Lisa, it’s not getting any better

Lisa, it’s not getting any better

Lisa, it’s not getting any better


I keep hoping, thinking that at some point my thoughts and feelings for you will wither and die. Hasn’t happened yet. Most likely, it’s because I still think of you and wander into your own world of words (your blog), or into what has been written and said over the past 9 years. It’s been 7 years since you pulled the plug and yet, I can’t get over you. I know you’ve moved on, gotten married, and are happy now. That’s good- I’d hate for both of us to be miserable. Your Lost Words come back to me, time and time again. I could probably close my eyes and recite them by heart. It’s terribly wasteful and unproductive of me to still long for you; I recognize that. But as my stress, anxiety, and generally depressed situation gets worse, I find myself taking comfort in what you wrote and how you made me feel. I once described conversing with you as “intoxicating.” And, for my own health, I should go “on the wagon” and stop drinking from the goblet of memories that never seems to get stale. But, it’s a nearly impossible task when I think that the only time I felt desired or special was the two years we were connected (re-connected). If only I could hear your voice, with that lovely accent, one more time . . .



  1. lettertohim 1 year ago

    The life you sowed for me
    I’m yet to reap or live
    Alone I breathe for you
    Alone I breathe for us.

    • The American Idiot 1 year ago

      Thanks for the feedback, lettertohim. My post, the “message in a bottle,” was cast out into the digital ocean as a way to express what cannot be said. If I don’t get the words out of my head, I’m sure to go crazy or self-immolate. that’s probably why I write a “blog” into a Word document that only I can read. That’s 166 pages of single-spaced therapy since 2012. Cheap therapy, at that. Deep down, I know the best course of action is probably to move on, get over her (Lisa), and commit myself fully to the life I have. It’s just so difficult. Like I wrote, it’s not getting any better . . .

      • Mare 8 months ago

        I feel for u brother ,why not stop wasting your life where u are living a lie will never help none ,Go to your past full fill your hearts desire turn ur day dreaming into the future what’s holding u back is there someone or something in your way now ,being unhappy at times shows a lot that only ur loved ones can See

  2. T 1 year ago

    C. Words have power to heal. Keep writing that single spaced blog to one, pain as a muse is a difficult mistress but you have a gift for those words. Whatever you write could be turned into a memoir, a novel, a sonnet, a book of prose…The best writers have lived a life of longing. Hemingway the longing of adventure. This pain isn’t trivial, it’s fuel the burning inside is your creative spirit being birthed into this world and birthing is painful buisness. Please think of reading The Artist Way.

  3. The American Idiot 1 year ago

    T, thanks for the reply. I tend to write, prodigiously, when I’m hurting. The volume of output comes from a Master’s degree in History- lots of writing and carefully crafted papers. I started writing a short story about me/Lisa/the affair a few years ago. I titled it “Mr. Happy,” as a bit of tongue-in-cheek humor. The title doesn’t refer to anything salacious (re: male productive organ), but rather it’s derived from a question I used to get often: “Are you happy?” Slipping on the mask many middle-aged men wear, I would always reply: “Yes. Maybe not 100% happy, but yes.” The shorty story is thus grounded in my real-life experiences, traveling back to1984 when I met Lisa, but then flows forward in time, to the present, and then a future realm of fantasy and “what if?” I wrote about 24 pages; but never finished it. Well, I wrote a good part of the beginning, then found the transition to fiction harder to write, so I skipped forward to write the end. There’s the dismal, sad ending and (for those folks who like Disney) an alternate happy ending. Thanks for the nudge and the advice on the book, The Artist Way. At times I wonder if I’m only prolonging the agony by writing so much. Well, maybe I’ll finish up that short story after all.

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