My writing turned out better than I had expected!
At first I started out nervous, shifting my eyes around looking at the strangers coming in and out of the store, but once I began to read my thoughts just melted into that moment in the garden. I heard the pattering of clapping and realized I had finished my piece.
The other writers mentioned overall that there was indeed room for improvement, but they could indefinitely feel the heart and the senses involved in it. I was so delighted that some good came out of it and slowly felt my wounded writers pride mend with the return of inspiration.
This nice old man from the writing group, Cleston, was particularly interested in my writing. We sat down after the meet and had a cup of tea in the cafe section of Borders. Apparently Cleston works with independent film productions and thinks that my writing clicks with that kind of crowd. He asked me to join him and meet some of his friends at this festival at the Egyptian Theatre next weekend.
As I am looking for a job, and/or the betterment of my stark resume I gladly accepted. Though I must say that the conversation was with Cleston was a little alienating. All these titles and names of people I know nothing about. His rambling made me daze in to my own land thinking about… well… Art.
Before I went to the Writer’s Meet I researched that the next BPAL Lunacy wasn’t due for another three whole weeks as the last one had passed. So even if he was real the idea of taking me on that date down Magnolia St wouldn’t be for some time. I’m sure with his charisma he would have found someone else by now.
Seems like a terrible taste of medicine that I’m getting friends that work in film, perhaps Art was a sign. I know that it’s crazy talk but if you really think about the turn of events he almost seems like the modern version of a Guardian Angel pointing me in the right path. The thought sends chills down my spine…
Cloaked Dark figure = Mysterious Muse
Camera = Something in film or modern media
BPAL Wilde = Old meets New?
I know that I’m thinking too much about this but can you blame me? I feel like I’ve been out of the loop for so long, seems ashamed since I’ve hardly written anything in it.
Doesn’t help that Jack’s back. No not entirely, he’s been sending me emails asking me how I’m doing, he’s recently resorted to texting my phone again.
Even though Jack was my first serious relationship I got over him rather quickly. When he slept with my best friend/ room mate Penny I never through a tantrum of screamed about it. I just wanted to get away, I fantasized about it when the signs that we weren’t working out started to show up. We were good together, but it was one of those picture perfect types of love that never seemed to be more than that. So when things got ugly I just felt removed from it all and felt like it would all be nothing but sheer vanity for me to fight. I moved in with a distant relative and I even changed my classes from afternoon to early morning. The thought that I did it so smoothly bothers me a little.
The one thing that suffered was my writing. It’s been almost a year and that short piece was the only thing that I had written other than my journal. Perhaps this is my way of going numb. All I know is that getting woken up by his texts at late hours has been starting to draw my mind a blank. I have been doing nothing but trying to ignore the thought of him almost every hour of the day, leaving me to push my skeletons back into the dark closet. I’ve concluded that Art was probably a manifestation from my mind to fight the inner depression I have with my failed relationship with Jack.
The reason why I’m writing this and getting ahead of myself was after my chat with Cleston about independent films I saw could of sworn I saw art staring at me with a couple of my favorite films in his hands. Everything down to his silly black coat and Paul Frank book bag. When I got home, the piece of paper that I had with my writing had gone missing.
I think Art is my repressed way of dealing with my failed relationship surfacing. And though I have some good news in my life, I can’t stop thinking of how great it would be to share it with someone who might actually be right for me.
And just like that I suffer from the legendary writers curse: The loneliness after isolation. Looks like I’m only starting to consider regret with all that happened between Jack and I, even Penny only now.