I Want

I want you.

I want beauty, elegance, class;

I want a wild, exciting, fun lover.

I want you to be able to pull off a pair of Manolos and a pair of Old Navy Flip Flops;

I want you to stun the crowd at the red carpet with an evening gown, and wow the park walkers in a t-shirt and jeans

I want you to turn heads, but not let it get to your head.

I want you to be ‘the mature one’ with a ‘kid trapped inside’, and you know when to let her out once in a while.

I want you to be a shopaholic with a conscience.

I want you to be confrontational without being hostile, direct yet subtle.

I want you to leave me guessing, if you know I will guess right.

I want you to be affectionate on the fourteenth of February, be proud on the second Sunday of May, and be mine on the night of my birthday.

Money doesn’t matter.  Sure it does.

No, it really doesn’t.

I want you to connect with me intuitively.  I want you to equal me in wit and humor

I want you to not steal the crowd away from me; we’ll take turns.

I want you to be Mother Teresa on foreign soil, Martin Luther King on the streets, and Pol Pot in the boardroom.

I want you to like Gershwin, Ella, Slim, BSB, SRV, Dark Side of the Moon, Justin, BB, Gaga, Toby, the King, Tiesto, the Fab Four, and the deaf guy.  If you don’t like one of these artists, forget it.

I want you to be well-mannered at the dinner table, and be able to chug beers at the bar.

I want you to match me in alcohol tolerance.  We’d save a lot of money that way.

I want perfection.


Waiting IV

And I’ve been waiting in the weeds
Waiting for the summer rain to fall upon the
Wild birds scattering the seeds
Answering the calling of the tide’s eternal tune
The phases of the moon
The chambers of the heart
The egg and dart of small gray
Spiders spinning in the dark
In spite of all the times the web is torn apart

You like him. You hate him. He likes you, a lot. He annoys you. What appeared to be attraction in the beginning has turned into a game where you dictate the moves. You grow power-hungry in the presence of an opportunity to be in control. You start to see him for who he really is; quite different from the guy you first liked. You two start to slip away from each other. It’s over before you knew it.

Meanwhile, I wait.

You acknowledge my presence, with a hint of regret when you think about what we might have become. You like me. You say you like me to me, knowing full well I can do nothing about your attraction to me, or mine to you.

You try to tame me with a net of flattery. You talk to me, a lot, making no secret of your feelings towards me. You say you want to see me but you never do.

And I’ve been waiting in the weeds
Waiting for my time to come around again and
Hope is floating on the breeze
Carrying my soul high up above the ground and
I’ve been keepin’ to myself
Knowin’ that the seasons are slowly changing
Even though you’re with somebody else
He’ll never love you like I do

I’m done waiting.

*lyrics by the Eagles

Waiting III

And I’ve been waiting in the weeds
Waiting for the dust to settle down along the
Back roads running through the fields
Lying on the outskirts of this lonesome town
And I imagine sunlight in your hair
You’re at the county fair

You’re holding hands and laughing
And now the ferris wheel has stopped
You’re swinging on the top
Suspended there with him

And he’s the darling of the chic
The flavor of the week is melting
Down your pretty summer dress
Baby, what a mess you’re making

And all I do is listen, trying my utmost to appear interested in her affairs, while feeling a painful torment knowing that I’m not ‘that guy’, and will never be her guy. You might ask, why would I put myself through such torture? I can’t tell you, because I don’t know. Attraction is a weird thing.

I was her flavor of the week. The darling of the chic. A toy. A James Patterson novel that gets tossed after being flipped through once. I’d occasionally get picked up and be skimmed, before being set aside again for something more interesting.

But alas, no. Your conscience-free way of living your life will not affect me for long. Don’t get me wrong. You’ve never wronged me directly. Or maybe you have, but in easily deniable ways on your part. It is just who you are.

Where does this leave me? Nowhere, almost literally. Your mannerisms are disdainful. Your elegance non-existent. Your melancholy is pretentious. Your conversations with me adds nothing to my being. Sometimes I feel you function more as an audience for me than as a friend. You laugh when we talk, much more so than I. You’re like a wall that takes in my wit but doesn’t feed it back, but occasionally drops rocks onto my head.

I wonder if I should pull the plug. Love is a fun game to play if you know the stakes. Now that I know what I am to her, I perhaps can deal with it when I see her. But it’s difficult suppressing a side of me that views her with contempt and condescension.

It’s time to dim the lights.

I’ve been stumbling through some dark places
Now I’m following the plow
I know I’ve fallen out of your good graces
It’s alright now

*lyrics by the Eagles

Waiting II

I’ve been biding time with the crows and sparrows
While peacocks prance and strut upon the stage
If finding love is just a dance
Proximity and chance
You will excuse me if I skip the masquerade

She calls me, and calls me often. She talks to me about everything from mundane supermarket shopping to her most personal affairs. This guy that guy. That guy cute guy. The other guy that she wants to pry. The guy for whom she cries.

What does it say about someone if she feels completely comfortable with divulging her intimate details you, but more importantly, that she thinks you’d be interested in hearing all – and I mean all – of it? To be honest, I was interested, at least enough to listen to her talk about her life for hours, all the while I have to insert the occasional witty, humorous comment. But I think there’s a certain point in which I think it’s strange for her to tell me all these things. After all, I’ve only known her for a few months, and I went from being a stranger to a close friend.


It’s comin’ on the end of August

Another summer’s promise almost gone

And though I heard some wise man say

That every dog will have his day

He never mentioned that these dog days get so long

I don’t know when I realized the dream was over

Well, there was no particular hour, no given day

You know, it didn’t go down in flame

There was no final scene, no frozen frame

I just watched it slowly fade away

I like her.  I’m sure I do.  But it’s useless to tell her, because she doesn’t like me.  I wait.  For what? For her to change her mind? For a replacement so I can take my mind off? For myself to give up?

She’s smart.  She’s independent.  She’s witty.  And she parties hard.  But there is no connection between us.  None.  My turn will never come, and she will go away.

Am I a coward for not being able to express to her my true feelings?  Would that only have made things awkward, in which case maybe our friendship falls into jeopardy? I always tell my friends “don’t think, just do.”  With her, I thought too much.