2004-01-21

A wine grown colorless with age

It was a quiet morning today, as I approached the courtyard with the cold nipping at my face. I found relief after going into history class, but I would soon learn that today would be one of my most mortifying days in class.

Mrs. H--"I need to go and make some copies, you guys, don't kill each other while I'm gone."

All--Reading over books, whispering about Woodrow Wilson, etc

Me--Quietly sitting down at my desk attempting to focus on the chapter.

Brittany--"psst! Hey Libet, how's your boooyyyfriend?"

Suddenly, almost as if the words "atom bomb" had escaped from her lips, everyone looked up with their eyes fixated on me. Readers, before I continue, I have to clarify this situation--a situation that was misunderstood. I have a male friend whom I have known for a year now. We have been friends, and my affections for him do not exceed those which are appropriate for a friend. We are on occasion, found debating in the courtyard (him and I both love Napoleon and Voltaire) and at times, people tend to confuse the situation. Brittany was one of those people.

Anyway, back to my story. Everyone looks at me with shock (yes, I am the one who was been single for the past three years).

Lauren--"You have a boyfriend? Who?"

Ariana--"Yeah, what's his name? You've been keeping this a secret haven't you? Is it Aaron?"

Me--Thinking: do not bring him into this! "LOL, of course not! I do not have a boyfriend."

Brittany--"Yes you do! I saw you guys! What's his name? Jake?"

John--"I know who you are talking about! And his name is not Jake! His name is Jeremy!"

Me--"You guys, he's in a classroom next door...can't you just shut-up?...and his name is Jared"

Lauren--"No way! I'm going next door!"

Ariana--"I'm going with you!"

Me--"Don't be stupid! They are in the middle of class! Come on, he's not my boyfriend"

random--"I can't believe you have a boyfriend..."

The teacher now walks in...

Few--"Mrs. H! Libet has a boyfriend!"

Me--Puts head down groaning and muttering something under my breath, wishing that this dreadful class were over, and knowing that he heard every last word--damn.

That was my horrible moment. For those of you that know me, or have been in previous relationships with me (and have actually made it out alive), you would know how frigid I can be. I could try and polish my social skills, but I usually like the fact that I scare guys away--it makes me feel special. I have suspected that he has taken a liking to me, but I choose to ignore it because it will get us nowhere! Besides, I'm only recently getting over Roger.

Here's some useful information--don't fall for guys with nice Polish accents. I don't care how beautiful they are!

I think that I am done with that, after all, there's isn't much to my lovelife: nothing there...surprise, surprise.

Today is the day in which my true skills as a writer were put to the test. My words are pretty, but can they get me into the AP English class? I took the test today, and it makes me feel quite nervous knowing that my work will be scrutinized and discussed as if I were test subject "A". They will review my work, and compare me to the other writers at my school. I worry sometimes in regards to my talent (it's even questionable whether I have any to begin with). If I have any, I must be humble enough so that I cannot see it. I truly have nothing--sans romantic urbanity or luck, sans overall genius, and even sans the quill pens that I am so fond of (which, I suppose, legitimize the image of myself as a "dirty-fingered scribbler"). The only thing that I have is my insatiable need to express myself through my writing. All I have are my long walks in the forest (pretending that I am Thoreau, therefore I prefer to wear long sleeves and brown pants while doing so), and my book. Literature is my talent, or at least, it is the only thing that I feel talented at. I feel that if I fail at this, I will have no more chances to differentiate myself from the rest of the world.

Sometimes I sit back and think of why Roger left, and why Aaron repressed his growing affections for me. While willing to let them dive into the very depths of my soul and taste the salted waters of my undulating sea of affection, there was one thing that I could not give neither one of them--my other half. There is something that I keep to myself, and maybe Aaron knew that he wouldn't take it by force, so he would find it through friendship. Roger didn't even want to stay long enough to even make the attempt--what he had for me was passion. He said that he was fond of me, yet, those words pierced my heart and they inspired my soul to give birth to an abundance of sorrowful words. The latter is what killed me, and he was my torment every time I looked at the changing leaves of autumn. I would try and close my eyes and remember that day at the beach, and still try to feel the sand stuck to my skin--to feel his hand on my waist. I had wanted to badly to see his clear green eyes again, but instead, I saw Aaron's blue eyes. It's as if Aaron would say, "Am I not good enough? He's gone now, but I'm here"

But alas, I was not satisfied until the prince came back--something that would never happen. I could loathe myself for realizing too late what was in front of me. I can write about all of this now because my heart is at ease, and seeing his name no longer sends a quiver through me. I never gave myself to him (how gentle he would have been as a lover), but he did take something far greater--my happiness.

Do you know what it was like to forge happiness? To pretend to admire the birds in the sky, when in reality, I was thinking of him? What about to compare and to compromise yourself all in the name of this thing we call love? Why does it hate me, if it has plundered me enough times. My spirit is already old and ravaged, and I feel defeated!

These wounds do heal, even if the scars remain for an eternity. If I were to sleep, and in the stillness of the cold moon and satin clouds an angel would come to me, I would make but one wish: let no man ever love me, for love is a double edged sword.

Deviating from the topic, I must say that one of the notes written to me by qtcommunist truly made me think of Cuba's future. What will happen when Fidel dies (we all know that it is inevitable--his death). I actually like his diary, mainly because judging from one of the earlier entries he's probably going through right now what I went through with Roger (sans the exhaustive melodrama and manic depression).

I read Vin's diary, and young lady, you are disappointing me! You have not updated...keep this up, and I will send Marquis de Sade to give you a spanking..

I have been following destinymaker's diary, and I can feel the mood. Yes, the entries these days have been short, but regardless, there's meaning behind all of that. Besides, I'm not a person who is preoccupied with quantity...

aeka at 8:07 p.m.