So there was this girl, and I already know what you're thinking. Maybe this is just another love story and maybe everyone gets their heart broken. But these paragraphs and words all add up to a time of pain and are memories of a great moment of hurt that I have experienced, my first time with hands in the dirt . So this girl, she loved lots of things, but most fully she only really cared about one thing; pancakes were her world. So much that to her, that they made the earth whirl. Not gravity or any scientific thing, but pancakes made it twirl.
Now I don't want this to seem odd, but when she smiles, her eyes gleam, and I'm left in awe. I've noticed her in some classes. Now the reason I've always sat in the back is that I’m the opposite of outspoken. My confidence must've been joking, and though for now, I'm an anonymous novelist, one day my words will hold token. And maybe mean something, to someone. Other than me. They come in waves just like the ocean. But waters are always deep shades of blue just like my mood and few things can do what she does to my heart. The rainbow through the clouds after days of rain. It's like a red hues and orange burst of courage as if only for a moment a fire sparks. I remember the first time I've ever laid eyes on her. It was in an English class in a late September.
Now if you close your mind and picture this with your eyes, you might know where I'm coming from. In the back corner of the lecture hall on the starting day, still unsure of what to say, taking in the sights with weary eyes, I was studying the scene, noting the blue tint of the painted brick that covers the walls and the yellow pendants glowing hanging like my head while the boring voice and other noise of the professor couldn't make me feel any less like the walking dead. The place smelled like cat piss that's been left on the carpet a little too long on a little too hot of day. And imagine this, suddenly the roof was gone and there was a great amount of light descending from the heavens with angels only a god had to have sent them and music by the greatest composure to ever hold a note and the angels, they held her hand down the stairway and lead the way just like a wedding day walking down the aisles, all eyes were on her and she had golden hair that went on for miles.
Okay silly, right? She opened the wooden door and went to a chair, and on her way there she looked at me and gave me a smile. It was a poetry class, and that’s exactly what she became to me. In the instant I saw her, everything seemed to click. It was like I had found the last piece to a puzzle that came up missing decades ago. In my mind, all things in life had just became right and I didn't even know her name, but I was determined to.
The professor, Mr. Finch, was saying something about our first assignment. We had to pair up and “make a friend” he called it. Then at the end of the semester, we were to turn in a poem about what we learned together. That was it. I can remember thinking about how I could breeze through this with no care in the wind, pass this class, free of any doubt by writing some lame ass poem about something he’d actually want to read. Bullshit it as usual. I know how the system works. Write. But not what you care about. Or how you really feel. Write. What they want to read. Get a good grade. Get on with life. But then I had an idea. This is my shot. There may not be another opportunity. This could be all that I’ve got. I could make a real friend and grow as a person. And I knew exactly who I wanted to get to know.
After class, I gathered my books and enough courage to walk over to the prettiest girl I've ever seen. My heart was pounding out of my chest, “Uhm, hey, I'm Jude.”
“Hi Jude. My name is Eden, nice to meet you.” She spoke with a smile and my insides melted. Her name was Eden like the most beautiful garden in all of rumored existance.
“So, uh.. Do you wanna be my partner for the semester project?” I asked, my voice shaky like a California earthquake.
“Oh. your friend?” She lightheartedly and jokingly said words while I was barely holding my composure. “I’d love to.” Eden answered with a laugh.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I spit out.
“Well, hopefully something with you. If that's why you're asking. What time works for you?” Eden replied with such nerve that all 100 billion of the neurons in my body were impressed.
“I’m free for whenever,” I mutterted.
“Sounds great. I’ll see you Tuesday,” She insisted. Then she handed me a piece of paper with a smile. I took it from her hand, folded it, and slipped it into my back pocket. I told her goodbye and returned the smile. I don't remember much else about the first day of the rest of my life.
Later in my room, I sat doing what I do best, over thinking of what could happen in the next nights. As well as coloring inside the lines trying to figure out the type of person Eden was. She could be like art or the moon and the stars. I could be a king. She could be queen. She could make my heart sing joyous melodies over a graceful beat. To her I'm probably just another seed in the garden. She was wholesome and pure. The most gorgeous girl could take over my world, and she hasn't even said a million words. And to me, she could be a symphony, beautiful as can be. She looked at me, and I forgot how to speak. It’s suddenly the blood inside of me’s rushing, and I’m losing sleep. Struggling to count sheep. Saw her in class for a week and she makes my knees weak, voice creaks and shakes and quakes. She's got me messed up.
She barely knows my name, not even my friend. But oh, I wanna be. It’s like looking at a globe, the whole world in front of me. In her eyes I could find a home, and I don't even know the color, but I know there will never be another. She already got me looking like a fool, and I know that its homework I should be doing.
On my way over to her dorm, I felt a rumble in my tummy, so I pulled my Jeep over, foot off the throttle, to get something yummy. Pulling open the door to the front. Walking into my favorite restaurant, each step stickier than the last. The opposite of awful. I got something to eat then was back on my feet. Driving in the storm, I'd finally made it back from the detour and had shown up at her dorm. We talked forever. Maybe more like three hours, but it was the best three hours of my young, not long lived, barely considered to be one, life. Well until it got replaced each night we spent together. We knew so much about each other. Or so we both thought.
After a month or so I thought I should finally let her know. I asked her if she wanted to go get food sometime. That was the worst mistake of mine. See here's the thing about her and me, we lived a love that could never be. We were too similar in almost all the right ways. But because she preferred IHop as her cup of tea, and Waffle House was more my shot of whiskey. Her and I were no longer friends. I became her enemy. She was a little too much of a straight edge and I rarely went to church. I had waffles in the morning and never starched my shirts. Things didn't really turn out in my favor. I guess I'm not one of god's favorite flavors. But I refuse to apologize for liking girls with blue eyes that sparkle. Though Eden may think that’s wrong. She just has a heart of charcoal.
I'm a bit older now and I still wouldn't want to believe it. But as I sit typing my poem for Mr. Finch, I know that my experience is something I would never unwish, I had to think about what I actually learned. I’d had to have learned something. Those months of hurt after she left me, I'd like to think I got a little better at writing. I miss Eden but not the pain.
Now it's been four months and I don't remember the way her face forms into a frown or the wrinkles from when she smiled. And I can't recall the way her bangs fell but I know it made the birds sing. I don't remember the color of her eyes exactly but i remember looking for the color in my morning coffee and in the evening cups as well.
I could never match it no matter how much I had wished to. I suppose I'd always added a little too much milk to get me through the day, and then i was left with the dark bitterness of reality by the time I went to sleep. Always a little too light or a bit too dark and the perfect shade got lost somewhere in between my memory and the time so many some weeks ago. Hell, looking back now I think hidden in the depths of brown they had some green. Not anymore than the envy I held in my heart for so long.
See she was the type of girl that spoke what she wished to, no matter what it did to you. She could have told me all the things I wanted to hear, but she didnt and thats why I’m here. No matter at the time how things had actually been, but I remember her being beautiful. Like I had saw no other girl before.
I saw her in a new light through the windows of the colorful stained glass. It shone in like God's work if there ever was one. From my views from the back of the pews, rainbow smeared and blood splattered heart of mine was one she wanted nothing to do with. Of all the novels that are old memories, i can reread metaphorically and it all comes back to me. Beautiful words for a beautiful girl.
There was a sadness in her heart. She never told me but some things don't take sentences to be understood. If there wasnt, things wouldn't have turned out this way. These things I'll always remember. When I first started writing the world away, I thought I had everything figured out but as time had passed I found myself running out of things to say because I wanted the world to stay. I don't blame her for what happened either. And I'm not mad at Eden. I don't ever think I could be. Even if I tried. Some folks have told me if a writer falls in love with you then you'll never die. She's not dead to me. But in my heart she rests peacefully. Like a cut down Evergreen. Neither of us know what could be. Flowers die, and people cry at night, and love turns into a war. Some things leave our heart sore. Some things never change. But oh, how I wish they'd stay the same. I'm still afraid to admit it too; and I think I’ll always remember her. I grew up a lot, and I think we were just a little too busy protecting our hearts with a frown and shutting people out then to open our arms with a smile and invite them in for a while. I used to hope that you saw how much you had hurt me, and I wanted you to feel sorry. But for every “hey Jude” is a “goodbye Eden” even if that's not what I wanted over time I 'll find myself okay with that.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid my eyes upon, but now that's all gone. She had me thinking I did something wrong. Ripped me apart and left me with a broken heart. I had to restart and put myself together in stormy weather, piece by piece until there was a whole new me. One she will never know. But only see not so clearly from a distance. While I'm still looking for and becoming the girl of my dreams. I guess life isn’t always as it seems or as we plan for it to be. She left as quickly as entered. Not just a jumpy plot to a not so headline story, but my walk through the muddy waters on a journey for glory. My shot at a censored boycott where I’m the mascot, dancing with my sign, chanting a battle cry of all pretty words I used to hold inside. Now just as the oceans tide, myself, once again, will rise. And fall. And I intend on learning from it all.
As I wrote the last line of my semester poem, I realised something. It's like it all finally clicked. Like the last tock of a clock way past ticking time. I wrote a story so unoriginal that the only difference is mine. I sort of understood that famous poem that we talked about in class. y’know the one by some snow bob and the spoon in the light orange forest where he makes a difference.
I never payed much attention in English class. I remember only liking it for the use of my wits, and I've been told I had a way with words. I could talk people into things and talk my way out of stuff. The good and the bad. And I'm still not too sure if I've been blessed or if I’ve cursed. I mean if you believe in that sort of thing. I guess I just gravitated towards words in the same fruitless way I gravitated toward her. But I only now see a future with one of those things. Oh she was just beautiful and lovely and all those pretty words to describe all those pretty things. But no matter how many times I say it, or how many different ways I can put it. She let stupid little things get in between everything.
I could write it as pretty as I want to but, what’s done is done. And nothing could ever change that. The dirt from the past will always get swept under the rug of fabric that is our personal timelines. Dirt from under a porch is no different than the muddy waters of our baptisms. Unfortunately, not everyone sees the beautiful things that I often see.
And the thing that keeps us apart
Isn't love or controlled by whatever's above
It’s our hearts
And that fact, tears mine into pieces and parts
Why does it have to be like this?
I always thought Love made anything possible
And that I, like a song, was kinda unstoppable.
I wonder…. Which leaves me kinda wrong.
How such blunders can separate what could be?
A true love between her and me
Everything would be at stake, that's undeniable.
It just comes down to pancakes and waffles.