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the pain of disconnect

Just a gigantic concrete slab in the middle of a relationship. Perhaps (4 hours) a wall, maybe even the Berlin Wall (but not a piece you are allowed to touch in the Newseum). Not so much writer's block, because my mind is still stirring. I cannot find the right things to say, but the problem is thinking I need to say only the right things. What happened to talking about meaningless, yet completely worthwhile, moments in our lives. It doesn't always have to be deep, intelligent, stimulating material. Its realizing the precious moments of being within eachother's voices. Listening to her words, while at the same time knowing and picturing her exact mannerisms. Knowing that the inflection in her voice when talking about something exciting makes her spastic and talk so fast it becomes unintelligible. She can become so overwhelmingly happy that the angle made from the tilt in her head is so acute, it almost seems humanly impossible. Or when she is hungry, her eyes open wide in a way that gives them their own gravitational pull that one cannot look away. Just bringing her Shrimp Gyoza, or Croissants with blackberry jam, or Chicken McNuggets at 3 AM along with some Arrested Development settles her stomach. I would like to think that its the person that brings it to her that is settling and sometimes I believe it is. Knowing that no matter what the tantrum and no matter how difficult it is to pull her out of the fetal position in the hallway of an apartment building-- I am still able to, just by saying the word "Falafel". I sometimes even try to study around her knowing full and well I wouldn't get a single thing done. A potential source of our disconnect might be that I am too focused on my work; My attention is not squandered like it usually is because my wonderful and much needed distraction is not physically present to help detract from this monotonous and all-consuming test. Sure, she might also swing her arms at me and purse her lips in order to get my attention, but her attempts are futile. Because I haven't been able to stop paying attention to her in the first place.

It is recognizing that her anger or frustration will cause her to mess around with the belt straps of her jeans. Or search her pockets for something small, just so she can carefully, yet, meticulously rip it apart. As if it were a symbol of what she would like to do to the person standing in front of her. Making sure not to make eye contact because it hurts so bad to actually feel this way and hoping so purely that what she is feeling is only transient. Or maybe its that when she locks eyes it becomes too difficult to stay this mad, but she is too strong to let that stand in her way. She will not be victim to... feelings or emotions, what is that? Just simple observations make me fall so desperately in love with her over and over again because I feel so attached in knowing her every movement. She has this inspiring nature that makes me want to be better, but also has no shame in being vulgar when the situation calls for it. This ability to not be passive and just say what needs to be said, plain and simple, no bullshit. To an artist she might seem like a muse, but to me she is everything I am not. She opens my rationally driven, formulaic world to a different realm of understanding and makes me feel things I didn't know I even had the capacity to feel. In the words of Shakespeare, "I miss thee".

"One half of me is yours, the other half yours Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours."

-Merchant of Venice

My first entry...

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