Good Morning, Heartache (end)

13 07 2012


And with that, Jake’s list is sent into the world, like blowing ashes into the wind.  He takes a breath.  This is yet another time when the outcome is uncertain, and it unnerves him greatly.  There’s nothing left for him to do but wait and see if anything happens.

Days go by.  Jake does his best to carry on with life, but it seems as if every moment, his thoughts are interrupted by a voice shouting in his mind, or a sign that suddenly turns on — “Heath.”  And in that moment, it all comes back to him.  Whatever he’s doing no longer matters.  It alters his day, his mood, his thinking, to the point where Jake spends more time in a day thinking and dwelling about Heath than being in the present.

The worst part is that he knows it.  The worst part is he can’t stop thinking, no matter how hard he tries.

An email arrives in Jake’s inbox, sandwiched between a groupon email and a library notification.  Jake is alone in his room, having just woken up.  There’s a blue downwards arrow attached to the email — Heath’s marked it as low priority.  Upon glancing at the little font on his screen that shows Heath’s name, his breathing immediately increases, and a wave of nausea hits him.  He has to avert his eyes and tell himself that it’s okay before he’s able to control his breathing again.


Dear Jake,

I got your letter.  I read it.

I’m sorry it’s been rough for you.  You’re wrong when you think I’m without emotions though.  If you don’t already know, you’re such a wonderful guy, and you deserve someone who can give you what I can’t.  Truth be told, I’ve moved on, and though you’ll always have a special place in my heart, I don’t feel that way about you anymore.  Maybe that’s a harsh thing to say, but I feel like if I don’t, you’ll take longer to get over things.  I want that for you.   I know you think and think about things a lot — that’s what happened with your ex.  A relationship should come naturally for both people for it to flourish — otherwise, we’d be constantly fighting to stay together.  

We just don’t work out.  I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.  If you want to stay friends, or if you need someone to talk to, to heal old wounds, then we can do that.

But please don’t try to win me back, or I will have to hurt you.


Jake stares at the screen for minutes, even after finishing Heath’s email.  He doesn’t move, and his breathing is in shallow puffs.  The hum of the computer, and his breathing are the only sounds in the room.

He knows how these things end.  Jake is liberated, self-empowered, meets a new, wonderful guy, and gets a new beginning.  That’s what should happen.

A cold hand touches his shoulder.  “Come back to bed,” a voice beckons him.  “It’s getting cold without you.”

Jake turns off his computer.  Yes, Jake can see it now — his new life.  All the possibilities flash before his eyes.  Suddenly, they all disappear.

“Don’t daydream like that.  I’m all you have.  I’m all you will ever have.  I’ll be yours forever.”

He crawls into bed, and the sheets wrap around his legs and body.  He pulls it close to him, shivering slightly.

“Good morning, heartache.  Hold me for a while…”



25 02 2012

Here’s one of the three new poems I read at last night’s thrilLITERATE reading.  The video of my reading it is at the bottom.


When they say a heart breaks,
they speak as if it breaks once:

a glass,

floating in slow motion,

pulled down by the fingers of gravity.

Shards scatter,

run away on little feet, like repellent magnets.
And as the last screams die,
so begins the gluing back of parts.

But my heart is a half-life heart:

decaying and dividing again, and again.
It folds onto itself, like a supernova.

At every corner, lurks a ghost or demon,
snickering to themselves,
ready with daggers to slit the rubble upon glance.

Every time Shakira’s voice sounds out like a siren’s,
it easily undoes the sutures until I’m a leaky roof.
O cada vez oigo la lengua, pierdo la mia
y las palabras solia hablar, amargo en mi boca.

Walking in hallways becomes an inkblot test:

How many faces look like his?
Why must you turn and walk to a corner, gasping for oxygen at the sight of a stranger?

When I see a red sweater in the crowd,
or an imposter with the same wig,
the effect is the same:

following the earthquake, it’s all aftershocks–
from the epicentre of my chest, trembling me,
knocking me down time and time again when I’ve barely risen to my flesh-ripped knees.

I can never see the aquarium the same way without drowning a little.
Looking at a husky rewards me with enduring another paper-cut.

Can you blame me for always drinking from the half-empty cup?

You would rather be with someone halfway around the world,
giving you filtered, sour placebos by the teaspoons,
than I, fully here,
I, pouring out the purest of me in gallons,
I, whose tears dot the page like bullet holes,
I, who has pored over the pages of our histories,
devising stratagems and formulae from words,
mixing compounds and chemicals, needs and wants.
I, who have been a scientist,
not just searching for the cure to my half-life heart,
but to earn yours back.
I, losing the bold experiment to cold fact,
that you no longer desire dusty, expired goods,
while my heart continues to tick away.

I wish I could take back half the times I said, “I love you”,
so the other half shone brighter in your eyes and ears.

When they say a heart breaks,
they speak as if it breaks once.

Remember when I joked that you had no heart?

Well, the joke’s on me.

More updates on my crappy existence.

22 12 2011

I realized this blog is quickly becoming a woe-is-me blog about how I’m (not) coping with the recent news.  And then I thought, “Well… guess I should just go all the way then!”  Until further notice, this blog will become my new venting and sharing how sad I am blog.  I could retitle my blog name to “aaron’s random mournings” instead.

Last night, as I was trying to sleep, I remembered how I used to text G. on our monthly anniversaries (sometimes; on other occasions, it was meeting in person and spending time together).

And then I pictured him doing it with this new guy.  Without thinking, I yelled, “No!  No, no, no, no!” into the covers in my bed, which even startled me.  Part jealousy, part sadness.

Today, I heard and saw this guy speaking Spanish on his phone on the bus and willed myself not to think of the times I would speak Spanish to G.  I imagined talking with this stranger, telling him, “Puede usted no hablar en español, por favor?  Mi ex-novio hablaba… lo habla, y me gustó hablar con él.  Es de El Salvador.  Muy guapo.  Pero ahora, cuando oigo alguien habla español, recuerdo todas las veces con él.  Solía decirle, “Eres tan mono/cuco”, “te amo”, “te extraño”… buscaba por una solucíon para nuestro problema por muchos meses, pero cuando lo descubrí, era demasiado tarde.  Parece que no le gusto nunca más y tiene un nuevo novio que vive en un otro país por mucho meses.

Pienso en él mucho.  Lo extraño mucho.  Lo extraño muchísimo…”

I’m tired of fighting, fighting for a lost cause

20 12 2011

In regards to one of my recent posts about losing my romanticism, I’m tired of always being the one trying, trying to hold on and trying to fix things.  I end up making more a mess for myself.

So.  In the words of Beck, “I’m tired of fighting, fighting for a lost cause.”  It’s a lost cause for me and G., and I have to accept it.

I think I really do have PMS

9 12 2011

Not just when I’m awake but when I’m sleeping too, apparently.

Dream– Dec. 8th

There were multiple parts to the dream, but here’s the main part which I remember.  I was in a restaurant, dining alone and feeling pretty sad.  There was a table of three women sitting in front of me, having a great time, from what I could see, and that kind of made me sad too.  I got up and went to the bathroom.

Although I was sitting in a stall (I guess I didn’t need to pee?), I found I couldn’t properly close the stall door (which is a common thing in my dreams — being unable to close doors).  I heard some people’s voices and saw G. there, with someone else.  Not knowing what to do, I got up and went to meet them.  I said hi to G., and asked what he was doing there.  He said he was dining with his aunt.  His “friend” had one of those “Hi, my name is _____” sticker name tags and I saw that he was a volunteer or possibly a worker at a local gay organization.  G. explained they were friends but I could clearly see that they weren’t (ie. touching each other and being semi-romantic right in front of me).  I felt terrible and awkward so I left the bathroom and sat down at my table and started eating again.  I think I was eating a salad.  Anyway, I was absolutely miserable after that encounter and was trying my best not cry but I ended up bawling while I was eating.  When I looked up, the three women sitting in front of my having a good time were looking my way, and I wished one of them would come and sit with me so I wouldn’t feel so alone and bad.

None of them moved.

Now publicly humiliated, I ran out of the restaurant and back home, where I sprinted past my questioning mother and proceeded to bawl my eyes out on my bed, as she asked me again and again what happened.

That was basically it.  It makes me sad just thinking about it now.

Just a few more days before my PMS goes away and I stop thinking about him for another month.


You took the easy way out.

10 11 2011

I want you to know that.  I should have told you when I realized it, but I didn’t.  I just had to say it now.

Instead of trying to work things out, you left.  How can you walk away from someone when you used to say, “I love you”?  How does someone do that?  Shouldn’t people who claim they mean it, show they mean it?

You took the easy way out.  I wonder now what you say to people when they ask why things didn’t work out between us.  I wonder if you tell them it was your fault, or avoid the subject altogether.  I wonder if people look at you strangely if you tell them you didn’t have time for me, and didn’t bother trying to fix things.

That is all I can do now.  Wonder.


11 10 2011

The first stanza came to me while I was riding the train and I couldn’t let go of the idea.  It’s comforting, in a way, to simply resign from things and childish ideas of how the world is supposed to be and give in to jadedness.  It feels easier to live.


The King is dead,
the Prince never lived.
What a fool I was,
to believe he ever did.

There is no man,
on a shining silver steed.
There is no one
who will stop it when I bleed.

And when I ask,
and am given scraps,
my mind, too starved to see
it is yet another trap.

Let’s hear a round,
‘fore we wave goodbye.
For we now know
the Prince is a lie.

Light switches.

9 10 2011

Sometimes I wonder if other people have emotions like light switches– easily flicked on or off.

Sometimes I wonder if people are better at lying or burying how they feel.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m simply easy to get over.

I need a cat.

26 09 2011

Free-writing time.

I Need a Cat.
I need a cat
to keep me on track
so I don’t feebly attack
and latch
the impulse to touch
’cause it’s asking for too much.
To hold your hand would be such
a disaster.
Remind myself that I’m my own master,
that the dirt roads will go by faster,
if I simply contain and file away
to save for another day,
all the constant replays
of us in bed, being gay.
But as a romantic,
it makes my head all frantic
and the static is tic-
ticcing until I’m spastic.
Memories lodged in my throat,
not knowing where to go
because who the hell knows
what to do in these situations?
Should I keep standing on shaky legs,
manic-depressive begging
to be dissolved carried into the air?
It might not be fair
but maybe that’s how I know it’s love–
when all you care
for is a hand on your balls,
just like old times.

Yes, a cat would be nice,
but instead of catching mice,
she would give me advice:
“I want to talk to him– what should I say?”
And she only answers back with a stare at my face,
silent as space.
And that’s when you see,
that you can wait for epiphanies
so that he’ll come back,
or scribble to find the words,
but the truth is–

The truth is.

It’s best to stay unheard.


24 09 2011

Some lyrics I wrote today.


Once we believed that it was fate,
but now I see I’ve just been played.
A Fortune’s fool to claim the gold that melts away,
and be the scarecrow in the field of yesterday.