But Teacher, I Am Trying (My Best)

It is no more out of the question for you or I to revisit where we used to be than it is for us to question what made us go our own separate ways.
And still, I look back.
I think back about the days before stress took place. I think about the feelings that come when we are young and free and nothing is so critical or so important that we have to divert our attention to anything that deviates us from our path of personal redemption.

And what does this mean?
What does it mean to be redeemed or to find redemption?
What does it mean to lose ourselves and find what was lost, enough so that we can both redefine what it means to live life or to be young again.

I say there has to be a way.
I say there has to be something out there; more than a drug or more than a special pill or a so-called mood-stabilizer. I say there has to be a secret or a method or a trick out there, which is more than just a case of smoke and mirrors.
I say there has to be a route, or a path, and so, I say there has to be a way for us to get back to our previous truths, which were never lies as much as they were misunderstood fears that perhaps you and I were on the wrong path.

I want to be very clear.
No one in this world can do what you do or be who you are to me.
No one can smile or laugh like you and because I know this, I know that no one can trigger the same receptors in me.
No one can make me feel wild or even outrageous like you.
At the same time, no one can hurt me or wound me as deeply as you.
No one can take my breath away,
No one can love me like you.
And yes, no one could hate me like you do and no one can inspire or motivate me like you because no one else in this world can be the way you are to me.

And I know . . .
People can grow tired of things like this.
much of my rambling or my outpours can be off-putting, or maybe I assume that my sentiments are the same as when two young lovers are all over each other in public places. Meanwhile, lonely onlookers who have been equipped with their own resentments watch this display and grind their teeth while thinking to themselves, “Fucking, get a room already!”
And I know . . .
I get it.
I sat alone, resentful as ever, angry and sad or mad about the elusive dreams I’ve had for as long as I can remember. No, sadly, this is true. And I saw the happy ones or the blessed ones and the people who had what I wanted yet, I was alone—and yes, I looked at them with contempt and hatred.

It is an early morning now and I am aware of myself in more ways than one.
I am amazed at the world around me. I am amazed at time and how time is disconnected from emotion and unattached to our investments.

Time moves without mercy without worry or concern of our thoughts, wants, needs, and opinions.
And beauty too . . .
I am amazed how beauty exists, even at ugly times, beauty is still beautiful, regardless to us as the beholders.

I am a dreamer. Yes. Of course, I am.
I am also hinged upon the values of time or when I regard time, I am hinged on the importance of time because in all fairness; I have no idea how much time there is left for us to make a move.

There was a morning after The Old Man died and Mom stood on the front stoop of our home.
She noticed how the traffic lights worked.
The sun came up, like clockwork.
She noticed the bread truck that came racing down the street in front of our house.
Mom was blown away by this.
She looked around and felt appalled by the fact that time did not heal, or stop, or pause for even a second.
And again, time is unemotional about these things because time keeps moving, no matter what—like a machine, detached and apart from us or how we think and feel.

Mom told me about this.
Mom mentioned how she had lost the love of her life and nothing stopped or paused for a moment of silence.
The phone still rang. The hospital processed my Father’s body and within moments, there was another person in the same bed my Old Man died in.

“How could this be?” my Mother asked.

And I?
I was driving down the FDR this morning and watching the sun come up above the frozen East River—and with New York City on my right and Long Island City on my left, my mind revolved around the resounding memories of my recent pasts, which hurt me the most—and I came to an understanding that yes, Mom was right.
No matter how we invest in someone or something, life turns and the clock ticks. Time moves, unemotionally, and as for beauty . . .

The look of the sun above The East River is equally as beautiful as when I was doing well and riding high on the financial wheel of life.

There are no blinds to shut or curtains to hide behind anymore. Now is the time to step out from the corners where I’d hide to keep my pride intact.

There is so much more for me to say and do, but yet, time does not coincide with our hopes or thoughts and no, plans are not always going to work.
I know this now.
Our assumptions are not always facts and our ideas are bound for corrections because life is going to change, right before our eyes.

I admit that I am a man in love.

I further admit that I am a man who is unaware and unsure how to handle my love or share myself in a clear or uncluttered way.
I am afraid.
I am not strong, nor tough, nor brave.
I am small in too many regards and weaker than wet paper.
At the same time, I am brave enough to dare the world by openly admitting that yes, this is me.

I have lied and cheated.
I have made my mistakes, no more or less than most in this world; and as for the blood on my hands, I understand the judge and jury who take this case are destined to meet me at my final judgment.

It is no use for me to argue or defend my position anymore because if asked again, I would gladly forfeit my post and surrender my will, if possible, so that I could hold the most beautiful woman in my arms again.

I say this because the one lesson I should have learned from my Mother is that time is not going to stop and whether we are ready, the Master of the House will come and whether we like it or not; our time together is limited.

Therefore, I surrender myself unto thee.
I give myself both fully, wholeheartedly and should you choose me (again) then I will give myself to you both faithfully and gratefully because time has shown me what loneliness is—and this is more than being by myself because I could be with a million people at once, but in the same regard, I would still be with no one if I am to be alone or without you.

I don’t mind the sneers or the rolling eyes anymore. I don’t need to please anyone else. And I don’t need the acceptance from the crowd anymore because I would much rather be like two kids on a picnic in the Big City—consumed by one another, and too absorbed with each other to realize the rest of the world is staring at us.

And do you know what?
I say let them stare.
You and I have earned the right to make the onlookers jealous.

Besides, no one has what we have
and in the end
no one ever will . . .

I promise you that.