Radioactive - Imagine Dragons
I remember listening to this song when I was coming home from California this January. The plane was landing to the chorus of this song. And I don’t know why I pointing this out, but I remember thinking, “It’s time to get my shit together.”
Last night during my adventures among the city with my friends, we met two German guys. As we were filming an impromptu interview under the Brooklyn Bridge, these two teenagers came walking down. Which surprised me really, because we looked awfully sketchy in a small crevice that led you to the Brooklyn Bridge—dimly lit, a bunch of cameras clicking away, and a small asian girl asking life questions. Anyway, these guys didn’t look scared at all. So at first glance I’d assume they were from the city and they were just fucking around, just like us.
A friend of mine asked them if they were twins (no) if they were related (no) if they hung out a lot (no). No, they were just two guys from Germany who flew down to America for vacation, and they just so happened to go together through mutual findings. We kept asking them questions—standard New Yorker questions—like where they visited so far (regardless, we didn’t let them answer, we answered for them and said “You’ve been to tourist-shit places right?”) or if they smoke or drank. I don’t know if it was just me, but I felt like we were all amazed, and we all quickly began to form into this sort of friendship that didn’t exactly make sense, as their english was bad, and face it, our english is just as bad the way it drips with slang and sarcasm. But they took it. They went with it.
See, but what gets me the most, is that they trusted us. Not that I’m implying we aren’t a group to be trusted but I mean, you never know. We took them up and around Chinatown and took them out to eat. Why is it that when someone isn’t from here, we feel inclined to just expose them to things? To pay for everything? I wanted to let them relish in the moment, without having to worry about paying. To just enjoy our company and play off our words. And they did and treated us as we treated each other. They made cute racist jokes, and American jabs.
I don’t know if it’s the allure of being somewhere you’ve never been around people you don’t know but these guys walked into our welcome arms. One of them, I was closer to, and he treated me so well. He paid such great attention to everything I did. He paid attention to facial expressions, my laugh, what I said and my reactions. He said I was unbelievably attractive inside and out. I told him men in America are very particular to who they talk to like that—because praising someone here is considered, “sucking dick,” and everyone has a lot of pride here, so complimenting someone is always relating back to sex—and he responded by, “Wouldn’t that be like….degrading to females? You are unbelievably sexy but that doesn’t mean…I…” then he began blushing. I tried to rationalize it though; that no one is looking for love here, but I don’t think he really understood.
I got my German friend’s point though. And I do wish that more men were like him in this area I live in. Because I feel as if, sex is unfortunately relevant at all times. And if I’m not sexy, I am not relevant. But this is the scene we’re living in right now. Everyone has gotten their heart broken ten times over and everyone is fueled by the need to have sex without complications. But it’s not sick, it’s jaded as hell, but it’s not disgusting. I just think we’re all looking for release. I think we’re all just using each other.
Jeanann Verlee, men (via xieraxiera)
Morning Thoughts: 11th.
I want to apologize one last time. But I don’t exactly know where to start. If I start from the beginning, I’m afraid I will end up looking as if I never felt anything throughout it all. If I start from the middle, I’m afraid that everything before that will have no meaning. So maybe, I should start from right here—where it’s all over so there’s no chance of looking as if I’m a horrible person. Though, I probably will look like a horrible person regardless. So here I go.
I want to apologize for not finding a compromise. I’m sure there was a middle ground somewhere and I just wasn’t looking hard enough. I’m sure there was a foundation to build on and all was not lost. I kept myself from this—from you and us—and it felt natural. I felt no remorse. It was so easy to be alone; take the train alone, go to my classes alone, go to work alone, go home alone. I didn’t worry about a hand to hold or arms to keep me warm. I supplied that for myself. I kept my hands in my pockets and paid attention to the weather. I should’ve been paying attention to where you were and if you were close by to keep me warm. I didn’t. And I’m sorry.
I want to apologize for not holding on. I was always trying to leave and cut the conversations short. Towards the end of it all, I don’t think I had to keep leaving, because I was already gone. And you always chased and kept the conversations going longer. So for you to chase what was no longer attainable… I saw you kept trying to chase after me, and I think the hardest thing to explain is the fact that I saw your efforts but I didn’t necessarily see them. I was not blind and heartless. I was just out of love and had a different perspective.
I want to apologize for forcing it. I knew where I was at emotionally and yet I still kept trying to force myself on you. I was misleading and everything about it was unfair and cruel. But I must at least try to defend myself for the last few months; the months that don’t exactly make sense and correlate to the things I said towards the last few weeks. I tried to love you. Plainly, it must be said, and acknowledged. I tried to love you with everything I had and everything I didn’t have. I wanted to love you as you loved me. Because the way you loved me was absolutely beautiful. You did it without any doubt that I was bad for you. You did it so fearlessly and with such grit. I wanted to mirror all of that back to you and show you how great it looked. But I always doubted. And I was not fearless.
Damn it, I wasn’t sure.
Lastly, I want to apologize for not being sure. I’m sorry that it stopped making sense to me. And I’m sorry that I pushed you as far as I could in able to figure things out because it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. This is probably where “It’s not you, it’s me,” comes to play. Because it was all me. It was 100% me. Putting aside all of our problems that may have changed my mind, all the arguments that may have tainted what we had, and all the shadowing elements of our pasts—all that had nothing to do with this, it was me. Because even through all our problems and fights—you were able to move on but I wasn’t. I wasn’t able to get over it and move on with you. For that, I take the last and final blame.
I take it all and I want you to understand that I’m taking it all. Not to be heroic. Or to seem as if I did my part in this goodbye. But so I could have a piece of this to myself. I don’t want the brilliant and beautiful pieces because those are the ones you deserve to keep. I want the pieces that I made and placed in front of you to have. The “justifying” pieces I used to shamelessly hide behind to seem as if this was a mutual goodbye and I was a good person. It’s not for you to have and you shouldn’t be left with everything. I’ll take this last one.