Over Coffee And Cigarettes

2 07 2008

From the pages of an old journal:

I had a bit of free time earlier and was able to catch up with Jaime. We mostly talked about work then finally resting our topic on past love and lost – it’s crazy how girl-talks almost always include men. I talked about you and tried to veer towards something else but she seemed inclined to hearing more. I told her bits and pieces but avoided mentioning your name. I’ve said it a million times and I don’t feel like saying it again … only because if I do, it makes our break up more real than it already is.

I’ve been walking around like I’m not hurt nor burned, although sleeping is still a challenge; I try not to air it out for other people to see. Every time I step out of my room I just pretend that nothing’s broken, brave face is my specialty. Perhaps that’s my way of surviving. So Jamie kept asking how things were and how it led to the fall out. I focused on the past; that one brought smiles. I told her that you love playing basketball and I was your pocket cheerleader. I remembered that I use to keep your things while you play and would at times forget your valuables so you have to visit me very early next morning to pick it up. You use to hate waking me up because I get crabby. Do you still remember kidnapping me for a surprise? That was one of my best memories; cold places remind me of you, almost instantly. She wanted to hear me tell sappy stories of the good times and she commented on how much she would’ve wanted to have what I had. Funny, but will she still want it if she knew of my sleepless nights and the amount of regret I earned? Would it still have been fun if she knew of the tedium, of the purgatory like situation of me hanging in between the unknown, of the transient memories that use to be good but turned sour, of the guilt stricken interludes we have to live through and the acid I conjure to my stomach when I’m falling to my dismal state … would she still be interested? It’s hard to suspend my disbelief.

When she finished her nth cigarette, we walked back to work. Jaime had this unusual smile on her face and a look that held hopes for me. I thought to put a smile too, there was no need for her to know how I really feel inside. Maybe tomorrow I’ll change my coffee break schedule; I don’t feel like sharing my fake happiness anymore. I can only do so much and this whole pretending game doesn’t make the desolation invisible. The bigotry of whatever we have between us is far from over but the irony lies on the fact that we’re not quite done with each other yet. Alienation sucks. I must say this kind of superficial, elaborate, esoteric interlude is non value added to anyone of us trying to solve personal problems.

You held so many things I didn’t know.

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