I wrote this for you ; (fiction)

In between breaths and paces, somewhere in the middle of an alley, I realized my tears were broken. I could not cry or weep or morn at the fact you don't want me anymore.

I told you, once upon a time, Si me quieres, no me olvides.

I just left and you've already forgotten me.

A resignation

Consider this my New York Times letter by Don Draper, in which I am officially handing in my resignation from love, dating, relationships and everything in between. It isn't a sudden notion, more one that has been looming on the horizon for years.

I'm quitting the world of false promises and empty feelings for good.

And before this gets out of hand and I become some bitter college student who thinks her opinions are the world's problems, this isn't something I've considered lightly and it's certainly not something that I'm considering with a bitter tone. I'm willfully making this decision with very little to no pain.

In fact it's probably going to be a lot less harmful this way.

Over the years I've played this game. No board, no monopoly money, no rules. And the numerous times I've sat down with my game face on, I happen to pull the same card: Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. So I'm withdrawing my playing piece.

Sometimes you have to put the games away before you can appreciate them again.

It's like that scene in The Santa Clause 2, when all of the adults at the Christmas party are given gifts representing their childhoods. They get excited.

Perhaps love is the same. You pursue it for a little while, realize you hate the game and you put it away, only to take it out years later, dust it off, and try to play again.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. 

So after an incredible losing streak, I'm putting the game into a box and tucking it into the closet. I'll forget about the existence for a little while, pursue other things, grow up. 

Focusing on yourself isn't necessarily a bad thing. 

Perhaps, in trying to turn myself into a better person, a playing board will stumble into my lap. It's incredibly doubtful, since they don't exactly have legs, but the option exists.

This isn't a lock down. This isn't a bitter declaration against love. 

This is simply a resignation, a statement that I will not engage in playing games anymore. I won't pursue a win, and I certainly won't pursue someone to play games with.

I'll let them come to me and, if the time is right, perhaps the cards will fall into play.

Why I, as a writer, hate my writing

Have you ever done something so incredibly stupid that you know damn well you will remember that moment for the rest of your life?

Welcome to every sentence of fiction that I try to write.

People always give the excuse that everyone is his/her own worst critic, which could be the truth, absolutely.  Or it could potentially be the fact that we legitimately, with every fiber of our being, dislike our work.

But that doesn't mean it's the end of the world. In fact it's probably a blessing.

Writers, artists in general, myself really. I strive to make the best out of 26 little letters, to rearrange them in a million different possible ways to try to come up with something that I, and hopefully other people, will enjoy. We aim to please ourselves, because writing for other people and attempting to please them first will, in the end, make you to hate your life.

Take this blog for instance. As I type it, I can't believe I'm about to publish it on the internet for other people to read. But does anyone actually read this fucking thing? No. Why am I publishing it? Why am I even bothering to write it? Simply because of the fact that I need something to put down my thoughts, to put down one-liners and clever quotes and places and descriptions and opinions.

I need somewhere to please myself.

Now God damn it get your mind out of the gutter.

I write for myself is all I'm trying to say. I write because I really don't have another option.

I over think, I day dream, I make things up. I can only keep so much in that in my head before I start to forget and things start to fade.

I write for myself.

With that in mind, I'm free to criticize myself.

When you imagine something that first time it's just so perfect, so right. But when you go to put it into words something doesn't fit. Something is off, one word is wrong, the names need to be changed or the setting or the speaking or the accents that you imagine in your head as you read. It isn't right.

So you redo it, you rethink it, you start to dilute it in your head, trying to get it to the way that you thought of it way back when. And you know, somewhere, that you imagined it once. You should be able to do it again. But somehow nothing will take you back to that first time. No matter how hard you try.

People, the people that weren't there when you first got an idea, will tell you that it's fine. They'll tell you that it's great, that you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. But you know, somewhere, that you can be better.

Yet no matter how hard you try, it doesn't seem like you can.

Welcome to the vicious cycle.

The road is confusing and dangerous.

Do you know how to tell if you're in the middle of nowhere?

Do you have cell service? If yes, then you're not. If no, do you have T-Mobile as a service provider? If yes, you might just be in your basement. If not, then you are probably in the middle of butt fuck nowhere.

But just to be safe, count the number of cars on the road and the seconds between houses. The fewer the cars and the larger the seconds, the more likely that you're stuck in the middle of God only knows where.

And you probably have no idea where you're going.

Your GPS doesn't work, you're shit out of a map, and there are no road signs anywhere because the only people that drive in this land before time town are the people that live there and know where they're going.

You seem to be fucked.

You know exactly where you need to be, but you have no idea how to get to that destination.

Welcome to the intersection of Love and Loss.

So many things have changed in my life over the past year that I've learned a thing or two. People that are married for 20+ years will grow apart and get divorced, only to find other people to connect with. People that you never imagined ending up together will one day be standing at the altar, while you're sitting in the church pew silently wondering how in hell (mind: you have to whisper that, since you're in church) they fell in love and you're still there without a date.

But here's a concept that I've touched on numerous times in these blog posts: People come into your life for a reason and they leave because that reason has come to a conclusion.

But here is the number one reason that someone will come into your life: To give you directions. These people will show you what happiness feels like and then they will leave. It might seem that they were only out to hurt your feelings, but that isn't true.

People will show up, teach you what Love and Happiness are, and then they will leave. And you will be sad for a while. But then when you find someone else, you will know. You will remember just what that happiness felt like, what the feeling of love felt like, and you won't question yourself.

Loss and pain exist to teach us what possession and happiness are.

Why do you think I was permanently tattooed with that quote?

There are always speed bumps that might put you out of commission for a while. You will probably run out of gas or get a flat tire at some point in your life. There will be sharp turns and twists and you will have to slow down and you will have to speed up. You will pass people and you will have accidents.

But you can't be afraid to get behind the wheel because you might get a flat tire or you might accidentally hit a fucking deer in the middle of nowhere. Deer are fucking stupid.

You can't let yourself be afraid of the "What if I get a flat tire at 4 in the morning?"

You get behind the wheel and you drive and you don't stop until you get there. Rain, sleet, stupid fucking deer, flat tires, snow storms, hurricanes, really stupid passengers abound.

The road was not meant to be easy.

But the destination. The destination is always beautiful.

Especially at sunset.