I do, often, I think about the mistakes I’ve made. I think about the sins I’ve committed and whether or not the people I love will pay for my mistakes. I think about the women I’ve loved, I still see all their faces, I remember all their laughs. Over the past year or so I’ve turned a corner with my writing, it’s become more than writing. It’s become art.
I can see the words, the paragraph, the chapter before I even write it. Creating characters with different voices and different desires has become my escape, my world. It’s not easy not being able to show your pain or sorrow to the people you love because you have to be strong for them.
“Why are you single?” Is a question I get asked more and more and I always give the same response.
“Just haven’t met the right one.”
But that’s not the answer, the answer is I’m still single because I’m terrified of bringing a woman into my life and breaking her heart. Not because I’m a cheater or user or liar but because I need her to go thru these growing pains with me. I’ll be angry and reclusive and sad and I need her to be strong enough to deal with all that, to not resent me for pushing her away but have open arms when I come back.
How can I ask any woman to do that? To swallow my pain and still love me? That’s not fair so I smile and say what needs to be said to have others smile because the truth isn’t something people really want.
They want the truth if you’ve mislead them or have used them but they don’t want the truth when they don’t know how to handle it. As I sit at my desk writing this, the sun rising, the sky calm, my eyes burning from another night of not sleeping. I wish that I was a different man, one that didn’t think about the day after tomorrow and just thought about tonight.
People think they know me, they think I write the things I write just to write them. I believe that romance and love cures lives, that the laughter and warmth of a woman is going to heal me.
Pressure bursts pipes but it also creates diamonds.
Is it fair to ask a woman that I don’t even know exists to deal with what’s in my head and heart, to deal with the massive talent and ego I posses but also deal with the temper and hate I have? I’ll be the guy that cooks and massages feet and pays bills but I’ll also be the guy that needs you to stay up with me because some nights I’m afraid to sleep for fear that I’ll wake up to news I know I can’t handle.
Men say there aren’t any good women, they’re either lame or full of shit. I’ve met dozens, I’ve went out with just as many and they want to be wives and to be there but I pushed them away for their own good. Because I knew I would just ruin them. They deserved to be happy, to not have to live with the shadow of who I am.
I have no doubt I’ll be a great writer because I wear my emotions on my sleeve and bleed those emotions on paper.
My son will be better than me if I have one. He’ll be smarter and have a father and mother that adore him. He won’t be left to figure out this hateful world for himself. My daughter will know what it’s like to see a man love a woman more than he’s ever loved himself. She’ll sit up with her mother while she’s getting ready to watch her father take her out. She’ll know what to expect from the men that will want her. I’ve sort of given up on being happy in life, if I can create a family and have my wife and children be happy I’ll be content. That’s my atonement for my sins.
Don’t mind these ramblings of a writer. Good Morning and be safe today.
Demez F. White