Hunger of the Pine

Getting off a person is a lot like getting off a drug. There are ups and downs of varying lengths and triggers that you never expect will hit you with such force.

From day to day, your feelings about the situation change. You don’t care about him anymore. You never cared about him. You just liked the idea of him. You liked the way he made you feel, and not necessarily how he did it. You don’t trust him, you can’t trust him and this, all of it, cutting him off, cutting him out of your story, is for the best.

But you love him. Or at least, it feels like you do. You’ve felt things like this before, but not to the same degree. Not in this overwhelming, painfully raw way. You loved being with him. That is true. You loved what he smelt like and his smile, his smile-

His smile was a lie. Everything he ever did, or said, was a lie. Those things were nothing to him, he would tell anyone. There was nothing special about you.

But he made you feel special. He saw you. He spoke to you in a way that got you to feel safe, for the first time, with someone other than yourself. And that’s important. That means something. That there’s someone out there for you. That maybe he could be that someone-

He left. He left. And every time you meet up, he leaves you all over again. Reopening the wound over and over, not giving you room to recover. Maybe, he likes you like this. On the edge of your seat, drinking him in. Aching. Pining. Someone to come back to when his confidence is low. Someone to reassure him that he is loved, liked at least. So he comes back, he seduces you, you start to fall and before you can catch yourself, he’s gone. Left you behind while he continues his life without you in it. Writes you out, like this is his story. Is that what you do to someone you love? Someone you care about? Is that that the kind of relationship you want?

But he’s only human and humans make mistakes. Maybe he’s as confused as you are. Maybe he’s just as insecure. Maybe hunkering down and letting this blow over, ignoring all these messy feelings, is how he protects himself. Just like you.

And that makes him a coward. You can’t build a life with two coward. You deserve more than that. You want more than that. You are deluding yourself if you think you can make something with a person who isn’t strong enough to know what they want. What you want. Who isn’t strong enough to make it happen.

But do you know what you want?

You want him. You want him always. To speak to him always, hear him always. Look at him, touch him-

It’s not healthy. It’s not rewarding. There is nothing glorious about this, nothing here to crave. Relationships require two people. Two. And at the moment, there is only one. There is only you. And by that logic, there is no relationship. There is nothing to mourn. You miss him and that’s fine. That’s allowed. He was your friend. But what you think you’re missing, this great life the two of you could have had, never was. He never was. Never was yours. You started to build, wanted to build and keep on trying to build, an alter. Some great shrine to this pure and perfect love, even though the foundations are on sand. Worse than sand, dust. Worse than dust, nothing. Air. A vacuum.  It’s a thing that you do and have done and are doing right now. But you must focus on what’s real: He wasn’t for you. He was close to it, but he was never going to be yours.

That’s what real. The life, the prospect, the dream, the cusp of something, was all just that- Abstract nouns. In real life, there was nothing. Is nothing. And that’s what hurts. That you feel so strongly about something that isn’t tangible, never was. It’s okay to dream, but you lost your way and thought the dream was real. The dream was happening, taking shape before your eyes. And now you’re both mad at him and mad at yourself for not being more present. More careful. Smarter. You do know what’s real and what is not, but you thought, maybe this time, fantasy might trump reality. Because, in reality, you’re bored. You’re lonely. And he looked like he could take you away from that. But here you are. Here you always were.

So now, back to the lull. The silence. You don’t ache anymore. You feel nothing. And there’s a kind of relief in that. You have pressed reset. Your mind stops buzzing and plaguing you with fanciful thoughts and all you’re left with is you. You look at yourself for the first time in a while. See yourself for what you are. Who you are. What you want, what you need. You can spell it out, you can touch it. You can make a choice to either grow or regress. It’s entirely in your hands. You’re in control again.

So close your eyes. Properly this time. Face the darkness, the unknown. Tomorrow will come, and maybe you will get answers or opportunities and maybe you won’t. But that sadness, that desperation, that displacement – it will dull, get duller until you think of him with polite indifference again. Like when you first met. Reset.

 Oh, him? You’ll say. Yeah, he was my friend. Just a guy who used to be my friend.



We are alone in this world. We are one person in a sea of many. We can pretend to be better, or worse, but at night we must go home to ourselves.

We must be able to face ourselves.

I might not like what I see in the mirror, but I can look, I must be able to look her in the eye. To truly know her. I must know her. Know that she is me and I am her, and we are this, everyday. Always and forever. In war paint or not. Enrobed or not. Bejewelled or not. With others or not. Elevated or not. Beat down or not. I am the same, that same person, and the only thing that I will ever ask of her, of me, is that she do what is right and fitting of us, and us alone.

She must not let us down. Must not waver. Must not break. We are here together, her and me, and you will never change that. You can never break us. You can catch her eye. You can tell her stories. You can fill her head with all sorts of ideas, and promises, hopes, desires. But we both know the truth: You are not permanent. You are something we invite in, that we can escort out. That we make a choice to interact with, and then make a choice to do away with. You are fiction. At times tangible, but always always an idea of a person. For nothing is as real, as permanent as us. Her and me. me.

Rose’s Turn

Although I stopped watching Glee a while ago, (an inability to allow certain/any characters to move on, and cast remotely interesting new ones won’t win you favours with me) I have a lot to thank it for. My obsession with Fleetwood Mac, for example, confidence to tartan whenever I want, and the reminder that my secondary school days were a matter of survival rather than all sports days and school trips.

At random moments in the day I find myself remembering odd lessons those first three seasons taught me. A dance that involves a lot of hair is compensating for talent, nobody likes a needy drunk and if you’re going to write a good song, it probably shouldn’t be a about a headband.

But on days like today, when I consider the long road ahead of me in terms of career and life choices, a very clear moment comes to mind. It’s an episode of the first season, in which Kurt tries to be straight. He takes an interest in his dad’s work, he goes on a date with Britney, he tones down his wardrobe. He wants his dad to love him. But that means, or at least he thinks it does, being someone else. But that’s not possible. So in the end he gets on stage, in full Kurt style and sings his heart out.

Well, someone tell me, when is it my turn?
Don’t I get a dream for myself?
Starting now it’s gonna be my turn.
Gangway, world, get off of my runway!
Starting now I bat a thousand!
This time, boys, I’m taking the bows and-

and I know this is from Gypsy, but I’m going to admit something to you. I haven’t seen Gypsy. But I have seen Chris Colfer almost move me to tears. I can’t act or sing to even a degree of his performance, but when I find myself waiting to hear back from a prospective employer, or rifling through old drafts of scripts and manuscripts and imagining how I would stage them, I hear the beginnings of the big band. It’s about time it was Jess’s turn.

Or at least began the journey to Jess’s Turn.

I’m still deciding.