everything is bigger than me, even stars, even dreams

Earlier this evening, I was sitting in my favorite courtyard downtown, and we have such a love/hate relationship, me and that courtyard. I love it most in the summer, when the sun is trickling down through the arching tree branches that act like a leaky roof- ineffective but beautiful nonetheless. But then I hate it most in the summer, specifically the first week of August, when it's overrun with locals and visitors and the stale sticky smell of spilled beer clashes with the terribly appetizing odor of all things fried food. & I hate it when these strangers, so foreign, trample through without recognizing an inch of the beauty in that courtyard, and yet I can't hold them responsible because you can barely see the history through the retina-burning colored tents, nor can you take your eyes off of the parade of sometimes horrifyingly clad people weaving over the bricks and around the trees and stray chairs.

I was sitting there, ignoring the pressing crowd around me, filtering through the rinse cycle in my brain. I was thinking about how I'd seen AC again today, how she'd smiled big and waved from across the street, looking dangerously cute as usual, but that's where it ended. & I was thinking about the lesbians, god they were out in droves today. Everywhere. But they weren't cute, and I was feeling disheartened as I always do when I see large groups of unattractive lesbians. It's so common, that train of thought-- "I'm going to be alone forever because the women that I find attractive are either A) horrible for me, or B) seemingly unattainable." So I started to feel pathetic for a hot minute, but then I remembered all of the options I have, like the nervous ability to transfer my skills to a different city, a different state, even a different country.

I have three friends that uprooted their lives, moved respectively to Wisconsin, Virginia/DC, and California. All three moved for professional reasons; two for jobs, one for working on her MBA. All three moved without attachments to any sort of attraction or romance. In fact, two of them moved from my area and both had dated me, at separate times (different years, actually), but neither was involved with me when she moved. The possibilities, for each of them, were limitless. They had no ties of the heart to contend with. They went, and they did. Not surprisingly, all three of them found love in the places that they moved to. They unearthed, uprooted, and discovered. My envy is tangible.

It's especially resonant now because one of those friends, the one who is currently living in California, is in town for a couple of weeks and we're planning on catching up this week. I can already hear what she's going to tell me- nothing I haven't already whispered to myself- about my job, my life, my romantic endeavors, and my unfailing like for the Obscure Object. Because we've had so many similar conversations in the past, even when she was trying to get in my pants, I can hear her tone of voice, hear the exact words she'll say. Comforting and scary. She's usually right. Sometimes I forget about how she asked me to drop everything and move to California with her. Sometimes I forget about how stubborn I can be.

The thoughts have waned now. It's one of my tragic downfalls. I write a novel in my head but can't get it out quick enough, and then it strings into pieces and disappears.

I'll see the Obscure Object tomorrow. I tried to force myself to write today, but I argued with myself. Again. Because I can't yet let go of what's in my head. Because I can't look her in the eye without feeling a porcupine scamper through my lungs. Because I don't even know what's real anymore.