A Simple Love Story

Tuesday nights are good nights for dinner parties.

Monday is too soon, because the week just started. You’d be too tired to enjoy your company. Wednesday is the middle of the week – it’s not the kind of day you want to remember – hence a dinner party on Tuesday where everyone leaves drunk. Best to spend Wednesday hungover, right? Besides, while there are some people who think the week is “week half over,” there others are “week half started.” Am I right? Of course I’m right – otherwise I wouldn’t be explaining why Tuesday night is dinner party night.

Thursday would be a viable option, but it’s sort of the “last stretch.” The next day is Friday and that means the week is over. Nobody is ever miserable on Friday because they know that the weekend is starting. Some places even let their employees leave early – something that you really only ever see in big professional corporations.

Or, you know, with politicians.

We do these dinner parties once a week – politicians feel as though they need to have a break. I know, though, that these parties are more or less superficial rumor mill gatherings. I’d always hated going, but I never let anyone know it. After my sister’s flub with the pregnancy – which apparently wasn’t even actually her fault – I just smiled and flirted my way through the crowd until I stole enough liquor to stumble my way onto a distant balcony in a convincing enough way to deter all future questions.

“How is your sister?”

            “Has your dad said anything to you about the bill they’re reviewing in the House? What does he think about that nonsense?”

            “Do you think your mother will run any office now that her girls are all finished with high school – she’s quite the motivational speaker!”

            The thing about being a famous politician’s daughter – is that I’m not the teen mom daughter. I get plenty of questions and attention but none of it pertains to me. I can tell you exactly the last time someone asked about me – it was my waiter fifteen minutes prior, actually. He asked me if I had a preference to the chocolate mouse or the chocolate gelato. I didn’t answer him because I was stuffing my face with chocolate gelato. I think he was trying to be funny, but I was too posh to care.

That’s why I go to the balcony, to remind myself that I don’t want to be too caught up in this lifestyle. Soon I’ll be graduating college so that I can be in medical administration. It will be the perfect amount of schmoozing. Convincing people to care about the advancement of medical treatment – easy. Pretending not to be a cutthroat traitor to your co-workers – extremely boring and difficult. All politicians are paranoid, I’d learned.

Once I did make it to my balcony, though, I wasn’t as free as I’d hoped. There was never supposed to be someone there – I chose a very specific and remote balcony ahead of the party so that there’d be nobody around when I snuck to my escape. This time there was someone there already, and it was somebody who looked kind of familiar no less.

“You’re a long way from home.” The person said just be he popped a cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. It was not wrong. Not even just literally but metaphorically. For the first time that night, I genuinely smiled.

I approached the person, a bit of wonder in my mind at the time. The closer I got, the more I recognized the person – well, at least I recognized the outfit. This was one of the waiters. So I remarked to him in kind; “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Dear god, I was so poshtoo posh! I was embarrassing beyond belief.

And yet – his laugh had been sincere! Puffs of smoke jumped from behind his teeth playfully as he pretended to chuckle. We stood there for a moment, laughing in rotation before finally someone had to say something. So the waiter, clearly a natural, opened, “Enjoy your gelato?”

He kept smoking, and for absolutely no reason that was super fascinating at the time. I just gawked at him until words formed on my lips. I mocked him for his attention to detail; asked him how many pretty girls were snacking on gelato that evening. And that man was smooth as hell; “Only one worth remembering. She didn’t quite fit in with the rest.”

It may sound repetitive, but dear god was he funny! I laughed so hard at him – at his well timed and generic pick up line. No less, I fell for it. Never you mind that I had a boyfriend back school that could have been devastated to see me impressed by this waiter.

Or rather, server – as he so aptly corrected me later when I questioned what a waiter was doing taking up half of his lunch by walking all the way across the building and up three floors. Servers could supposedly take extended lunches if they volunteered to stay behind for clean up hours, so he took his extra time to properly enjoy the quiet.

“Sorry I’m messing with your lunch. I can always leave, if you’d like.” But he stepped closer to me. This man assured me that I was hardly a bother at all. He’d been nothing shy of pleased to have such engaging company. We chatted about the party and how it sucked – how each week sucked.

And then he announced that each month sucked; that each year sucked. Soon he confirmed he’d been working there for nearly three years. Somehow we’d lost track of time during which he shared all about his life – how he would be returning to school to finish his degree to teach soon. I got his number that night and a link to his website, which also doubled as his portfolio. His YouTube account was dedicated to teaching art. I got caught up in it once he couldn’t avoid his responsibilities any longer.

Hours – it was hours that I’d spent watching those videos. Each was more enjoyable than the last, and I failed to even notice that my parents had gotten a ride home without me. I remained at the building to help clean up so that I could spend more time with the server. I learned his name was Gerard before I asked him to give me a ride home. We connected so much over the things we hated about the dinner parties that we set up a date for the following Tuesday – just so that we both had an excuse not to attend.

And that’s how we fell in love.

My boyfriend found out, from me directly, but unsurprised. I’d apparently been distant, which I didn’t bother doubting out loud. It easily could have been true. I hadn’t truly been happy until Gerard weaseled his cheeky little way into my heart. I’ve been with Gerard for about a year now.

I know the story itself is pointless. Nobody cares about our love story. We both come from families with a lot more going on than an honest romance… His family is filled with people who have great jobs at big businesses and firms. My family is filled with activists and politicians who are known around the world. Whatever happens to us is just a filler story at the reunions and dinner parties.

And that’s just fine by us.

We don’t need to be anything bigger than our love for each other.

Tell Me

Why do you say things that you know are misleading?

Is it your way of secretly pleading?

Are you begging me to question your motivation?


Do you speak so freely and pretend to be joking so that you’re never left owning…

Owning the truth in what you say or do?

What can I do to just convince you to tell me the truth?

There’s nothing that I wouldn’t strike down –

Not if it meant having the truth out in the open.

I would like to understand all these words that you’ve spoken.


Because – sometimes – you can get almost too serious and too close…

And sometimes you’re just so flirty without remorse.

Of course, I can’t tell what remorse actually is –

At least not with you! Because you’re so fucking sarcastic!


But there are times, too; other times where I swear it’s just you,

And your messed up way of saying that these are the real feelings you’re having,

And that’s what is so goddamn frustrating – so infuriating.


So – when you have a free moment – give me a call and tell me what’s up.

Tell me without any hesitation or delay why it is that you feel this way.

Tell me the cause of your admiration that sometimes feels tailored,

Although equally insincere.

Because, honest to god, I would love to hear.

Real Trouble

The trouble with her is that she smiles in a way that is somehow sadder than a frown.

Inside of her eyes is certain sorrow that I’m sure can’t be turned around;

Except – except when she looks at me and then very quickly away –

I swear I see her falling in love with me slowly each and every day.

I never would have seen it coming if it weren’t for the fact that I was waiting.

Or, as my friends would sooner say… I was hoping.

It may not have been for her and it may not have been right now.

But when I see her big, bright eyes – well, wow – I know I can’t get out of this tangled mess.

I will soon love her with every fiber of my being that I have left.

Of course, there won’t be an ounce of regret.


The trouble with him is that he smiles like a man with nothing to lose.

He does everything with his entire self and his excitement is so fresh and new.

Except – except that sometimes when you catch him looking out the window – vacant in every imaginable way.

Sometimes catch him off guard and there’s nothing that he can ever say;

Nothing that he could ever do to hide the truth.

Somewhere deep inside he hurts as much as I do.

Maybe that is why I can’t get him out of my mind and why he haunts me in my sleep.

I thought I was stepping onto solid ground, but I’ve sunken far too deep.

I can’t pretend when I look at him my heart isn’t lighter.

Or that at some point he’ll ask me to speak honestly about what I think – what I feel.

And I swear he’ll make me a proper liar.

I’d sooner pretend that I didn’t know what love is than to admit…

Perhaps I’d know what love is if I were with him.


The trouble with them is that they always danced around each other.

He would try to dance away, but she would always dance closer.

And it would seem that if she ever stood down then he would step up.

It continued like this for far too long – but never once did they confess their love.

So with baited breaths and stolen glances –

Everyone around them watched as they passed up every chance –

Opportunities for them to reveal their not-so-secret secrets – and enjoy proper romance…


Maybe the real trouble is that the timing never seemed right.

He never knew how to approach her,

And she always insisted there’d be a better night.

In the end they loved each other quietly with bottled up remorse.

Wondering in the backs of their minds; “Could we have had more?”


You say things that make me question myself.

It gets me asking if I belong in Hell; Things that I refuse to address.

You casually bring those long forgotten concerns back to the surface.

You suggest things that I wouldn’t normally want to hear; And you do things I simply don’t want to believe.

And, of course, you smile in a way while you do it all that I – I cannot breathe.

Why I have so much stock in you – could I ever really know?

Regardless of the reason why, I feel as though…

It will always be painful to watch you go.


When you take that step in the opposite direction I realize that I am alone with my thoughts;

Thoughts that you have sown unintentionally into my head.

Tomorrow I will likely wake weaker than today – but I won’t let a single soul know.

I will never let on to anyone that I have changed – not even you.

Easy and helpless as it was – I can’t say that I’m sad that it’s begun.

I feel more awake than I have in years; and while awake I am without my deepest fears.


These truths that once crippled me are things I now foster happily.

Of course, I have to do this all so carefully and quietly – without any speculating eye.

My silent wishes cannot ever be spoken because all that I know can be broken.

I would rather suffer a lifetime of fruitless daydreams,

And never once taste the true motivation behind the things you ask me.

This life is not as bad as never knowing the reason behind your hard questions.

I can’t begin to know or pretend to know – there is no way I can even so much as guess.


Do these same curiosities also sneak through your head?


There is so much that we both leave unsaid.

Maybe we are ruining something perfect before it begins,

Or maybe I am creating a fake possibility in the recesses of my mind.

Just dreaming as though I were asleep hoping for a life that could never be mine.


I’ll write these words and consider myself mental, consider myself pathetic;

I’ll consider myself heartless and worthless; knowing the eyes that matter will never read it.


Maybe if I write enough lines of this ridiculous poem I’ll forget why I started.

Maybe I’ll forget that you reminded me that this isn’t love…


…This is broken-hearted.

Look, Watch, Gaze

I catch you looking at me.

Or maybe you let me catch you.

Or maybe there’s no catching at all.

Maybe you’re doing it on purpose so I’ll see,

Or maybe I’m seeing only what pleases me.

Either way, you’re looking right at me and I can’t make something up to suggest that you’re not looking at me at purpose.

Initially, it seems blank.

A canvas with no paint; a paper with no ink;

And it’s kind of odd because you don’t even blink;

You’re just looking.

Or I guess it’s called ‘staring,’ but who am I to suggest that you’re intrigued in any way?

After a few minutes, a few glances away, and a few more days – I am pretty sure I’ve caught you watching now.

This time I know you’re watching because I’m moving in and out of view.

No matter where I go it seems as though I can see you;

And this suggests that you’ve moved in order to see me.

Perhaps this is because you are confused; at least you look confused.

Is there a question you need answered?

I guess I wouldn’t know because even after I ask if you need anything, you don’t answer the question in a way that I understand…

Since I can’t exactly gauge why it is you’re watching me I think I’ll just stay away.

That seems to be a good idea.

Until there’s something different in your eyes; something angrier, I’ve decided.

It bothers me on a personal level, even if it is totally stupid.

And I do mean stupid, because even in a lucid state of mind – I’m in no place to ask for a piece of your life.

So I keep to my plan and I keep at a distance.

I notice that you’re not watching anymore – you’re not looking at all.

There’s not even a single sign of resistance.

You’re just not sparing a single passing glance.

Before I get upset about not knowing – I remind myself that I gave up the chance to be concerned.

I don’t know how long passes before I catch you looking again.

It’s not a look, though; not anymore.

This is definitely a gaze.

But a gaze can be good or bad; so how do I know what to means?

I guess it doesn’t matter in what way you gaze upon me;

Or even that you’ve been looking and watching for weeks.

I am more worried that I’ve noticed.

I have to ask myself why I looked back.

Why did I look back?

Why did I watch you too?

And why am I gazing when I have better things I could do;

Like, perhaps, write about whether or not I understand you.

Or at least the way you see things, or the way I see you seeing.

Yeah, there are better stories I could tell.

And I probably couldn’t tell any of them very well.

Author’s Note: Inspiration came from a few different aspects of my life wright now. I am lucky enough to know and be friends with a lot of really intriguing people with beautiful stories to be shared. This is just one facet of the many aspects of life that I find truly beautiful – the allure of wanting to know how another person thinks, and wanting to be closer to someone that you can’t possibly begin to understand.

But in the end, you just want to know. So even if it’s a bad idea, it’s worth trying.

Cherry Cream Soda

Disclaimer:   Normally I wouldn’t post something “fanfiction” -eque on my blog, but I couldn’t resist this poem. I wrote it after watching Adventure Time’s newest episodes starring Cherry Cream Soda, Root Beer Guy, and Starchy. So without any further adieu, I bring to you – unnecessary rhyming and a story about Adventure Time.

Falling for you wasn’t a choice.

Literally, it wasn’t a choice.

I looked at you and was told what to do,

To get married! And to smile, and to love you…

Arranged neatly, calculated and precise.

Of course when our lips met for the first time;

It was really great, actually.

Better than I thought,

So I guess science isn’t wrong.

There were smiles and tears,

There were spills and cheers.

Together we built a home,

Together we built a life.

Of course, we did everything together.

You know, because I was kind of your wife.

Really, being married was nice.

It was warm, exciting; it felt right.

You bought me cute vases from cheap shops;

And I cooked extravagant meals, pulling out the stops,

Being as perfect as I could manage.

So when you cracked up and crapped out – I was legitimately damaged.

I had to bury you.

Time passed, flowers grew;

Eventually the grass died in the winter,

I was forced to forget you.

It was hard at first, in this empty house;

But once I got out and got around,

It seemed like finding a new love was super easy.

Like – too easy.

Seriously, it was too easy.

So in no time, it felt, I was married again.

To a fluffy odd man with an awkward grin,

And a giggle that I couldn’t trust,

But it was an odd sort of love, and at times it felt felt like guilt.

I guess it faded overtime because I let it disappear.

I actually convinced my heart to beat faster when my second husband was near.

We became neutral, I suppose, and instead of being upset I let it slide.

It went on like this for several years.

So many years passed, though.

Where did the time go; because I don’t know…

And then at the drop of a hat you came back.

You are a zombie?

Yes, you’re a zombie.

You are the shell of a man that used to be my husband.

I had convinced myself that you were dead,

Because the brain works in mysterious ways?

I guess I just ran away because I no idea what was going on with you.

People change, and sometimes we’re blind to it all.

I thought life was good but I watched you fall,

Without a clue what was even happening.

I guess that’s part of why it was so easy remarrying.

Of course, after I see your face and the way you were willing to fight…

Even though I think both of you men are mad,

The only thing that feels right is starting over with you.

So, yeah, I guess you’re a complete stranger.

And I get that you feel undead, and that you think you’re just a danger to me.

I just want to learn what it’s like to choose the love of my life.

And I think it would be really great,

You know, to be your wife again.

Not right now!

But eventually.

For now, I just want to slow it down.

Do you want to go out?