July 1 – My Eyes Burn

I took a break from the past few hours of video editing. I’m thinking of refilming half of the project, but I’m running out of time. I bought the envelope and SASE package already, and the LA Post Office has a drop off service open ’til midnight. I’m thinking of just dropping the whole project altogether, if I can’t finish it on time. I could just post it on YouTube and probably sign up with Google to earn my money that way. It’ll only take…a year, at least. Yeah. Good plan. Amazing. I should’ve thought of that before I bought the envelope. It’ll only cost me a new video card, after the abuse I put my laptop through, right?

Left the apartment to walk to the nearby liquor mart, hoping I could buy more milk for my cereal collection. I’m a brand whore when it comes down to that stuff. Forget clothes, I could rent a suit when Nate gets married. To who, I could only imagine. Girls flock to him every night anyways. Thinking about it makes me gag. They flirt, he flirts, they try to leave, he charges, and he never misses a customer. Not sure if that’s out of sport, or what?

I was about to go back, since the liquor mart was closed. Wish I stayed in, because the moment I stepped back into the night, I saw her. You know, Miss 626: Eve.

My heart never skipped so hard. It never broke so quick either… I saw her, riding in the passenger seat — with another man! I thought maybe it was her cousin, but he didn’t look anything like the sort. She walked with another man, the last time I saw her, who’s to say that this wasn’t another date with another gentleman? He was pretty and slick, and she matched him. Like an old 80’s romance comedy – a match made in heaven. They looked like they were the perfect couple: solid, grown together, finishing each other’s sentences. You could just tell by the way they were interacting.

I couldn’t stop staring. I thought hell froze over and Lucifer was torturing me for the last time with a rewind of my worst nightmare. Their conversation ended at the nearby stop, right in front of me – only six steps away from the entrance of the liquor mart. Eve turned to her side, looking down at the pavement. A tear dropped from her eye, and my heart skipped another beat.

The world was on pause, when I caught a glance of that moment. They didn’t look like they were fighting, so why did she cry? My legs felt electricity surge between that second. I wanted to leap and her rescue, and take her away from this pretty boy keeping her captive in his teal jeep. I’d sock him in the jaw and spit at his face. He could burn, for all I cared. Eve would stay with me for the night, and we would talk things through – work things out, make things better, that kind of…thing.

My legs drew strength from my veins. My heart seemed harsh on my pulse. For right at that very moment, I took the weight I buried deep in my thought, and demanded that Eve would have the right man. If it weren’t me that moment, then at least it wouldn’t be him either. I drew closer and closer, with my nostrils blowing fire from my blood. I nearly touched the handle of her door, but right before I could’ve taken another step – as if gravity wasn’t already in my way – the teal jeep sprung forward! Leaving me in the night, alone, and furious. I know life isn’t fair, but it doesn’t have to be like this. Not like this, not like this… A woman like her shouldn’t be pulled around by these men, the kind that just break her heart and pass her around, like some dame! I see exactly what’s going on, and I am not standing idly anymore. Something has to be said, and I’m tired of being such a damn coward for holding back. Who knew she was treated like that, no wonder she never called back!

I don’t care anymore. A lady like her shouldn’t be tolerating this. And I know exactly how. For her.

 

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June 29 – Moving On

It’s been five days since I called her back. I don’t want to try again. I’m not a stalker, not anymore. I don’t want to be one of those guys that chase after a woman, and get with them because she finally said yes, after months of “bumping into each other”. If anything, the internet taught me that I can talk to other people, and they’re willing to reply sooner than Miss 626. It’s not that I’m scared of rejection, or anything. I just don’t like the idea that I’ve been obsessed over a girl that I met only once, and scoured my list of potential links to her name…which I have in my possession now! It’s creepy, and I don’t like it.

I guess this is where the man is suppose to meditate on this lovely coincidence and romantically sing praise to the best day of his life, meeting her, right? I could say she was the girl that got away, but we only met once. I could say that I didn’t even try, but look what happened when I did? I could say that I did try, but to what effect? I’ve lost sleep, I’ve lost time, and even if I had my health, I must have lost it somewhere along the way too! There’s no point in chasing a girl, if I’m just going to lose myself in a tunnel of pity. What am I suppose to say? “Hi, I have no life, no money, and wasted my minutes on you, after losing my dignity calling the Huntington for your name?”

Sure…weirdo.

Forget that we clicked that day, forget that I became someone else when I sat next to her, forget what happened! Who was that anyway, chatting it up, getting into her personal space like that? I want to be me, myself, no one else. Leave me to my inspiration, and let my muse be my lover. She at least puts my heart at ease. I can roam where I want, do what I want, whenever I want, and SLEEP! …alone…in my studio apartment…like I’ve been for the past year…watching people from a distance, filming scenery, and talking to the only Bartender that won’t give me a decent conversation unless I get drunk with him.

Dear God…what’s wrong with me?

June 24 – 3:30AM

I called her phone. I called her phone twice. It rang, I hung up. No call back…and I am feeling a little better. I tried, and I think that’s what I needed. I’ll call her again at a decent hour. I’m still interested in her, and whether the poem was a project or not, I think I’m entitled to know if it was real…or not.

Sleeping now. I feel better. Much better.

Sign,

Thee Arte

June 24 – 3AM

I’ve been up all night, reading and rereading this poem she wrote. The piece brought me up, and I’m left to only imagine what happened back at Borders. The question isn’t if she likes me anymore, and why I should stop thinking about her, but that we should be together, because it’s right. Right?

I’ve dealt with friends talking about getting with girls, and either crying over each one, or going gay. The latter didn’t seem as bad of a choice, until they started crying over each boy they came in contact with. Man-whore would be a good title for guys that sleep around, and think that it’s okay to mess around without commitment. Some of them deemed themselves as Players and Pimps, others just bash women altogether, out of anger and disrespect, but these folks aren’t my crowd. My friends know better, in fact, they care about the girls they get with, or break up with, or stay friends with…so as long as they can keep their videogames.

I could call her, but what would I say? I could call my friends, but what would they say? I’m finding a hard time getting in the mind of Eve, the girl who I met at Huntington Library, the girl who I saw earlier today walk out of Borders with another man. And in a way, I don’t want to know. I wouldn’t want to take Eve as some simple girl I could put in a box, her poetry shows that she’s educated and a romantic. Thank god! The time I’ve spent just sitting in my apartment, thinking of what happened earlier, I could’ve dialed already. But the idea keeps me hesitant as to how she’s fairing now that another guy’s made a move on her. I mean, this isn’t just some project for her, is it? The poem, the writing, the mention of my name — it’s not all just some assignment she wrote, right?

No no. The paper’s taped on to a frame, the writing is printed, and she obviously wanted to be recognized for the piece…she wanted to be recognized for the piece… I’m worried if this poem was for something else.

I’m becoming obsessed. I have her phone number stained on my finger tips, with ink that I rewrite daily on my skin – something I find meditative and personal. At least this way I know I won’t ever lose her number. I really want to meet her again. She was delightful, and I think it was the best move I’ve ever made on a girl.

I think I should just call my friends before I make a fool out of myself. I don’t want to chase a woman out of obsession. I kinda think that if a girl’s going to meet me for a date, I shouldn’t spout out that stalked her, found her with a man, and now have the key to research everything about her on Facebook…or twitter…or Google…or the Huntington Library Directory… Man…I am creepy.

I really think she might deserve the old guy instead. I wouldn’t wanna date a stalker, if I were her. Sorry Eve, but our date might not be happening…

Sign,

Thee Arte