ypsilanti's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Boy I knew this kid who had it in the worst way for a girl who worked at the bakery down the street from where he lived. He must have put on about twenty pounds last winter from going in there and buying pasteries everyday just so he could be in the same room as her. It was real strange though, because even though he talked about her to me so often, and with such wistful longing, he also admitted that he didn't even know her name and that he refused to talk to her when he went in there, even when she would try to initiate conversations or smalltalk. Once, shortly after he had taken notice of her, the two accidentally stumbled into a conversation that began with the pros and cons of different types of coffee sweeteners and stemmed off into a short but intense discussion that touched on many things he'd never really found words for. Beautiful things that people made plans to base their lives around. Inspiring and real things. He found himself so easily articulating things to her that he'd never even been able to compose internally, and a feeling of unbelieveable weightlessness and understanding overtook him. He knew that there was a chance for him to be truly loved and understood by her, and the potenital in that chance made him remember every way that life had ever surprised him. For one small moment, he was set free. However, the sad fact was that by the end of their breif exchange she had also made mention of future plans and beautiful, inspiring things in her life that included her serious, longterm boyfriend. As effortlessly as he had felt freedom arrive, just as easily did one small reference he wasn't ready for re-lock the bolt on his heart. From that point on he maintained his daily routine of going in and buying donuts or cake slices, always politely nodding at her, sometimes even muttering a "hello", or "goodbye", but he told me that he couldn't bear to talk to her again, or know her name, or know anything more about her at all, for fear that everything he learned would make him fall all the faster and all the deeper in love with her. The blockade of her existing relationship painted shut the window that had opened in his mind when he felt some sort of connection with her that day, under the fans that moved around the flour and sugar that floated through the beams of sunlight in the air. The fact that they could never be together made the connection all the more tragic, and the tragedy made him create more and more of her each day. The love he was suffering under existed for the most part in his mind, and he thought the suffering was so bold, so romantic. It was the type of overexcited bittersweet melodrama that made the films and books that filled his shelves. Movies about teenage boys who are misunderstood, down on their luck and abused by all around them, forced to undergo near inhuman suffering before winning it all in the end through their kindhearted nature and relentless belief in individuality and personal strength. Though the girl who worked at the bakery has since moved away with her boyfriend to open some sort of combination laundrymat/single person dating bar in New York, he walks through this self-prescribed storylike existance even still, bemoaning the harsh wind of unrequieted love, and the deep personal strength and struggle it took for him to never dare even ask her name, knowing the dark, impossible trail a love so strong would lead him down. 3:27 a.m. - 11.21.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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