This Is An Exercise In Words – ReubenRock.com

God sometimes I can’t stand it. I feel like an amputee. Paraplegic even.

Do you remember the Venn diagram? Do you remember how we overlapped? There was so little outside our shared experience. And it was all dashed away in a vile morning. The culmination of my self destruction. It eclipsed what we built. An entire city, an empire… demolished. No time to save the women… and the children we never had.

What happened to those experiences? The ability to share, to collectively recollect, to relish in our history… that responsibility fell upon us individually. And it’s too much for me to bear on these weakened shoulders. Ninety percent of my life is stored somewhere inaccessible. I’ve tried. I know you have, too. It’s like swallowing fire.

So what’s left? A sliver. A nail trimming of experience that didn’t include you – not directly, at least. It isn’t enough to convince anyone that I have a story. I’ve been trying to build something new. And it’s terror after terror. A nightmarish world of women with empty skin. Images that keep me up at night.

Last night I awoke next to a corpse. Later, I was visited by a woman who haunted the edge of the bed.

I remember how you used to wrap me up, bring me back to reality, calming the cries from time to time. It wasn’t a duty you expected when you partnered with me. But I thank you for spending those nights defending me from the shadows.

Neither of us could have known at the time that these images foreshadowed the afterlife. The time that would follow our life. What is supposed to become known as my life.

I anticipate a lot of nights like this. I’ve had more than 365 since we last shared a warm bed, let alone a common roof. The evening closes. The relics of my ancestors and my sins inch closer. You’re out there, and I’m left to fend for myself.

So I find a liquid cure. Something to shut down the senses and obscure the details surrounding everything. But there are details that can’t be rubbed out and forgotten.

Stormy eyes could glare a hole through anything. I saw ships wrecked in those waters. Blonde hair was thin as a newborn’s. White follicles camouflaged in the front lines. Fingers and toes that have no twins in this world. The symmetry of your face – every dot perfectly duplicated on the opposite side. Feet turned in on each other. How your hips managed that stance, I’ll never understand. Freckles that I’m sure nobody else has ever noticed. As if they only appeared to me. Scars and imperfections that humanized you beyond perfection. Words are insufficient. I’d suffer through 25 more years to know that I could feel your soft breath against my chest for a moment.

But you don’t deserve me, or the bad dreams that come with me. And I don’t deserve you.

If I give it a rest, how long will we retain this radio silence? How long will I wait for a phone call I’ll never receive? These are questions I likely don’t want an answer to, but I’m asking despite the uncertainty.

To be perfectly honest, I jumped the gun. That much is clear to me. The rest is a haze.

But I suppose after 10 years of failure, I can wait a while longer before testing someone else’s merits, running them through the paces, the routine of it all…

Find me in the waiting room. I’ll be the well-dressed “gentleman” drunk in public.

“When was the last time I held you all through the night? Never a worry would run through my heart like a knife. Tomorrow is much too late.” ~ Saves the Day

It’s not that I’m impatient. It’s that I have insecurities. And they wear on me quickly. I can stand it for about an hour before I have to extinguish them with some poor decision, some conversation, some distraction. Some slight deposit into my ego. Intimate currency.

I hold the patent on this maneuver.

While in limbo, I’ll prowl. I’ll stick to the shadows. I’ll comb the shallows. Whatever mangled mess washes ashore in the mornings, I will look at it with disgust and pretend not to recognize the handiwork. It’s a victimless crime really.

Just know that it’s all stimulus and response. With the right stimulus, you’ll elicit the response you’re looking for. So send the signal. My receptors are waiting.

Simply because of my uncertainties, this next week is a toss up. Anyone’s game. Win or lose. Probably lose.

Open your arms – I’ll be there.

Long brown hair, I love it.

Checking in to your hips. My mother loves it.

A body long enough to hold its own. To make me feel as protected as you do. Perfection.

Grazing your back with my fingertips, watching the storm roll in over your complex, cozying up on that couch you reluctantly told me about (as if you had anything to be embarrassed of), the scent of you, plotting to commandeer a toothbrush at your place, hitting snooze despite being perfectly awake and enjoying every minute of your embrace, wishing I had a classier life story to relay to you, wanting nothing more than to say nothing but share everything, hoping that you’re in this as much as I am…

Well. I suppose some things happen when least expected. And it can be a rough transition. So uncertainties shouldn’t mean much other than I’ve been let down before. And I’m betting you have, too.

Admittedly, I’ve been less than stellar lately. Not as a person, not as a potential boyfriend, not as anything. This has been my first true summer of self discovery. The casualties have been numerous. They’re only outnumbered by the beers and embarrassing mornings after. When clarity finally hits home, leaving me grasping for excuses and explanations, I almost find perspective… but I lose it as quickly as 5pm comes.

“It’s my first time being single. I should act like this.”

“I’m not usually so aggressive.”

“She’s a one and done. That’s the only time it will ever happen.”

But the truth is, I wake up every day and carry on a real career. I pay those bills so I can count on shelter. I have hobbies. I have friends.

The only need that seems unfulfilled: morality. Stability is a close relative. Commitment probably exists in this realm, too.

Honesty was not anything I aimed for in these warm summer months. Everyone is anyone, right? Well that’s easier on paper. Eventually anyone can become someone. And once you distinguish yourself as an individual – a living, breathing, thinking, caring individual – it gets harder to treat you like number XX in the slew of slaughters. That simple comment: “I really enjoy being with you,” a flash of pretty, wet eyes, anything like that… it humanizes you, and it makes the kill harder to deal with.

What’s even more difficult to deal with? Suddenly materializing the finish line in front of contestants who may not have realized they were competing. Racers without an end game. Participants caught up in the weekly schedule… looking for a prize, or not… they get run over. A winner is chosen out of nowhere. Because she is sweet. Maybe she fits in arms more favorably. It’s a subjective measure of a woman. But the “feel” is right. And that’s what sticks with me when I sense the autumn months on the horizon.

There are no more points to argue. Put down your phones. Sign off from your social networks. You don’t have to close communications completely. Just know you performed well – every one of you. Consider yourself a learning experience. And maybe next summer you’ll be running the show. You’ll have an audience of your own. You can be the grand prize.

This is where legitimacy meets a year-long train wreck. We’ve reached the climax of it all. Settle in and enjoy the come down. Sometimes drifting off is better than getting off.

I suppose this is as good a time/place as any to say, “I’m sorry.”

When it comes right down to it, I wanted you in my life. You should have been here the last 7 years. But circumstance ravaged any possibility of maintaining a comfortable proximity. We both wed, fled, and found exactly what we weren’t looking for.

So needless to say, when those years disappeared – when you reappeared – it was a shock to the senses. A startling reintroduction into that world we inhabited for a few short months several years ago. When you were a new woman, and I was discovering what it is to be a man. Your eyes shined the same this time. Your hair was thick as ever. We fell into that routine we used to know. And it would have been easy to dive in head first. But we would have drowned. We would have swallowed water until our bodies went limp.

It isn’t that the timing is wrong. It’s that I am simply unwilling for now. Which leads me back a few months. When we reunited, staying with you that first night was the wrong thing to do. Spending countless days together was not okay. Driving to the coast to soak in the scent of saltwater – it was unfair to you. I built a case for our coexistence, while arguing for our freedoms. When I chose that freedom, I’m afraid I broke you again.

You said you understood. Goddammit. You shot me those looks – where your enormous eyes swallowed me whole. I took deep breaths and assured you that we would make it out alive. But I wasn’t so sure myself.

Here we are in flames. Drowning may have been the better option. But we chose the fire. The heat was seductive. The lick and arch of each flame as it reforms into further devastation… this is where our affection will always reside.

Please don’t take this as an affront. I don’t intend to be cross.

If nothing else, at least I’ve broken hearts in the most honest way possible this time. Fully disclosed, completely unclothed, and under cover of casual relations. You became a casualty of casual. And I am sorry. Let’s not wait 7 years to repair the damage this time. Our ship can float again. But it has to fly under a different flag. We’ll sleep in separate quarters. And that will have to be enough for the both of us.

They stalked their prey with the confidence of professional killers, but lost their vantage point out of impudence. I watched as all parties were closing in, and knew she was relishing in the sport of it. But I grew disgusted by the brutality. And bored with the monotony. This is a ritual we have all come to understand. Something we have all participated in from time to time, some more than others. It’s a careless and shameless struggle for trophies – something to stuff.

Some of us cast aside our brotherhood during the hunt, like beasts. Forget our loyalties. Some of us carry a distaste for the victims. Others do care, despite advertising the complete opposite. Why did I ever volunteer for this tournament?

I set down the pale pint of medicine I had been nursing, turned away from the struggle, and turned in for the night.

It’s funny. Sometimes I find myself at a table with only myself as company. The bar is crowded. I have friends dotting the building. But I choose to segregate myself to this area. The most prominently placed table in the room. I choose to stay inside my head rather than sharing what’s on my mind. Nobody wants to hear that slop.

I get texts from people looking for a place in my life. They want a foothold to let them know they’re still in the game. They’re still hanging off this cliff. But while they sit at home picturing me surrounded by friends and better off without them, I’m surrounded by friends who are paces away from my somber attitude.

I don’t know why this happens. I’ve become an expert at pushing everyone away without saying a word. Body language, maybe? Tone of voice? I’ve been told I hide nothing in my tone. Facial expressions? I’ve been scolded in mid-year reviews for my inability to control those muscles.

Whatever it is, I’m hiding in plain sight. Waiting for someone to pick me out of the crowd, drop me into that comfortable monotony I inhabited for years, and bring my world back to stasis. I’m waiting for those goods to be delivered. And when I get back there, I’ll reserve the right to trade it all in for the old tensions I’m used to living with.

Here’s a non-exhaustive list of music I love. These are the albums that you’ll hear me playing over and over again (some of them for the last 7 or 8 years). In alphabetical order by artist because I’m looking at my iTunes library:

• The Academy Is… – “Almost Here”
• The Ataris – “Blue Skies, Broken Hearts…Next 12 Exits”
• The Avenue – Any album/ep (yes, I listen to my own band)
• The Bled – “Pass the Flask”
• Blink 182 – Any album
• Box Car Racer – “Boxcar Racer”
• Boys Night Out – “Make Yourself Sick”
• Brand New – “Your Favourite Weapon” and “Deja Entendu”
• Cartel – “Chroma”
• Death Cab for Cutie – “Transatlanticism” and “Plans”
• Every Time I Die – “Hot Damn!”
• Fall Out Boy – “Take This To Your Grave”
• Fear Before the March of Flames – “Odd How People Shake” and “Art Damage”
• Finch – “What It Is To Burn”
• Johnny Cash – Any album
• Kanye West – Any album
• Lit – “A Place in the Sun”
• Motion City Soundtrack – “Commit This to Memory”
• New Found Glory – “New Found Glory”
• Norma Jean – “Bless the Martyr & Kiss the Child”
• Northstar – “Pollyanna”
• Osker – “Idle Will Kill”
• The Rocket Summer – “Calendar Days” and “Hello, Good Friend”
• Rufio – “Perhaps, I Suppose”
• Saves The Day – Any album
• Taking Back Sunday – “Tell All Your Friends”
• Third Eye Blind – “Third Eye Blind”
• Thursday – “Full Collapse”
• Two Hours Traffic – “Little Jabs”
• Two Tongues – “Two Tongues”
• Underoath – “They’re Only Chasing Safety”
• The Used – “The Used”

I don’t fulfill fantasies, I fulfill realities.

Sure, you were cute. Beautiful even. But I’m not here to make your dreams come true. I’m here to bring your dreams more in line with your day to day.

When they said, “you can’t have it all,” I thought they were talking to me. But apparently those words were spoken in your direction. Having it all doesn’t mean you can split time between cities, lead my dysfunctional mind into your world, and then dash it away with an 8 hour drive.

I’ve gone. The next time we see each other, you’ll meet the icy front of this cold war.

“Too tired, too obtuse. You look so far removed.” ~ the format

Well, so am I.