Moral of the Story, Part Deux... and cont.

It was so foggy and hazy that I can barely recall all that had occurred, but I must write this down lest I forget it entirely and regret not having done so from the beginning. I feel the need to do this surely due to my own conscience and nagging sense of guilt, of my own actions, of my past; but also, in part of emotions I have been unable to express out loud. Perhaps the need to take account of the things I had done is pushing me to write in earnest after not having written for a long period. After all, the mere poems and expressions I have scribbled within the past few years have been nothing but a passing fancy, something to keep me busy on days that I needed to pick up a pen and paper. Maybe, though I think this is more likely the truth, it is my inability to express my feelings to and distrust of any one particular person that caused them to come to bear. Regardless, I must act upon the lot before I lose the courage to do so and once again retract into my former shell.
The Dream....
I found myself looking through the stained glass door, wondering what I was actually seeing on the other side of it. It was odd; I hadn’t seen a door of this kind in a very long time, and yet I remembered it so vividly it seemed as if only yesterday that I had. It never occurred to me that I was dreaming… I only wished to look through the glass with such a hope that I felt like weeping. It was almost as if I knew what I would see, but could not see it with my eyes. I could only feel the necessity to gaze intently.
When I could see through portions of that glass at last, that thing I had yearned to see and had been unable to clearly was a man, and I was at once shocked and elated. I realized whom it must be, that he had come to find me, to be with me; that he could sense that I had longed for him and finally had come. I could feel all those old emotions coming to bear; the intensity of it was overwhelming. It fluxed through my body, coursing through me quite literally from the roots of my scalp to the tips of my toes and landing squarely in the middle of my chest. I saw him there and could not move for fear that he would disappear from sight. He attempted to move closer to the door and opened it slightly, yet he could not see or reach me. Someone was holding him back from outside, just out of sight of my place inside this invisible room and would not let him go.
I tried to speak with him and found at first that all that came from me was a mutter. A mere murmur. He looked up at me and, seeing that he had at last reached his destination, smiled. Oh, that smile. It could turn me inside out in mere moments, and all he had to do was to take one look at me with those sparkling eyes, and I was hooked. It had always been so, though I had told myself that it was his playful nature that had attracted me to him. He asked if I remembered him, if I really recalled who he was since it had been so long since I had last seen him. I nodded; that was all I could do since my throat had tightened.
He beckoned that I come closer, but somehow I could not. I don’t know why I didn’t, for truth was I wanted it so badly: I wanted to leap forwards and hold him. I needed to feel him close to me, to touch his smooth skin and feel the ridges of his tight muscles under my fingertips. I longed to taste his lips on mine, to trace the edges with the tip of my tongue until we both gasped for another fleeting instance before diving back into each other. I needed it almost as much as a flower needs the sun, stretching forth its petals in the early morning light as far as it can to have it touch every last indentation and soak up the warm feeling.
Then, I also recollected how he had acted the last time I spoke with him. These were the Bad feelings, the ones I had hoped not to remember. If only he had been more attentive after I had given him so much of myself, even if in a few brief moments hidden away from the rest of the world. I had been waiting so long to show him how I truly felt, that his friendship meant more to me than any one else’s had; and, that even if it never culminated into something more, it would be a treasured memory. That somehow, after all the things we had gone through, with and without each other, when everything was said and done, ultimately we would still consider the other to be a friend. But, oh, how he had brushed me away, carelessly and with no regard to my feelings towards him. He had refused to see me, and what was worse to speak to me again. How could I forgive him?
So yet, I told him no. I felt his disappointment and withdrawal distinctly. He was so physically upset that he looked as I felt after saying it, that the tears must surely come soon, spilling to the ground and forming lonely pools before dissipating into the concrete. I did not expect this at all; I thought for a moment when he asked me to come with him, It’s a ploy, a rouse to cause me more pain and to laugh over my need to care for him. After all, wasn’t that how he had acted after our brief intimacy? He asked me why not, and before I could answer he was yanked from my sight for a moment. I dashed forward then, and suddenly saw that whomever that someone was that had been holding him seemed to be dressed in a uniform. I didn’t know at first if it was an officer of the law, or a firefighter, or military personnel. I do recall that he frantically opposed him briefly before relenting and let himself be taken.
He had finally given in to whatever was holding him back …and I didn’t want him to go. What was I thinking? After what he had done, he could just show up again in my life, feel some remorse, and I would just forgive him? I could suppose that he had given up due to the way I had behaved, or that being taken away from my sight was due to the way I had ultimately turned him down. Either way, he was being taken away from me! It was so awful; I immediately regretted what I had said, and went to follow. I realized then, that I had been scantily dressed (oh, how embarrassing!) and rushed to get clothing on....

The Moral of "The Story", Part 1:

There will always be writings that go unpublished in the conventional sense. Someone I know might read this and think it's about them... I've had many male friends in my lifetime, and ALL have sustained an injury at some point while I have known them (yes, all). This is the story I wrote that will be amongst those not going "public":

Dilemma Story (not official title)

Sometimes you find that you meet someone, whom you did not expect to meet, and there is a noticeably different attribute about that person. Something about them that grasps your attention and does not let go; you know that if you had not met, your life would be completely unbalanced.
Not necessarily that it would be worse, but nonetheless it would not be the same.

I know that I’m not the only one that has felt this way at some point or another. After all, with billions of people on the planet, I am sure that the idea has occurred to at least one other person. At least, I hope so or I'm screwed.
OK, when you take the time to consider there are possibilities and probabilities, actions that change outcomes, then you would understand that perhaps things happen the way it is supposed to; but, there is the "Way" the imagination perceives it should have been, which I find to be much more dangerous considering how many possibilities there are, and I have yet to find a way to change the present.

Oh, sorry... I should have warned you I was going to blather on like an impossible idiot, like most women I know. Sorry ladies, it's true: we go on and on when we get emotional, and we can't seem to stop ourselves from commiting heinous crimes against ourselves by punishing our souls with needless contempt...

Perhaps its all a matter of point-of-view, distorted by low-self-esteem...

Yeah… I'm sorry. That was a bit run-on and I’m sure that made about as much sense as putting a sweater on a Shetland.

Why does this have to be so complicated? Couldn't I just say that I really like someone? Is it so hard to admit that I have feelings?

Perhaps it could be that my current relationship status prevents me from being able to develop any additional outside agendas. Yes, that means "married", and I don't want to be known as a cheating wife. Oh yeah... and well, I guess it doesn't help when you like someone and they don’t feel the same. Then I guess the rest wouldn't be so bad.
Anyway, perhaps I should give some background so that my problem could be more easily explained. At least, I'll let you get to know the man I'm losing sleep over.

Of course, we need to establish that he is a friend. Not like, "Oh, honey, call me at midnight" kind; the ever popular "Are you going to eat the last piece?" kind. I called him to let him know that I was coming over to see him. We used to do that all the time, but that was when we worked together. Seeing as we hadn't been for a long time now, I figured I would take the iniative and invite myself over. He laughed, and agreed that would be great as long as if I could find it in the kindness of my heart to agree to bring him something to drink. Maybe bring something to eat, too, that would be even better.

Perfect, I thought, I had anticipated his wants. Little did I know I should have taken care of mine...

He had been working a lot of hours, sweating in the sun and getting tired, so we hadn't spent time together.

He had called me earlier that week to say he had gotten injured on the job, and that he was absolutely miserable and in pain. Except for what the beer he had been drinking staved off . So naturally, I was going to be his "cheer me up": Bringer of bright smiles, jokes, and more beer. Now that we had established the title, I was on duty.

I had been thinking that visiting would be a good idea anyway. After all, that’s what friends do, they visit each other when they want to hang out, or when someone is sick and needs some TLC and chicken soup. This was similar, I supposed; it’s an injury. Injuries are probably worse than having the flu, especially when it could possibly involve nerve damage.

Yes, I definitely need to go and visit. Maybe I can bring by pizza. After all, when you sustain a back injury, it’s hard to get around. It was really a thoughtful gesture, more to make him feel better and to help speed recovery. And this has nothing to do with the fact that I was dreaming about him…