I think I can now relate to how a druggy feel when craving a new fix. I need to hear your voice. To see you. To understand that we were once real, and that reality now is, that we are not. I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare and I can’t wake up. My brain is reasoning this must be a nightmare, because even I can’t be stupid enough to give up on us. On you. On myself. We weren’t picture perfect, but the perfect picture. Why did I let us go? And why didn’t you fight me? I thought we were more.
The below is a rough draft of the first encounter for the two main characters in one of my romance novels. Still working out a lot of kinks, but figured I’d try and share some of my writings in public.
“You fucking asshole!” It all happened in what appeared to be slowmotion but in reality was probably only a couple of seconds. One second I was standing in line at my local coffee shop, the next second a vaguely familiar woman was throwing her coffee at my shirt and calling me out in the middle of Starbucks. Someone who cared would probably be embarrassed or feel some sort of guilt toward the poor woman, I had clearly offended somehow, I however do not care. I stopped caring about anything a long time ago. “You don’t even remember me do you?!” the woman screeched. Sure I do, I just don’t remember what night, how it’d been or her name. I had an inkling of an idea that she might start with an A… Ann… Anna… Ariel maybe? “You know what? Fuck you! You’re a rat bastard and I hope you rot in hell..” the woman continued to sprout profanities and damnations but I wasn’t paying any attention. I was busy internally debating if I’d have to change my coffee routine or find another Starbucks near by for the next couple of weeks. I honestly don’t care about the public spectacle or the woman, but I don’t have time to change my shirt an extra time every morning.. That’s when I heard it. It broke through my internal debat – the most amazing sound I’d ever heard. A soft laughter, to my right side. It sounded like bells chiming and an angel singing – I looked around trying to find the source and was stopped cold in my tracks, my breath leaving me. I’d never been one to romanticize females, sure they could be hot, sexy, fuckable even, but I’d never truly considered a woman beautiful before. She looked like an angel. Absolutely breathtaking, with her long dark hair framing her face beautifully – she had marked cheekbones, full lips and blue doe eyes with a brown speck in them and right now they were filled with laughter. Laughter directed at me. She was laughing at me and for the first time in 15 years I found myself caring. A slap to my face brought my attention back to the livid female in front of me, I’d been in this situation before, and I knew nothing I could say would change the outcome, it was easier just to keep quiet and eventually she’d leave. Just as the thought crossed my mind, she pushed pass and rushed out the door. Not wasting any time I looked to my right for the angel I’d seen before, but she wasn’t there. I turned around and was happier than I cared to admit to see her standing by the condiments table. I walked over to her “are you finding my predicament amusing?” I asked. She startled, as if she hadn’t heard me approach and put her hand to her heart. My eyes couldn’t help but follow the motion, and her breast were gorgeous. She cleared her throat and my eyes snapped up, she looked a little sheepish, timid even as she said “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at your situation, it’s just.. you looked so confused and she was furious, does this happen to you a lot?” I looked around “being accosted in coffee houses?” I asked, she blushed “just being accosted in general..” she countered. “More frequent than I care to admit” I answered drily. She blushed deeper. I found it strangely endearing and couldn’t help but blurt out “have coffee with me” the laughter in her eyes returned and she took a minute to respond “as difficult as it is to tell you no after the ringing endorsement you just received by the leggy blond, I’m going to have to decline” she started to walk away, and I felt myself going frantic. Women didn’t turn me down, and I needed this one. I took hold of her hand and spun her around. She looked stunned and terrified all at once, and I quickly let go of her hand, “what’s your name?” I asked. She looked at me again, clearly evaluating if I was worthy of this information, before she said “you can call me El” and walked out the door. I was stunned, and the rest of my morning was a blur until I reached the office for the first meeting of the day.
So yeah… I wrote it on the plane towards Paris, I haven’t put any “real” work towards my creative writing in years, and this is merely a hobby. Sometimes I just feel like scenes visits me and I need to write them down to get them out of my head. I’m having a bit trouble with this Chris character though. So far I’ve seen him both as a musician and as a business man, and it’s like he hasn’t completely chosen his path yet. Please let me know what you think in the comments.
P.s. Yup, I know it’s sort of a self-absorbed move to call her El, but to be completely fair it’s not my real name.
So journal entry number 2, huh?
A couple of months back I broke up with my boyfriend of five years, and I didn’t shed a single tear. Don’t get me wrong: I love the guy, he is the most amazing man I have ever met, my best friend without a doubt. But he wasn’t the guy, you know? No? Let me try and explain..
I, like a lot of women these days, has a love for romance books. When I say romance books I mean both the innocent YA kind and the dirty “mommy porn” – they serve the same purpose. They give me a believe in the perfect love. Which is completely ridiculous right? I mean, love as a concept – I guess – exists, but the love portrayed in movies (not a big fan of rom-coms btw) and in romance books are glossy and picture perfect, and I guess real love isn’t like that. But if there is a tiny sliver of a chance that there might be a guy out there, who can make my heart feel as if it’s pounding out of my chest, who can make me shiver by whispering in my ear, and who can make it seem as if I’m seeing color for the first time, shouldn’t I be waiting for that? So I broke the heart of the only person, who’s ever been there unconditionally, and the only thing I felt was guilty that I hurt him – and that made me feel guilty for not feeling more.
In the end I think I’ve sort of come to terms with the fact, that he will always be my family. And I will always love him, but it was not fair to me, and it was definitely not fair to him, to keep a relationship going, if I was always going to wonder, if there was something more. And if there was more, I really want that for him as well.
I’m not completely sure what this rambling was for, except maybe easing my guilt – does that make me a bad person?
P.S. I’ve started writing my own romance novel, maybe I should share it here?