Naomi

In my creative writing seminar, we did an exercise where we sat back, listened to a a Miles Davis song and observed what emotions and/or thoughts came to mind in that empty space. At first I imagined I was sitting in a smoky bar, where I could feel regret and heartache in the leather seats. A name, a face came to mind: a boy.

Next, we were supposed to write a fictional scene based on whatever we had been feeling during the song. I wrote:

I don’t want the heartache to be about the boy. Because it’s never about the boy. It’s about our own selves. We either chose to share something with another person, or we chose not to. Yes, their face is always there. But it’s only a symbol. We search for ourselves through other people and through love. We beg for honest opinions, but only if they are complimentary. If they are not, the game doesn’t work. It fails. It’s over. And it’s always over before it begins.

Two days before this I had seen Arcade Fire live at the Roundhouse and it was magical and glittery and at one point a man I just met put me on his shoulders and I was at the same level as Win and the band, floating above everyone’s heads and my legs were like jelly when I reached the ground. On their new album there’s a song that goes, “Seems like a big deal now, but you will get over. Seems so important now, but you will get over. And when you get over and when you get older, you will discover that it’s never over.”

Maybe Miles Davis just brings out my angsty romantic side. Technically, I am over the boy. I know it’s not right to be “with” him, specifically. But I wonder if he could be replaced by anyone in the world and I would feel the same confusion. Or would I?

On Saturday I met a lawyer-in-training in a leather jacket and kissed him on the dance floor, in clear view of everyone. But HE is still there and he still exists, even though I will never feel the feeling I used to have when our bodies were close together. Now they are just two bodies. What used to be dissolves like mist. Or sometimes—and this is the worst thing—it feels like it was never there at all.

It would be so simple to forget him if we didn’t live in such close proximity. He’s a constant temptation, like a carrot being ever dangled before my eyes. He’s the type of guy I always thought about but never thought I’d have a chance with. A few weeks ago I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him. Now I can sit comfortably and smile and laugh as though it doesn’t hurt, but it all feels painfully personal.

Though it was over too soon, it’s never really over. I’ll keep holding on to the strings of every private, seemingly meaningful connection I’ve ever had with anyone. For me, there is no full stop. ♦