrap myself around someone, strong, brave, and beautiful and the tears that fall from my face will be those of happiness instead of sadness. And every night spent alone and wondering will be long lost in the mists of time, and I will only regret that it took me so long to find her and that our time together won’t be as long as it could have been. But any minute, any second, with her will be precious and nothing will tear her from me until the moment I breathe my last with her name on my lips.

I will let the water of her love wash over me and I will feel renewal.


there will be nothing left for you to see.
no inkling of anything to do with me.
nothing here, nothing there,
there will be nothing for you anywhere.
you have made your choice,
so no more will my voice,
share a thing or a feeling,
or pour out of my being,
in heartfelt love or pain.
it will wash away with the rain.

in the dark when your heart gently weeps
at the things you denied but which it still keeps
close to itself, all alone does it cry,
asking, with mine, why why why?
something that shall never be answered,
by thought, by deed or even by word.
i can’t fight the enemy of the past
and finally at long last
i just have to let the thing
go and, hurt as it may, become nothing.

and so i thought….wrongly

You know, I thought that I would be
the man who fit that hole in your heart
snugly like a puzzle piece.

You know, I thought that you would be
the one that would teach me
how to love unconditionally.

You know, I thought, like a stupid pup,
that maybe, at long last,
things were finally looking up.

You know, I thought this of you,
that perhaps, after all,
a dream could come true.

You know, I thought this all along,
but now I stand confused at
how I could be so terribly…wrong.


n: The condition of being confused or disoriented.

Even after I said clearly what was happening, you just stood there, saying nothing.
I’m not sure what hurt the worst: having to admit it was over or believing that I meant so little.

the dream

My subconscious betrayed me. I had a dream. And I remembered it.

I dreamed of you.

We were at an amusement park. It wasn’t the usual sort of amusement park though. It was small and had rolling grassy hills and a little creek running through it as opposed to concrete, asphalt and steel. It was peaceful and empty. Almost as if we were the only ones there. But we weren’t. J and the guys from the band were there. I remember giving J a hard time because he was flabbergasted someone didn’t know who he or his band was. The other guys were off signing autographs while he was hanging out with us.

And then we were at a souvenir stand. You liked this cool magnet thing and then I started bitching about all the overly cutesy ones that made me want to barf. You asked me why I had such a problem with them and all I could say was that they were just so damn…. CUTE…and you made fun of me.

And then we were lying in the grass. And this is my favorite part. I was laying on my side, head propped up on my hand. You had your head nestled up against my chest with your arm thrown over me. We were as close to each other as humanly possibly. It was quiet, but as usual I was thinking. And I got to thinking that, maybe, being around the old gang was causing you some unspoken pain you weren’t letting show so I asked you if you were ok. Your voice was muffled in my chest but I heard you say “yeah”. And then you raised your head and looked at me and your voice was filled with awe as if the realization had suddenly dawned on you. You said “Yeah. I really am, actually.”

And then you kissed me.

days like months, months like years

I keep picturing you with sad eyes. Sad eyes and a far away look. I have no idea if this is accurate as I am totally and completely cut off from you. I said I wouldn’t write this kind of thing anymore, but I was struck by the need to make a record of this moment. I have hope it will be a history of us, but if nothing else it will be a history of me. And I think looking back and remembering my feelings at this moment will be important to my future self. I just wonder if there will grow a disconnect between me now and me then. Like when I look at pictures of myself from my childhood and it feels almost as if I am looking at the life of someone else. Some other unhappily happy child who is trying to find balance between the magic he feels inside and the turmoil his reality has become. I hope not. I hope that the feelings remain. I hope that I can grasp your hand and smile at how foolish we were in this present. How we kept ourselves apart while everything else was waiting not so patiently for us to give in and accept the inevitable.

But for now, this now I am slogging through, there is nothing but an abundance of time that seems to be never ending. And this is the feeling I wanted to jot down. How the tick of the clock is both my enemy and my friend. How the rise and set of the sun is both my enemy and my friend. How I am marking days off the calendar like a prisoner awaiting the day he can walk free from his cell.

Yes. I needed to make a record of this.

So here is the record of the time that days felt like months, and months felt like years.


n: : temporary inaction especially as caused by uncertainty : hesitation

this is going to sting.


when you lay eyes on the one that catches first your eye and then your heart, it isn’t simply a matter of fate putting the two of you in that particular spot at that particular time. no, fate had much more work to do before it put you two lonely spirits in the same space. there was a brilliance to its plan. a patience. fate had to lay out a domino of events that is best never contemplated, for not only did it have to place you two together at the right moment, but it had to place your parents together and their parents and so on and so forth all the way back to the time your ancestors decided to take ship to new lands and even beyond that to a time when Targ fell in love with Unda. you two potential lovers have come from a long line of lovers that fate pushed together like two dolls and said “kiss her!”…and stuff. and to compound fate’s job even more, it had to put the two of you through other relationships just so you could learn lessons that needed to be learned so that you would be ready to recognize what fate was putting in front of you. you had to cry, you had to hurt, you had to destroy others so that they could learn lessons of their own. you had to be the bitch, you had to be the asshole, you had to be the victim, you had to have your heart ripped out of you. fate puts a lot of work into you and it isn’t happy when you ignore that fact. if you keep your mouth closed and let her slip by, if you let fear keep your heart closed and let him slip away, fate will fuck you up. when you are sitting there pondering why you were never able to find love, fate will smack you upside the head and say “you did you dumbfuck. you just passed it over out of fear. remember so-and-so? yeah. THAT ONE.” fear is fate’s worst enemy. fear laughs at fate’s work because fear has an easy job. it just gives us a twinge and we run. you can always tell the brave souls. they are the ones still holding wrinkly hands, the ones that still have the light in their eyes even as the rest of them is going to hell. it’s in the tender attention of the old man that is taking care of the wife that can’t remember him anymore, it’s in the patient, steady force of the old lady that has to take care of her husband as if he were a baby. because in the end, fate is happy with the ones that did get it. fate smiles at love and love smiles back because that is the one little slice of heaven on this planet that we are given. love. the love of others and the love from others. so remember that the next time you fall and fear starts tapping you on the shoulder. remember all the work fate has put into it. remember it is all just a beautiful convergence.

love and physics

now i want a compression of time.
the months until i see you feel far too long.
then the days between will feel far too long.
then the hours between will feel far too long.
then the minutes, then the seconds.
in the weird physics of love
the seconds and the minutes
and the hours with you will feel far too short
and the days with you will feel far too short
and the months with you will feel far too short
and then i will want a decompression of time

or better yet for time to stand still

damn the beautiful nights

Damn the beautiful nights.

Not that I hate beautiful nights. Sitting there in the dark while the cool breeze ruffles my hair and caresses my skin like a playful lover makes me really glad to be alive.

No, it’s not the beautiful nights I hate. It’s the fact that you aren’t there sharing them with me that makes them far less enjoyable. I’ve counted so many. So many lost opportunities to hold your hand and walk with you by my side. So many lost opportunities to lay on the grass and look at the stars. So many lost opportunities to sneak away with a blanket to the dark beneath a tree and make love and dare anyone to stop us. (And so what if we get caught? I’d go before the judge and say “You’re damn straight I was making love to her under the moonlight. And you better keep on the lookout, because I aim to do it again, Your Honor.”)

But, even so, I send my love off with the breeze and hope it finds its way to you. It’s not quite the same, but for now it will have to do.

Damn the beautiful nights.

first, last, and all points in between

You are the first and the last and all points in between.

The first thing I think of when I awaken in the morning. Even before I curse my alarm clock.

The last thing I think of at night before sleep claims me. Even after I think how good it feels to climb into bed.

When I wake at night unable to sleep because the cares of existence are wearing hard upon my soul, thoughts of you calm me.

You are in my dreams both day and night.

You live in the faraway look I get in my eyes and the stupid grin on my mouth.

You are too far but yet so near. You surround me and I move through you like the air.

You are the first and the last and all points in between.


I am dying to touch you.

I am dying to read your skin like a blind man, with the tips of my fingers sliding over your naked body, as they take in the story of you. The nudity isn’t about sex. It’s about doing away with all the barriers between you and I and getting even closer than sex allows as we merge souls together. My touch will be the conduit through which we speak. The vastness of my emotions for you will be narrowed down to a fine point and, as I trace and caress, I imagine there will be invisible words emblazoned upon you by the fire that burns so sweetly. The words will shine brightly there and then fade into your skin and race to your heart and then you can know, finally and at long last, what the man touching you is feeling. If your breath is taken away, that’s okay. You took my breath away long ago. It feels like I am still holding it and waiting.

Waiting for just this moment, when I can finally lay there with you and read you with my touch.


I build a straw shelter of confidence and hope and for a moment I feel strong, but then the realization that it will be, at minimum, two months before there is even a possibility that I will see you blows through me like a hurricane, destroying the frail structure I’ve built and leaving me trembling, cold and lonely.

the book

the book smelled of her. the scent of her perfume arose from it and intoxicated my mind until it formed an almost physical presence of her in the room. i could see her standing there next to me, watching me, watching my face as i studied her gift. her mouth was formed into a crooked half-smile as she studied me, as if completely confident that i would love it. and i did. at that point it didn’t even matter what the book was about, all that mattered was that it was from her. i stroked the cover as if it were her face.

i didn’t read it immediately. i flipped through the pages quickly and let them fan the scent of her perfume into my face. and then i dove in. the story was beautiful and painful and sweet and happy and sad and all the other things many stories are. but i was attached to this story in a way i hadn’t been before, not even with my own writing, because i was trying to see it through two pairs of eyes: hers and mine. but even the author’s words didn’t grip me the way her notations did. they were short, cryptic to me, but i knew for her they had pages of meaning. i wanted so badly to unravel that meaning, but, unlike the book i held in my hands, i couldn’t crack them open to get to the inner content, i could only stare at the hard outer covering.

i closed the book and held it up to my face to take in the scent one more time. and as i did i fell in love with her a little bit more.

Damn, I Want That

Yeah. This post is going to be different. It’s just me, my thoughts and some beer. Should be interesting. Or not. I could be really boring right now as I let my emotions guide my fingers and just type whatever comes out. Ever read a stream of consciousness post? Yes, you have. Probably didn’t realize it though. Damn near every one of mine have been that way. Even the ones that seem to make sense, or are sort of poetic. It works like this for me: I get a feeling inside of me, it builds up pressure, and like any other sort of pressure it needs to be released before things explode. So I sit down and write it out. Writing is the turning of that valve so that I don’t go mad from whatever it is that is eating at me at that particular time. And the blog is as good a place as any. Maybe someone will stumble across this place and say to his or her self “Wow. I feel just like that.” and maybe knowing there is another person with the same things going on will help them out. I damn sure don’t write this thing for the glory. But I love this place even so. It’s a good listener.

As a man, I often feel like I have to keep everything locked up inside. Like if I let anything out I feel ashamed. At least the sad parts. I’m not supposed to whine. I’m not supposed to hurt. I’m not supposed to let anyone or anything affect me, and I am damn sure not supposed to cry. I am sure that this stems from my country upbringing and my redneck father who seemed to be made of stone and anger, but was probably suffering under the same delusions he passed on to me. He just didn’t have an outlet beyond punching and drinking and holding a gun to his head. Somehow, someway, I was born with a passionate yet creative disposition. Way more cerebral than dear old dad. He never understood me. He didn’t understand how I could spend so many hours in my room drawing, reading and just THINKING. He thought if I wasn’t actively doing something out doors then I wasn’t doing shit. He really wasn’t a very good father at all and once he and my mom divorced I hardly ever saw him. He once told my mom that he didn’t come around because it hurt too much to see us. I realized something when I heard that. My dad wasn’t a tough guy at all. He was a big fat pussy. I figured out at that moment that in order to stay manly and avoid having anyone see you crack, you had to avoid anything that would make you want to crack.

So I did for years. I kept it all bottled up. On occasion I would let things slip. Not very often. I fell in love – or what I thought might be love – a couple times. They ended badly. Funny thing though. I was married twice and neither one of those times correspond to the times I was in love. Could explain my divorce rate. 2 for 2 baby. Batting a thousand. After all of the crap, I was way more successful locking myself up. Of course it didn’t hurt that no woman made me even remotely interested in opening up either. They were so interchangeable that they all merged in to some gooey gunk with a vaguely feminine shape. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about a one of them.

And they loved the shit out of me.

But things change and so did I. I started hating that. I hated not caring. I hated that I was just fucking someone just to be fucking someone. Because I was horny. I hated the fact that the less I seemed to give a shit the more they chased me. It just seemed wrong. I looked around and I saw couples that seemed happy, and many that I knew were really happy, and I kept asking myself why the fuck I couldn’t find that. What self-destructive tendency did I possess that kept me from that? What was stopping me from caring about these women? What magic formula was needed to make me feel something goddammit? I had no clue and I still don’t. I just knew that until I felt something what I was looking for wasn’t going to happen.

And then I met her.

Fuck me, but it was love at first sight. I know, I know. It’s a load of crap. All kinds of rationalizations can fly around explaining that shit and I’ve heard them all – a lot of them from her. But I just knew. There is absolutely no way I can explain it in words. I was struck with a certainty I hadn’t felt before.

It was exciting.

It was exhilarating.

It was heartbreaking.

It was terrifying.

It was mysterious.

It was life changing.

It made me strong.

It made me weak.

I say all of these things in the past tense but the truth of the matter is that it is still happening to me right now. I am somewhere in the story. I can’t tell you if it is the beginning, the middle or even the end. It could be anywhere along that path. Some days it feels like the beginning…like I am in a really fucking long foreword…other days it feels like I am on the last page and I am about to turn it and see The End. The only part I am sure of is that I intend to be the romantic lead and do all I can to win the heart of my lady love. I’m either going to fly to the highest heights or I am going to crash and burn. But if I do burn I am going to scorch the memory of me into her heart.

Thing is, she wants that too. She is uncertain of it, questioning, but I can’t answer that question for her. Only her heart can guide her to the point where the answers are. All I can do is shout and whistle “Hey! Over here!” and hope like hell she notices and turns in my direction. I’m probably trying too hard, but this is all new to me. She’s done things to me inside that I am not familiar with or comfortable with and so I am kind of flying blind. I try to retreat back into my tough guy persona, but there’s not much of it left. She’s cracked it all open like the shell of a hard boiled egg and left me exposed. So I go with it. I let her see what no one else has ever seen. A side of me that makes my friends say “Who the fuck are you?”. I hope she doesn’t feel guilty about that. Or pity. I want neither from her. If those are ultimately what motivates her then this whole exercise is useless. I want her to feel happy about it. Privileged. Impressed. And then I want her to fucking fall her ass in love with me. I want a happily ever after (filled with good times and bad times – I’m realistic). She struggles against herself. Resisting. First going one way, then another. This stems from her having pain of her own to deal with. A way more intense pain than anything I have had to deal with. She is not at fault for being wary. I understand it. I accept it and try to remain patient. I stand here and hold out my hand and offer her support and love. It’s all I can do at the moment and hopefully it will be enough in the end.

Nowadays it seems this sort of persistence makes one a fool. But wouldn’t it be more foolish to let something I have spent a lifetime searching for go too easily just because it’s difficult? I think so. I’m not going to be a pussy like my dad and avoid the risk of a heartbreak just to keep from being hurt. I am going to plow through and see this to the end, whether that end be bitter or sweet or some combination of the two. I’m not prepared to wait another 20 years to have someone pry my chest open like she did. I don’t have the time for that. I want this love that everyone else feels to be a part of my life while I am still young enough to enjoy it. I’m not sure what I am going to do should she decide not to reciprocate. Not a lot I can do really. Sink back into the oblivion of meaningless relationships, flounder around and hope like hell it doesn’t take another 20 years to fall madly in love with some dark eyed beauty.

So keep your fingers crossed for me. The road is under construction and it is going to be a bumpy ride but I am confident that a pretty smooth highway lies on just the other side. Then it will just be a red convertible, the wind in my hair and her pretty head on my shoulder. We’ll be driving down the road with laughter in our hearts and love on our mind. Watch us disappear into the sunset and become that couple that some other person looks at and thinks “Damn, I want that.”

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