loner girl monologues

my monologues are really dialogues. in my head i have conversations between characters that i have created or are based off of myself, characters who feel more like friends than real people.
it was easy to hide behind scripted words in my head in high school; i was never forced out of my comfort zone. then suddenly at college, i was living on my own. i made my own schedule. the opportunities to meet new people were endless.

i find myself stumbling over words. in my head, i greet enthusiastically and flash a smile expecting the other person to engage me in an intellectually in response. when writing, every conversation has a purpose. even filler details can be subtle clues to personality or foreshadow events. life can’t be controlled like that.

it’s hardest with the people i love. i don’t share what i am thinking; it comes out awkward because i pause frequently doubting the necessity to open op. “Are you…going to..wish your ex..for her birthday?” i knew i should’ve just donned my resting bitch face and seem nonchalant.

but that facade is only a mere glance image. i keep to myself but i’m eager to laugh and mean it when i bid “have a wonderful day!” to everyone. those actions are mine to control. it’s when i cannot expect reactions to what i have to say, i do not handle my disappointment well.

in my head i hoped he’d say no, he’d forgotten. in my head i hoped he’d shrug and say “maybe, but i’m here with you right now. that’s all i want to think about.”

basically anything but him gushing about how talented she is at voice acting and how he’d want to work on a project with her.

my thoughts jarred; there was not a singular coherent feeling to express. rather, bottled up, my first reaction was to split. he’s not good enough for me, i deserve to be the only center of his attention! 

blame it on me being a Leo.
even a loner likes to twirl in the sun. we don’t like seeing eyes on us, but knowing they may be there? awesome.

i wasn’t happy but after almost a whole day of moping, i realized it’s my choice to let it go. my love is with me. he chose me over her. he didn’t gush, he was being practical about utilizing a talent of a friend. is it his fault that i cannot be friends with my exes? no.

in the world that exists within my head, it’s easy to plan out the perfect romantic dialgoues – and the best revenge scenes. that’s really how i ended my moping today: imagining myself staring at my love before pulling up on the side on the highway and waving, “boy, bye.” he’d have to walk ten miles home! i realized that wouldn’t give me satisfaction at all because i indeed do love him.

since i strictly watch and read things that have a guaranteed happy ending (life’s too melodramatic for me to spend hours crying over Titanic and Old Yeller), i know my fair share of promising cheesy lines to believe in oneself and fight for love. loner girl here spends too much time trying to come up with original heartfelt words that aren’t too cliche. candidness is never a response i see coming; the one thing that gets me every time in reality.

my love is my first dating relationship. twenty-two and so late in the game, it’s going to take time for me to process and accept the natural ebb and flow of real dialogue that does not give me what i want to hear. eventually, hopefully i’ll truly appreciate his honesty like i say i do.

until then, if i see people break into dance moves and songs i’ll know it’s time to pinch myself awake.

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dear tomorrow

when i was a little girl, my dad and i would get into fights. i don’t even recall why anymore; my grades and outspoken attitude would disappoint him then. twelve, i wanted to talk about what i liked than be talked at for what i needed to succeed in my future. i swallowed the words instead and my dad never pried those words out. we wouldn’t talk for days. that’s when i would wait for a family function because i knew in front of family we would act like everything was okay and let go of what was eating us. i would be happy to have my dad back to joke with.

but just as easily an argument about who i wanted to be versus who he wanted me to be would render us silent for weeks. those stretches have grown longer since i’ve gone to college and graduated. i don’t know how to connect to him and he doesn’t know either.

today was a rare day i want to remember. he drove me to wegmans because i needed mixed frozen vegetables to make chicken potpie for my potluck at work tomorrow. we talked a little bit about how my work was going. mostly we hit it off talking about tv shows because we have the same taste: love and family and happy endings are simply a must. when he saw me making anchor charts for my class while playing Once Upon a Time on my work laptop, he suggested i do my work outside in the living room so i could watch the show on our large smartTV. i know he just wanted to enjoy my presence. and it did feel good to be watching a show with him that made him tear up just like me. as i shuffled around the kitchen cooking, even though it is my mother’s primary domain, i asked my dad for advice and he helped.

today we felt like father and daughter. but we didn’t get personal. that never works. when i talk about my love for writing, he only expects me to churn out a book like a machine. when i talk of my love, he is repulsed that i would date instead of being married already because despite being family, our cultures are different. when he prays to god, i pray to Love. when i bring prep work home and complain about not enough time, he uses that as an excuse to be upset when i go out to hang out with friends.

but underneath it all, he’s still my dad who only wants the best for me. i want to believe that. even if we can’t be more than tv buddies. our views may be different, but i know i inherited upholding my beliefs firmly and passionately from him.

our road is rocky. but today was nice. i want to remember today.

 

heart to heart

like cheese left out in a dish
we peek through the windows
to see my father drive away
the sign to begin chattering
my mother and i stumble over eachother’s
voices to get all we have to say out
before the key turns in the lock
and we scamper to separate corners
our voices muffled, no crumbs left
of the secrecy of being in love and
her admittance to trusting me
factors uncontrollable for father
he does not want to hear
we the mice hide our whiskers twitching
for another cheese opportunity

dear

r oasting marshmallows in the microwave
i n the night, i name my body pillow you
c an you please sing to me already?
h ome is what i am building for us
i n the tedious savings i collect from the
e xpectations i meet chipping away my soul,

i ‘m grateful for our one hour dates

l ittle deal you make of almost eighteen months
o h on the contrary, i’m giddy
v ictorious we work to be over
e ach hurdle – family, distance, schedules

y esterdays are
o ne day closer to
u nited again