tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82704408183682883932024-03-06T00:32:25.970-05:00IRRE(X2)Je t'aime. Adieu.JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.comBlogger2957125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-28768004009062918522023-07-04T18:10:00.062-04:002023-07-08T00:14:43.388-04:00C'est la fin<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SP7nnmfhdRg" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
<p style="text-align: center;">***</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
This will be the final post on Irre(x2). I'll be writing and adding to this
post throughout the day as I figure out how to exit without making a mess of
everything. I'm finally brave enough, I think. It's time I let
everything go. It's time that everyone lets me go.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'm trying to understand why I try to hang on to the things I hang on
to. It's irrational. Emotional. I'm trying to understand why
I can't inspire such irration and emotion in the people I want to keep in my
life.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
They say you can tell the value of someone's life by how many people make the
effort to come to that person's funeral. I can't think of a single
person who would make an effort to come to mine.<br />
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Encore un effort</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Quelques mois suffiront</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Je suis presque mort</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Quelques mois et c'est bon</i><br /></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
The first Blogger post was just over 14 years ago.
<a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2009/06/mulling-move.html" target="_blank">The 21st of June, 2009</a>. I think people still called it Blogspot then. I would soon
import all of my old MySpace blog posts here, those dating back to 2006.
It's wild to realize that I've been spilling my guts on the Internet for over
17 years. All of my hopes, dreams, mistakes, and cruelties written out
for the world to dissect and criticize.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Writing about all of the terrible things I've done helps me to understand why
I did them. Believe it or not, this blog was a massive part of my
recovery from anxiety and depression. I bared my thoughts, as dark and
frightening as they were. As I was healing, I could come here and see
the trajectory of my mental illness. It's harrowing to look at.
It's sad to see the friendships that were lost along the way. And it's a
little funny to realize that many of the same people who sit there and pretend
to be supportive of those with mental illnesses are the same people who
abandoned me during the height of mine.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I can thank the pages of Irre(x2) for reminding me that I was as honest as I
could've been. That I was as forthcoming as I could've been. And,
while I accept full responsibility for succumbing to whims and whimsies in
futile attempts to feel good about... something, anything... I know that the
abandonments were not entirely my fault. Such realizations have helped
me cope with the loss of friends and almost lovers that I continue to miss to
this day.<br />
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Supprimer les traces la moindre trace</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Ce qui reste de candeur</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Un morceau de glace</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>À la place du cœur</i><br /></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I met one of my best friends in the world because of this blog. Hell, I
created this blog on the inspiration from another friend that I've known for a
quarter of a century but have never met in person. I will connect
anywhere and everywhere, I guess. I've met people I adore through this
blog, only to lose them later because I was irresponsible with their opinions and their lives. That irony is not lost on me. Of
course, I've written about those responsibilities here. I've long known
that no one can hold power over you if you have no secrets. And I have
none. I gave them all up to this place years ago and I've continued to do
so. <br />
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Over the past 14 years, this place became a safe haven for me. Somewhere
I could post my deepest, darkest thoughts. Where I could write about my
dreams and my nightmares. Where I could wax ecstatic about anything I
wanted to wax or wane about. It's here that I realized we are all
touched and then we are all gone. It's here that I realized I'm still
learning what love is, what it means, and how to take care of it. I am
still in the midst of that realization and I doubt it will come to fruition,
but I am trying. While I breathe, I won't stop trying.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Et même si je m'améliore</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>J'en rêve encore</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Même cassé, ivre mort</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>J'en rêve encore</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
All ten of my muses live on these pages. From the first A to the last...
A. I think most of the things written here are the result of those ten
women. No, I wasn't in love with all of them and, no, I didn't have a
relationship with most of them. Indeed, of A-M-L-C-S-C-L-S-H-A, I'd only
made love to two. The first L, nearly twenty years ago now, and the
second A... who I was preparing to ask to marry me.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'd been intimate with three more. They all had my heart in one way or
another, but only six directly affected my life in any meaningful way.
Of those six, only two ever made me reconsider my life plans. That first
L. And the second A.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I've never named them here before. I will now.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Alexandra, from Ecuador. Marie, from Ohio. Lisa, from North
Carolina. Courtney, from North Carolina. Sage, from Nevada.
Clare, from Australia. A different Lisa, from North Carolina. Sonia, from
Oregon. Helena, from Finland. Alice, from France.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
There is a symmetry to these muses. I can feel it. That I can't
identify it doesn't matter. I know it's there. Or was, at least.
<br />
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Ne plus rien sentir</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Inconscient, minérale</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Plus le moindre désir</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Plus de peur ni de mal</i><br /></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'm not great with women. Not great with people, really, but
particularly women. But, I am staunchly loyal. I've never cheated
on anyone. I've betrayed people, yes, but never like that. I'm 45
years old and I can still count the number of women I've slept with on my
fingers. Love has always been more important to me than lust, though I
enjoy being lustful and have certainly given in to the sensation more than
once.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
But never at the expense of another. Even when I wanted to. Even
when, perhaps, I should've. Believe it or not, on more than one occasion, there has been a woman in
front of me, bare naked, asking me to have sex. And, whenever my
thoughts were for someone else, I said no. Every time. Even when my then-current
relationship felt like it was on the rocks, I said no. I would be lying
if I told you now that I don't regret - just a little - not having have sex
with some of those women, but I take great pride in that I did not. Just as I take
great pride in always having walked away every time a woman said no to me. I can't
take a lot of pride in many things in life, but that is one of them.<br />
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I wanted Alice to be the last woman I'd ever know. I wanted to be the
last man Alice ever knew.<br />
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Et même si je m'améliore</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>J'en rêve encore</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Même en sachant que j'ai tort</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>J'en rêve encore</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'm still not eating. But I am still drinking. It's not even 8:30 in
the morning and I've got the whiskey flowing. It's occurred to me that
I'm drinking myself to death and, well, I don't think I would mind that.
I've lost eight pounds now. I'll hit my target weight, dead or alive, I
suppose.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'm still thinking of Alice. I fear that I will for the rest of my
life. I tried to memorize her face when we had our final call, but I knew I had
already memorized it. I've said she was striking and she is. A
lightning bolt through the heart. Alice electrified me. I now wish
she would have sent a bullet through my heart, instead. We would both be happier that way.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Vivant mais mort</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>N'être plus qu'un corps</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Que tout me soit égal</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Plus de mal</i><br /></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I don't think I can accept the London job. I wanted to live in
Europe. I think that dream is dead. It would hurt me to be so
close to her... a train ride away... knowing that she wants nothing to do with
me. I've already imagined a moment when I show up at her work, just to
see her for one last time. To smell her and, hopefully, to embrace
her. To get lost in her thick, dark hair. To feel the tickle of
her nose against mine. I'm still imagining all of those things now, and it's
breaking my heart again. Still. <i>Pour toujours</i>.<br />
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
It's so strange, how suddenly this happened. She said she wasn't looking
for someone else, but it's clear that she was waiting for someone
better. And he came. And she immediately left with him. <br />
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to be writing about Alice anymore, but I
just found
<a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2010/09/after-paris.html" target="_blank">a story from 2010</a>. I think it's about her.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Même si je m'améliore</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Ton absence qui me mord</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Ton départ et mes remords</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Son corps à lui dans ton corps</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>J'en crève encore</i><br /></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Let me change the subject. Bear with me. I need to stop crying
first.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I just tried calling her on Facebook. I am hopeless.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
It's 10:30 AM now, and I'm fucking hammered. I think this is a new
record. <br />
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Encore, longtemps</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>J'en rêve encore</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Longtemps, encore</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;"><i>Je suis désolé</i>, Alice.<br /></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">***</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HHKsRNN_Hfg" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">***<br /></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"></p>
<p></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Los Angeles has not been great to me. I started my adventure here in the
summer of 2010. Thirteen years now. I was planning on ending it
next year to be with her...
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Sorry.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I was planning on ending my adventure here next year to start a new adventure
somewhere else. You have no idea how much I was looking forward to that
new adventure. I've long said that I would leave this city when people started
calling me. Well, people are starting to call me and I know I can leave
soon. And it's not just that I <i>can</i> leave soon, it's that
<i>it's time</i> to leave soon. I've given this place, this industry, and
this dream all of the energy I can give.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And I'd give up forever to touch you</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>'Cause I know that you feel me somehow</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And I don't want to go home right now</i>
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Two women have told me they thought I wanted to be here more than I wanted to
be with them. I don't know why they believed that. I have never
been enamored with this city, even while acknowledging that, yes, there is a
magic here. But this place is not for me. I have felt the embrace
of the City of Angels, but I have never felt like I belonged here.
<i>A</i> home, yes. But it is not <i>home</i>.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I was too immature to deal with the first L. In hindsight, she was never
home for me. She never could've been. She was too afraid of
anything beyond the horizon, whereas I always wanted to see what was beyond the
sunset. I'm still that way, but back then I hadn't realized that I should've
taken another's fears into account. The first L treated me horribly, but
it was not without justification. I was a piece of shit. I still
am. But I thought I'd grown enough to find my home within Alice. She
felt more comfortable to me than anyone has ever felt in my life.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Shit, there I go again.<br /></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I will always write. I've tried to stop writing several times in the
past, but to no avail. My brain will always take me back to the
page. It will keep forcing me to recount, to create, and to tell stories.
I'm not a particularly good storyteller, but I've learned that I excel at
helping others to be. I will not stop writing, but it's time I stop
trying to be a <i>writer</i>. I am a producer. I am good at
that. Great, even. That I've wasted the last 13 years trying to be
something I'm not great at is nobody's fault but my own. I knew I was
meant to be a producer many years ago. I simply refused to admit it.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>And all I can taste is this moment</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>And all I can breathe is your life</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>And sooner or later, it's over</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I just don't wanna miss you tonight</i><br />
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I know I've lost Alice. Forever. I need to admit that.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Ah, fuck...</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I don't want to be in this house anymore. I've lived here for almost
eight years. Alice was the only girlfriend I've had since I've lived
here. I know I'm not supposed to talk about her anymore, but there's a
point to this mention.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I lived in my previous place for over five years. I'd only had one
girlfriend there, too, and... well, for fuck's sake... she was French, too. But
that one was doomed from the start and there was no love lost when that
relationship ended.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Actually, I lied... there is no point to this mention. I'm just
rambling and, yes, Alice remains everywhere in my mind. My heart is
broken. Crushed. My life is in pieces. All the king's horses
and all the king's men...
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And I don't want the world to see me</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>'Cause I don't think that they'd understand</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>When everything's made to be broken</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I just want you to know who I am</i><br />
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;"> I want to die in Adelaide. Or I did. Alice loves Adelaide, too, and
part of our shared dream involved retiring in that city. I don't know anymore if
I'll be able to handle that city without her. I don't know if that city
will make me think of her, but the possibility scares me enough that I
probably will never even try. She changed the trajectory of my life with
her presence and she's continuing to do so with her absence. </p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I told Alice that I wanted to live in France, Spain, England, and Japan before
we settled in Adelaide. She told me that she would live in those places, too, but not because
she wanted to... she would do it because <i>I</i> wanted to. That struck me. That made me
sure she was the one for me. And, still, I rarely told her that I loved
her.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
For the past few days, I've been asking myself why I didn't say those
words. I've come up with explanations, justifications, and reasons
untold, but none of them are convincing. I simply didn't tell her.
I should've. I could've. And, had I known how unhappy it made her, I would've.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><i>Je t'aime</i>, Alice.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Sorry, this isn't supposed to be about her. I know. I'm trying.<br />
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Or the moment of truth in your lies</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>When everything feels like the movies</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You bleed just to know you're alive</i><br />
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;">I wish I knew where I'm supposed to be.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I want to be in Lyon. I want to be with her.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
It's only noon and I can't see straight. Half a bottle of Irish whiskey
for breakfast and lunch. <i>C'est la vie</i>.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><i>Tu me manques</i>, Alice.<br /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">***</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UXU0_vRYYJI" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">***</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I know I've gone through sadness and depression before. But I'm not sure
I've ever endured quite so powerful a sensation of meaninglessness.
Like, I know I'm easily forgotten and I don't matter much in the grand scheme
of things... I often feel that I lack value. But... there's something
more, this time. Some realization that it's not just value that I
lack. It's... I dunno.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Like I just shouldn't <i>be</i>. Like I'm just some foolish accident
that is stumbling through other people's lives and wasting their times.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Tu sais, je suis pas prête à te voir grandir</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>J'ai peur de c'que tu vas devenir</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Parce que je sais c'que c'est d'avoir mal</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>J'pourrais pas t'empêcher d'avoir mal</i><br />
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I can count on one hand the regrets that I have. Two fingers, in
fact. No, I'm not talking about things that I would willingly change because
I know I should or because I know it would improve lives and situations... I'm talking about
things I wish I could change because I <i>need</i> to. One involves a
friend who I wounded because of an incident with her sister. And the
other is how I treated Alice.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Seriously, that's it. Of all the fucked up things I've done in life,
those are the only two things that I lose sleep over. Of all the fights I've
started or finished, of all the crimes I've committed, of all the feelings
I've hurt... it's just... two things.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Maybe there should be more, but I can't think of anything else.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Tu sais, je veux que tu sois heureuse</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Et j'veux te voir tomber amoureuse</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Et même si je vais te protéger</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Parfois j'vais devoir te voir tomber</i>
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Of course, beyond those two things, I know I have a lot to apologize for. And I apologize for
all of it. If an end result hurt you in a way that was unwarranted, I
apologize. But please do recognize that we may not share the opinion of what
was right and what was wrong. Perhaps I won't admit to wrongdoing, but I
will admit to not communicating well enough. My words failed us.
My ability to manipulate a situation or an opinion failed us. My
existence failed us.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
And that's as far as I feel the need to apologize. That's as far as I
<i>can</i> apologize. Everything else is up to you. Continue to
hate me if that's what you feel you need to do. Like I said, other than
those two regrets, I won't be losing any more sleep over whatever tore us
apart.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Et si les filles te semblent fragiles</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sache que t'as en toi une force qui se déploie</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Comme toutes les filles, ça sera pas facile</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mais moi, je crois en toi</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I don't think I'm a good person. I've never thought I was good enough
for anything. Whenever I found happiness, I thought... <i>I knew </i>that I
didn't deserve it. Everything I've ever imagined or experienced revealed to me
that I was meant to be lonely. That I was meant to be alone. That
wonder and beauty were not not meant for me. I don't know where this
comes from. I wish I knew what makes me think this way. I don't. And if my life
so far is any indication, I know that I'm supposed to alone.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I made a substitute teacher cry in the 5th grade. I used to be proud of
that. Now I wonder what the fuck I was thinking. There is simply
no reason to make any other feel bad for the sake of making them feel bad. Some have
called me a psychopath. Some have called me a sociopath. It's
probable that I share some characteristics with those pathologies, but I rarely
feel good about making anyone else feel bad. Not saying it hasn't
happened, but I'm pretty sure - as with my sexual partners - I can still count
those instances on my fingers.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Je vais te confier mon plus gros secret</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>J'ai toujours eu un peu d'mal à m'aimer</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Et j'apprends tous les jours à devenir douce</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>J'crois qu'j'ai pas fait le tour, j'attends que ça pousse</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span>Maintenant ce que j'espère de tout mon cœur</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>C'est qu'toi tu feras pas la même erreur</span>
<br /></i>
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I am irrelevant. This is no secret. I am meaningless to so many of
you, including those of you who might be reading these words. And I have
long been irreverent. That said, I think my irreverence is coming to an end.
So many things in life are ridiculous, yes... so many complaints are
frivolous, yes... but everything matters to <i>someone</i>, so irreverence
reveals itself to be - like hypocrisy - a human evil. I've been trying to
eliminate hypocrisy from my life. It's time that I do the same for
irreverence.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I know I don't matter. But you do. And the things you hold dear,
whether I agree with them or not, matter to you. And that makes them
reverent enough to talk about. If I've ever made you feel bad about an
opinion or a belief you've held, I apologize. I'm sorry. Please, don't be afraid to talk to me about it.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Je sais qu'c'est pas simple de croiser les miroirs</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Qu'tu vas parfois pleurer dans le noir</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Je l'ai vécue mille fois avant toi</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>C'est encore à l'intérieur de moi</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
In many relationships, intimate or otherwise, I've held back what I truly
thought because I thought it would damage that relationship. Yes, it
probably would, but I've since learned that there is no more risk of damage from revealing hidden information than there is from continuing to
withhold that information. And truth is of the utmost importance.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Brutal honesty is what foundations are built upon. Not inclinations,
impressions, or interpretations. Cold, hard, brutal truths.
Humanity is afraid of it. But love requires it. I know this now, but I am still a coward.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Et si c'est dur de pas regarder</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Les autres sans te sentir oubliée</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Il faut qu'tu saches que te comprends</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Que grandir parfois, ça prend du temps</i>
</div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I am not a strong man. I conceal my feelings because I don't want anyone
to realize just how weak I really am. I am afraid to tell people how
much I love them. How much I need them. How much I miss them when
they're gone.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
There are not many, mind you, who affect me on that level, but there are more than a few. Some are like me, pretending not to care even when they
already know. Others are more open, more silly, and more effusive about it. Sadly, people like me tend not to take those others seriously. We are all
star-crossed. Those willing to embrace versus those who need embracing,
but will not admit it. We don't believe in each other. We can't. We're wired too differently.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Et si les filles te semblent fragiles</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sache que t'as en toi une force qui se déploie</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Comme toutes les filles, ça sera pas facile</i>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mais moi, je crois en toi</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;"><i>J'ai besoin de toi</i>, Alice.<br /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">***</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hDSPGm2_Eh4" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">***</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'm sorry. This wasn't supposed to be about Alice. It was supposed
to be about me. But, I guess Alice <i>is</i> me. And she will be for the
foreseeable future. I can't wait until the pain ends. I can't wait
until the day I can breathe again. On my own.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>How can I stop loving you?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Don't see there's a way</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>I've tried for months on end</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Still, it's clear as day</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;"></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I feel like I belong in France. At least for a while. And I will
get there. It will hurt me that it won't be with Alice, but I know that
there is something undeniably French in my worldview. I accept and embrace that.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><i>C'est la vie.</i></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Countless tactics have I tried</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>To rid myself of woe</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Grasping and directionless</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hard muscles in throat</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I will survive. I will continue to write about my hopes and
dreams. The uselessness of my words will continue to seek purpose for themselves and for me. I will continue to miss the lives, loves, and opportunities that I, already, so painfully miss.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So I lay another night</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Tears resting on my cheeks</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And I always wonder</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>if you think of me as frequently</i><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">To those who care, you will find me. This place has served its purpose. Has run its course. But my words will remain and they will try to find meaning elsewhere. If you love me... if you want me... if you need me... all you have to do is ask where I've gone. I will take you there. Always and forever.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>With windows shut and shutters closed</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I try to no avail</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>To stop the endless thoughts of you</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Shadowing my trail</i></div><p style="text-align: left;">To everyone else, it's time to say goodbye. It's time for us to go our separate ways. To find our own sunrises that warm our smiles, that warm our hearts, and to flee the sunsets that cause us to hesitate and to fear what comes next. I will miss all of you and I promise that I will think of you often. I am so, so sorry that I don't matter to you. I am so, so sorry that I wasn't able to make a positive difference in your lives.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I see the sun left to us</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Is a sun that doesn't shine</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>On a house that is so sorrow-filled</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This broken heart of mine <br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">It's almost 2 PM and I don't know where, when, or who I am anymore. Space and time have disappeared in the bottom of this whiskey glass.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">But, really, who fucking cares? <br /></p></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
<i>Je t'aime, Alice. Tu es mon soleil, mes étoiles, mon ciel, mon terre, et mon univers.</i></p><p style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="font-size: medium;"> LA FIN</span></b></i><br />
</p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-2699140045277076062023-07-04T04:00:00.002-04:002023-07-04T04:09:28.349-04:00Je t'aime, Alice Darlet<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/e_xTJIL_C3M" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">I love you, Alice. And I promise this is the last thing I will write about you here. Not that it matters. You don't know how much I love you and you don't know all the things I've had to say about you.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't deserve you, Alice. This is why you didn't hesitate to give yourself to someone else. You knew I didn't matter. You found your heart... and it was not with me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm sure I won't live very long, Alice. And I don't mind. Don't be sad for me. Without you, what's the point? You knew what you were doing when you gave yourself away to someone else. There is no point in regretting anything now. For either of us.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Yes, you are the death of me, Alice. But please know that you were also the life of me. And I will love you for the rest of my brief insignificance.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We will never see each other again, Alice. We will never know what happened to each other. And while I will spend the rest of my life wondering if you ever loved me, I know that you would not be bothered by the sound of my name.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Je t'aime</i>, Alice Darlet.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Adieu.</i><br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-51541673252185267052023-07-04T03:40:00.000-04:002023-07-04T03:40:00.964-04:00C'est presque la fin<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GUpPKS-R9LA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">I hadn't realized my will to live was tied to your eyes and to your smile. I didn't think your smell, your taste, and your touch meant the world to me. I simply hadn't considered that my life was for you and nothing but you. I never suspected that what made life worth living lied within a single person.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Call me a failed pragmatist. Call me a blind optimist. Call me an ignorant pessimist. But you made everything real for me, never knowing how artificial I found my life to be.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">And now that you're gone, I've no desire to live in the imagination of what could have been.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>À plus tard. À bientôt.</i><br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-11470652187448400802023-07-04T03:23:00.001-04:002023-07-04T03:23:15.389-04:00Royalty<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DqX0VcA0yus" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">And, yet, something else that I've stolen from <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2021/06/farewell-sir-sagremor-fare-thee-well.html">the death of Sagremor</a>. There is no doubt in my mind now that Alice dragged me through one of the lowest points of my life <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2022/06/fallen-starbuck.html" target="_blank">when Starbuck died</a>. Such is her power and her glory. With her, I can survive anything. Without her, I can't even eat or sleep. With her, I want to live forever. Without her, I don't care if I die tomorrow.</p><p style="text-align: left;">She doesn't care if I write about her. She doesn't even know that I'm writing about her. All she knows is that I wasn't worth being in love with. I'm not worth living for. Everyone I've ever met who was worth living for is dead. All the great ones die young. Danial. Glen. David. And many others who I fail to remember. They all showed me kindness when they were around. They all showed me what it meant to be human. What it meant to be a lover. What it meant to care. And they, along with many others, died before I could ever tell them what they meant to me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">They are my kings. Alice is my queen. I crossed my heart for her and, now, I hope to die.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I have lived for 45 years of uselessness. I will never matter to this world. I simply do not know how to matter.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Je t'aime, Alice.</i> I hope, someday, you remember that I made you smile... once upon a time.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Tu es - maintenant et pour toujours - ma reine</i>.<br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-52167783295724022542023-07-04T03:08:00.004-04:002023-07-04T03:08:28.900-04:00"Autour de toi" - Izïa<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/POCEmBwy1wo" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: left;">When you told me</div><div style="text-align: left;">That you would not stop thinking of him</div><div style="text-align: left;">Is when I realized</div><div style="text-align: left;">That I have nothing to live for<br /></div><p><br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-26748612102077972622023-07-04T02:47:00.007-04:002023-07-04T02:49:25.298-04:00Alice<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ciqRQJqfQBA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p>It is only in death that we appreciate life. It is only in loss that we know gain. It is only in hope that we know fear. Alice meant the world to me and I know that because, without her, the world was meaningless. From the 7th of March, 2022, to the 29th of June, 2023, I had every reason to be happy. Every reason to want to live. To want to succeed. To want her.</p><p>I didn't know I was making her unhappy. I didn't know. I never wanted to make her unhappy, even though, at times, I knew that I was. I always thought I had a chance to fix it. I took her for granted. I took those beautiful, wonderful eyes for granted. That beautiful, wonderful smile for granted. And I got what I deserve. Loneliness and meaninglessness, once again.</p><p>I'm crying now. I'm trying to stop, but I can't breathe.</p><p>It is only after we're left behind that we know what we had in front of us.</p><p>I had perfection.<br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-61866170394194903042023-07-04T02:40:00.008-04:002023-07-04T02:40:58.478-04:00"Pulaski at Night" - Andrew Bird<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oecHq2neweA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: left;">I fear that</div><div style="text-align: left;">I will write about you forever<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">and you won't ever know</div><div style="text-align: left;">or even care <br /></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-45881019678990063202023-07-04T02:34:00.002-04:002023-07-04T02:34:27.745-04:00"Serre-moi" - Tryo<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GcNDGHv9Teo" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: left;">If you think I don't remember</div><div style="text-align: left;">What your arms felt like when they held me</div><div style="text-align: left;">Ask me to describe</div><div style="text-align: left;">What your arms felt like when I held them <br /></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-65714508333153464412023-07-04T02:28:00.002-04:002023-07-04T02:28:49.887-04:00La Perfection<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gEIVzWCRSg8" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">I had found it awesome that she was into hip-hop violin. It was one of the things that helped me realize that I wanted this woman.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure she knows that I kept all of the music she sent me in a playlist.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure why I didn't tell her that.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure why I didn't tell her that I love her.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure why I'm still alive.</p><p style="text-align: left;">2023 has been all for her.<br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-65777978904914259602023-07-04T02:19:00.000-04:002023-07-04T02:19:20.527-04:00Truth Only Hurts if It Should<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MARsW26KXQg" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">"She simply didn't love you as much..."</p><p style="text-align: left;">That hurts to read.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When will the heartbreak stop?</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDC_WbJWhtEbczMuSkX1MjxjSHeyCKJrN0EZ2s7LH72WcjIsgOIMN-Me8FqhJgiOceZs0FSjknAm0O3et9239kC86HzJLV926ZYyLkwCqfMj9YIiyoqO_zaPqwUryZizrQiARFakA07vj4ZWFhwreBnOtC-QTxAYJThimBH1kvDKjkqd5PY-fjOUITb40/s1590/Truth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1590" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDC_WbJWhtEbczMuSkX1MjxjSHeyCKJrN0EZ2s7LH72WcjIsgOIMN-Me8FqhJgiOceZs0FSjknAm0O3et9239kC86HzJLV926ZYyLkwCqfMj9YIiyoqO_zaPqwUryZizrQiARFakA07vj4ZWFhwreBnOtC-QTxAYJThimBH1kvDKjkqd5PY-fjOUITb40/w434-h640/Truth.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-39921581040914887612023-07-04T01:31:00.000-04:002023-07-04T01:31:01.552-04:00Je suis très à l'aise avec toi<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/F5Yqdd383uo" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
<p style="text-align: center;">***</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
She taught me how to tell someone that they were comfortable. I had used
"<i>confortable</i>," which you're not supposed to apply to people. She
had made me comfortable. <i>J'étais très à l'aise avec elle</i>.
Perhaps too comfortable that I never thought to reassure that, yes, she was
the one for me.
</p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>I've got the feeling dear</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>That everywhere I go from here</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>I will just be looking for you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>I will just be</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>I will just be looking for you</i></div>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I'm sure she is happy now. I'm happy that she's happy now. I'm
very sad that I mean nothing to her anymore. I'm more sad that she
probably no longer wonders if I'm thinking about her. She no longer
cares. <i>Mais, bien sûr</i>. She has fallen in love with someone else already. Someone she loves more powerfully than she ever loved me. I've always been aware of how insignificant I am. No one remembers when I am gone.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I look up these small town stars</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>And I just think about how bright you are</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>'Cause there was something glowing in you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>There was something</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>There was something glowing in you</i></div><p style="text-align: left;">
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Her eyes melt me. There was a photo on her LinkedIn page, I think. I can't remember, but her eyes are striking. They see right through me. All of my hopes, dreams, and secrets were there for her see. Right under her nose. Another feature I found striking. Her face, her visage... her decolletage (<i>décolleté</i>, she would say)... she is so, so beautiful. Strikingly so.</p><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>'Cause I can see inside you there's a laughing sun
</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>
I'd always dreamed of running through that garden
</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>
And you joke that I've been everywhere yet still somehow
</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>
The only view I want to see is you right now
</i></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p>We were both in love with Adelaide. We talked often of retiring there. Maybe, one day, I will run into her in a shop or a café on Hutt Street. We will talk about how are lives have been crazy, full of adventure and, hopefully, true love. I know mine won't be, but I'll lie to her about it. It would be too painful to admit to her that she had been the one for me. It's hard to imagine feeling more strongly about anybody who might follow.</p><div style="text-align: left;"></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>You're a big wide world, girl</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>So come let's see those curtains open</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Watch that morning light unfurl</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><p></p><p>The Finnish project offered me the job. I can do it from Los Angeles, of course, but I also could've done it from London or Lyon. It hurts that just days after I lose a woman, my financial prospects seem to be improving dramatically. Not having money was something that embarrassed me. I couldn't afford to fly to France. I couldn't afford to take her to all of the places in California that I wanted to take her. I was too afraid that she would leave me were I some loser with no money.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Well you tell me you want simpler lines</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>So I just hope that you are doing fine</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>And every night I'm thinking of you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Every night, oh</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Every night, I'm thinking of you</i></div><p>I'm still afraid. I don't want to know what life is like without her, but I know that I have to find out. Since the start of the year, I truly didn't want to know what it was like to wake up to another face. To fall asleep to another face. She was it for me. My beginning and my end. Together, we would create the middle. Sunrises, sunsets, and all the nights and days we could live for.</p><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I just want to feel the fire of that laughing sun
</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>
Just want to feel your warmth before the day's begun
</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>
Been, oh, so many places and yet still somehow
</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>
The only view I want to see is you right now
</i></div><p>I hope to die young. I hope to die soon. I've been living on the edge for far too long and I've no longer the energy to keep doing so. It was Alice's hands that I was reaching for to pull me from the edge. It was Alice's eyes that I wanted to be lost in. It was in Alice's voice that I wanted to fade into. It was in Alice's arms that I wanted to find comfort. <br /></p>
<div style="text-align: right;"><i>Just wanna pull your curtains wide</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;"><i>Just wanna see your morning light</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;"><i>I don't wanna waste more time</i></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-75068444464172335742023-07-04T00:56:00.003-04:002023-07-04T01:01:33.992-04:00In the Hope of Cirrhosis<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/P87-ZBnaaKU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">I've slept less than three hours since Thursday night. I haven't had anything to eat. I'm on my second bottle of whiskey. Straight, of course. I feel like I'm in the Army again.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I keep wondering what Alice is doing. All I can imagine is that she's happy in the presence of her new lover, having sex with him whenever she wants to, losing herself in those smiles she has. Those wonderful smiles.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't think she's forgetting me. I'm pretty sure she's already forgotten me. Just another loser ex-boyfriend who has to live with the pain of not being with Alice anymore.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>We are a natural disaster</i>, indeed.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Tu me manques.</i><br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-70013500710378926492023-07-04T00:47:00.006-04:002023-07-04T00:47:53.602-04:00"Souvenirs" - Oxmo Puccino<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zMbwaj4xnlc" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>C'était peut-être ton cou</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>C'était peut-être ton cul</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Cela n'avait pas d'importance pour moi</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Parce que c'était toi</i></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-34222133597376126002023-07-04T00:41:00.001-04:002023-07-04T00:48:42.638-04:00The Music She Shared<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1XOlMrn6k9o" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">The way she said <i>bonjour</i> in the morning. The way she said, <i>Oh, please</i>, when she thought I was being stupid. The way she said, <i>Oh, no</i>, very quickly when pissing off a monster in <i>Valheim</i>. The way she used to say my name, followed by <span><i>remets nous des glaçons</i>. The way she said, <i>I have to</i> when I was keeping her up past her bedtime.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span><i>Tu me manques, aussi</i> when I did sometimes tell her that I miss her.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span><i>I am not</i>, when I would say <i>méchante.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Beurk</i>, when I would get my coffee.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Nothing</i>, when I would ask, <i>a quoi tu penses ?</i></p><p style="text-align: left;">Or, my favorite... <i>You</i>.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Her voice was music to my ears.<br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-74515964863297297672023-07-03T23:48:00.011-04:002023-07-04T00:05:59.699-04:00I'm Ready to Die<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/v29-cU_NXKk" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">Everything about Alice is within me. I need to get it out. I need to hide it from my heart, forever, and never think of her again. But I can't. Or maybe I can. I just don't want to. Or maybe I want to. I just can't.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm staring at the books she bought me. I wish she'd left me something of hers. A piece of clothing. A trinket. Something that was special to her. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I'd give anything to hold her hand again.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I see more than it seems</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I know your scheme</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Then I wake up and you'll remember</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm so easy to please</i></div><p style="text-align: left;">I thought of her in the shower just now and there was a moment that I was on the verge of tears. Again. I've cried enough the past few days. I suppose that's the advantage of not eating anything. Your body will have nothing to give.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We made love in that shower. Clumsily. She's so tall, we barely fit in there together. We did it anyway. I'm turning myself on, thinking of her body. And the verge of tears has returned. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I'd give anything to taste her mouth again. <br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And I could understand</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>But I really don't care to know</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Someday I'll find her</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Or maybe she's best, best in my dreams</i></div><p style="text-align: left;">I want her to be happy, but I want to be the reason she's happy. I had my chance. I blew it. I don't know why I couldn't say those words she wanted to hear. I tell myself it's because I didn't want them to lose meaning. I overcorrected by not saying them enough.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I never even told her how much I love this song.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I should've told her how much I love her. <br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You'll be in my dreams forever</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So just tell me what you want to do</i></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">She wants me to leave her alone, I know. And I am. I don't have her contact information. I never even had her email address. Yes, I can find her on Facebook. Yes, I have her sister's phone number, but Alice doesn't want to hear from me ever again, so she will never hear from me again.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But, for a while, I will dream about her. I can't think about anything but her right now.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I'd give anything to tickle her feet again.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And when I'm with you darling</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm ready to die</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>When I'm with you darling, it feels</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm ready to die <br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Oo you know I'm ready to die</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm ready to die</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You know I'm ready to die</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm ready to die</i></div><p style="text-align: left;">I am ready to die, if I'm honest. This emptiness I'm carrying right now is too heavy for me. A burden made heavier by the realization that it's all my fault. And even heaver by the realization that I could have saved her just by telling her what she means to me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I spent so much time pretending to be strong that I never knew what she really wanted was to see me weak. It's a good thing she can't see me. She probably wouldn't think I could be as weak as I am right now.<br /></p><p>I'd give anything for her to play with my hair again.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>No more games after dawn</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Wasting time</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I remember how I made you smile</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And I know you won't forget</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I can see it in your eyes</i></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">She has a friend. One of those who told her to leave me. That friend has a young son. Alice dances with that boy on occasion and used to send me photos and videos of it. I used to say she was cheating on me. She would laugh, say that he's too young for her. She would also say that she'd never cheat on me. I wish I hadn't remembered that.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">This is a woman who I wanted to have our own young sons and daughters with. Little girls that I could dance with and tell Alice that I was leaving her for. That joke isn't funny anymore and probably will never be, but it would've been nice to share it with her.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'd give anything to slip inside of her again.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Your eyes are like shade<br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>With you, I really never had a chance</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Someday I'll find her</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And maybe she's best, best in my dreams</i></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p>It's extremely difficult to figure out how to process what's happened. I suppose a part of me is still in disbelief, trying to pretend that it didn't happen or that it's just some sort of twisted prank. You have no idea how happy that would make me... were she to call and say she was just kidding. The pain would remain, but the love for her would flood back. Maybe. I really have no idea. This is just my mind playing tricks on me.<br /></p><p><i>Je t'aime, mademoiselle. Tu me manques, ma cherie. Je suis désolé, mon amour. </i><br /></p>I'd give anything to whisper this in your ear.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You were mine</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And I took you here<br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And your love got lost again</i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Your love got lost again</i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>I'm ready to die</i></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-29286970082522936922023-07-03T20:26:00.002-04:002023-07-03T22:03:06.073-04:00"Afterwards" - Tom Day<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EpNCG1Q0YtQ" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: left;">There's this French girl I'm thinking of</div><div style="text-align: left;">that I need to stop thinking of</div><div style="text-align: left;">but I can't stop thinking</div><div style="text-align: left;">she's the one I should be thinking of </div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-91084579294780295452023-07-03T19:54:00.002-04:002023-07-03T19:54:24.678-04:00La Douleur<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EACGT89FHJE" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: left;">I know you're already forgetting about me</div><div style="text-align: left;">and that, in the arms of another, you've left me behind</div><div style="text-align: left;">but I want to promise you<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">that no one you will ever hurt</div><div style="text-align: left;">like you hurt me</div><div style="text-align: left;">will keep loving you as much as I do</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">there is no way for me to forget you</div><div style="text-align: left;">and I wish you were still in my arms<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">so I want to promise you<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">that I will never hurt anyone</div><div style="text-align: left;">like you hurt me</div><div style="text-align: left;">and I will never hurt anyone</div><div style="text-align: left;">like I hurt you<br /></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-52154732977304578092023-07-03T19:37:00.007-04:002023-07-03T23:51:13.598-04:00A-M-L-C-S-C-L-S-H-A<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XtCxRlrQ4EI" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">The irony is not lost on me. Closing my previous entry with a thought that I'll stop writing about Alice soon, then immediately realizing that she has, indeed, become my new muse. It wasn't even that long ago that I had predicted she probably never would.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And, yet, here we are. I suppose it's poetic justice that I only realize and acknowledge Alice's power in my life after she's gone. Alice was, after all, the reason for my being able to throw the Finn out of my mind. Never occurred to me that she'd be the reason for throwing all women out of my mind. I suppose one can only hope that the latter is not a permanent condition.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But never mind that. After I posted "<i>Et tu, Brute ?</i>" I noticed how many posts I've made about Alice. Forty-four. Forty-five, including this one. And that's in four days. Four painful fucking days.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And, yet, here I am. Writing about pain is the only way I really know how to deal with it and writing about her, well... Writing about her is pretty painful, but I can't lie... some of the sensations of her that I feel as I write sometimes make the pain tolerable. Maybe even worth it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It doesn't last, of course. The minute I leave the keyboard and try to sleep or eat, the real pain returns. The sense of loss returns. The sense of her absence threatens to drown me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And, so, I return to the keyboard and write about her some more. I've never heard of someone becoming a muse <i>after</i> they were gone. This is certainly a new one, to me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">In a way, it's good that she'll never read these things. The good and the bad about her. Although, really, there's only one negative to this woman that I can think of... her English conversation was lacking. But I could tell that her French conversations were fun and exciting and, yes, that motivated me a great deal to get better at French. </p><p style="text-align: left;">She'd recently told me that she struggles with concepts in English. She repeated this again when we had our final conversation. I know I should've tried harder with her. I know I should've done so much more for her.</p><p style="text-align: left;">She is... was... is... everything to me. And now, more than everything, she's a muse. I just wish it were her presence that was the inspiration and not the pain of her absence.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Je t'aime</i>, Alice. <i>Je suis désolé</i>. I am so, so sorry.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I wish you knew how much I love you and, now, how much you inspire me. As crazy as that might seem.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm drowning.</p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-17988096580920516442023-07-03T19:08:00.010-04:002023-07-03T20:34:58.415-04:00Et tu, Brute ?<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/E9W1qbsmpa4" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">A friend of mine asked if Alice knew about my blog. I told her that she did, but she never came here unless I gave her a link to read. Now that I think about, Alice almost never asked to read anything I've written. There's no reason for her to start now.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't think she'd appreciate everything I'm writing, anyway. As I mentioned before, I think she would hate it and <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/arpege-tony-anderson.html" target="_blank">very quickly learn to hate me</a>. I don't think she hates me yet, but she did admit that her new lover was capable of making her not think about me, while I was not capable of making her not think about him. Honestly... that's worse than being hated. I am, to Alice, <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/inutile.html" target="_blank">truly useless</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left;">If she reads what I write, she'll realize that she dodged a bullet. Her birthday is very soon and I was planning on <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/le-cadeau-danniversaire.html" target="_blank">asking her to marry me</a>. The poem I'd written for the occasion has a hidden proposal and I know she'd have found it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Jesus... that would've been in just over three weeks. She's turning 28.</p><p style="text-align: left;">She's such a sweet girl. Such a sweet woman. I never thought she'd ever consider cheating on anyone, let alone me. She said she didn't think I would care. She said she didn't think I loved her. Part of me can't blame her for what she did, but most of me knows I should hate her for it. I don't, <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/et-maintenant.html" target="_blank">as you know</a>. I just can't. Part of me wants her back more than anything in the world. Most of me knows she'd just break my heart again.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It empowered her, doing that to me. She said it didn't, but I saw the way she smiled when she recalled the day she spent with him. The day she fucked him. It was a smile of having done something she wanted to do without caring about the fallout. To her, I had already fallen out. Fallen away. That I was really falling toward her <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/la-derniere-fois.html" target="_blank">no longer mattered</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I still can't sleep. I still can't eat. I still can't work. And it's all my fault. I accept that, truly. No, I didn't deserve the betrayal. Nobody on the fucking planet deserves the kind of pain she delivered in the way she delivered it. But it is definitely all my fault.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Three simple words. I love you. <i>Je t'aime</i>. <i>Yo te amo</i>. <i>Minä rakastan sinua</i>. If I'd have just spoken those three words more often, I would be days away from asking her to be my wife instead of wondering what I'm going to do with the broken pieces of the rest of my life.</p><p style="text-align: left;">My mind is numb. My heart is in pain. <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/elle-sappelle-alice.html" target="_blank">I am alone</a>. I don't think I'll ever have a family. I don't think I'll ever be happy. Not when I'm too afraid that any lover of mine could find someone else who makes them forget about me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Alice didn't know that my first fiancée cheated on me, which negatively affected every relationship from then to now. I was young, of course. I changed where I would live for that woman. I changed where I went to university for that woman. I changed everything for her. And it wound up destroying my life, the effects of that fallout lasting for over a decade. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">After that, I had promised myself that <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/los-angeles-lyon-london-adelaide.html" target="_blank">I would never alter my own life plans for someone else</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And then I met Alice. I felt comfortable. I trusted her, implicitly. It felt so, so good to be able to give someone that kind of trust. I began planning on moving to Lyon. To leaving Los Angeles before I was ready to leave. To starting everything over with her. With Alice.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And then she cheated on me, too.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't know what to do now. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't care anymore. Everyone is telling me that time heals all wounds. They're telling me that I'll get over it. They're saying that it's Alice's loss, not mine. But I don't know any of those to be true.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I got over the betrayal of the first fiancée just soon enough to be betrayed again. Why, then, should I get over it now? So it can happen a third time and I can wind up even lonelier than I already am?</p><p style="text-align: left;">If it's Alice's loss, why is she happy now? Why is she somewhere else in the world, in the arms of someone she already loves more than she ever loved me? How is that her loss and not mine?</p><p style="text-align: left;">Despite her betrayal, she deserves her happiness. She obviously wasn't finding it with me and no longer had the patience to wait. I should've been more open about my feelings. So many people have told me this in my life, but it's not until now that I truly understand the repercussions of not doing so. I just hope that she never feels the kind of pain that she's caused me. Still causing me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I told Alice's sister that, at any time in the future, if Alice was dealing with sadness, to tell her that I'm somewhere out there, still loving her. But I know that if and when that happens, Alice will struggle to recall my name. I can hear it now... Her sister will say, "<i>Il t'aime toujours</i>." And Alice will <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/le-nouveau-depart-alexandra-streliski.html" target="_blank">blink in that adorable way</a> and ask, "<i>Qui est-il ?</i>" I'll probably already be dead when that happens, but the universe will still have its laugh.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I wish she weren't laughing at me, <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/breathless.html" target="_blank">but I know she is</a>. There are too many forces in her life that think I am ridiculous. That I never should've been with Alice. That she never should've been with me. It's clear from the betrayal that Alice thinks so, too. Come to think of it, even if we had lasted until her birthday, she probably would've rejected my marriage proposal. That would have hurt, of course, but not like what she did to me last week.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The joke's on me. I get it. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Je t'aime</i>, Alice. <i>Tu me manques. S'il te plaît, apprends-moi à te détester</i>. I'll stop writing about you soon. <i>Je te promets</i>. Not that you'll notice the difference.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">All that I ask is that the next time you stab me in the heart, please do it with a real knife. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-37936100664936849592023-07-03T18:11:00.001-04:002023-07-03T18:11:26.957-04:00Des Chats<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xuGJNN6_Z-s" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's almost stunning how much losing Alice reminds me of <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2021/06/places-sagremor-liked-to-sleep.html" target="_blank">the death of Sagremor</a>. I think, perhaps, because Alice watched over me as Starbuck was dying, his death was easier to take. I don't know this to be true, but the equating of Alice breaking my heart to the loss of Sagremor suggests a strong possibility that it is.</p><p style="text-align: left;">She has two cats. Nova and Iron. I once asked her if she named them after the death of stars (iron being the final element formed before a star collapses), and she hadn't. It was just an interesting coincidence. I had been looking forward to meeting those cats. To living with them. And to watching over Alice as she would, ultimately, have to deal with their deaths.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I need someone to watch over me again. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-73193515654058654782023-07-03T17:49:00.005-04:002023-07-03T17:49:57.553-04:00"Éphémère" - Tony Anderson<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/F6ar6Qv2QUc" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Éphémère, en effet</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>et perpétuel</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>je suis tellement confus</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>quand son coeur est parti</i></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-11094401999880707792023-07-03T17:35:00.005-04:002023-07-03T17:35:42.897-04:00Musée des Confluences<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Zd7gQZs0Ut8" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">A museum ticket fell from the <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2023/07/jadore-lire.html" target="_blank"><u>Ellana</u> book</a> as I was flipping through it. I can't remember if I knew about it in October, but it feels like I might have.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't know... can't remember... if it belonged to Alice or not, but I suppose I'll keep it for a while.</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1166" data-original-width="1210" height="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTXWRCsWEGbJrB4jbPXG2q3PEMIrvUoFKYRYCE-NO1NASRBZI-vDWoG01cvDoj2NjRUNjQJMaQxS8orLwoaMjSN73OlDeChxK24vGTR_4sG3_9YRaKfnKmc7YlK4gkrpR21Z6-tM5Kaqc3kz5G9GpkkmdvJtC3X3uQ1Gw_dcnEEwc0O840rzmZ4wnvzriQ/w400-h385/Museum%20Ticket.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-10958981583037393792023-07-03T17:20:00.006-04:002023-07-03T17:20:48.884-04:00J'adore lire<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WZ0WVUMrnyk" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p>Alice brought me several books when she came in October. Over a couple of days, she sat me down and guided me through the readings of <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2022/10/comic-book-irreview-asterix-le-gaulois.html" target="_blank">a couple of French comic books</a>. I adored those readings. For the way she corrected me. For the way she tried to explain French colloquialisms and puns. For the way she sat right next to me, shoulder to shoulder, so close that I could hear her breathing and taste her breath.</p><p>After she left, I always meant to graduate to the more difficult books that she brought.</p><p>I will never read them now. I want to, but I know I'll just miss the sound of her breathing and the taste of her breath.</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="580" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3xOYrXt0rE93rvSTk2q6nAxUtSvkhdN047dZsQDAu02MjwB84xJ4jqmMUtreF4NfaeSz0hEBstwH9Qdz8oopoGGx_9V2DIGM778vHRi6tTIqC5v2yZVN-IxMBWd1O_LdiIEm74HAK9VIQnVC6Mevr5bDfDFblWI0zIPbvaqGOxLjfBlserZGvcb3Ykjx/w400-h400/French%20Books.jpg" width="400" /></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-10719677589444123122023-07-03T15:55:00.000-04:002023-07-03T15:55:37.362-04:00"Arpège" - Tony Anderson<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/t3NxPL5paSA" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><div style="text-align: left;">I wonder if she knew</div><div style="text-align: left;">how much I write about her</div><div style="text-align: left;">how much she would wish</div><div style="text-align: left;">that she never met me<br /></div>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8270440818368288393.post-2319943140475646032023-07-03T14:51:00.006-04:002023-07-03T15:39:49.941-04:00Et maintenant ?<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MVobZa369ks" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">I played Tony Anderson's "Éclosion" a lot <a href="https://irrex2.blogspot.com/2021/06/lean-on-me.html" target="_blank">when Sagremor died.</a> I feel as bad right now as I did then. The sense of loss is over-fucking-whelming. Waves of emotion at random times. Eyes tearing up even when I think I'm not thinking about anything. It's those waves which are why I'm not sleeping. The moment my lights go out, a notion of Alice floods through me and brings me out of any potential slumber.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm still not eating. I can feel myself getting weak, but the good news is that I've lost six pounds in four days. Another week of this and I'll be close to my target weight.</p><p style="text-align: left;">People are trying to help. One friend sent me money. Another sent whiskey. More keep messaging and calling, trying to get me to talk, but talk isn't helping. In one of the great ironies, the only thing that could help is Alice herself and, yet... speaking to her would bring her betrayal to the forefront of my heart and mind and would destroy me. But, then, I am completely and utterly destroyed already. What difference would it make?</p><p style="text-align: left;">I miss my cat. I miss my dog. I miss the French girl who would pretend to be excited when I rang her on WhatsApp when I woke up.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I know I should hate her for what she did. I know I should hate her for the jokes she, her friends, and her lover are telling about me. How strange is it that Alice's sister and mother will be the only ones in her circle that will feel bad for me? I should hate her. But I don't. I can't. I still belong to her and the struggle to free myself is just making things so much more painful. Not metaphorical pain, either... I am in active physical pain. Like my muscles are trying to separate themselves from my bones. Like my body is trying to eat itself. I wish it would. Then, perhaps that's why I'm losing weight.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I haven't told my mother yet. I think it would break her heart a little, and she's gone through enough heartbreak this year already. My father adored Alice. He probably thought she and I would be married by now. Funny that my marriage proposal to her was in the works.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Of course, that just makes shit worse.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>C'est la vie</i>.<br /></p>JeffScapehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00190641629175438603noreply@blogger.com0