Opening Pandora's Box

It was still night at Nathan's parent's house in Clearlake. 3:15am. Nathan laid on the other sofa in the living room. Thoughts must've flooded into my dreams within several minutes of settling my head down. I don't know how, but I was thinking about the episode in Friends, where Chandler's dating Joey's ex girlfriend, and as Chandler walks into her apartment, he finds the pants of another man flung over a chair. I just can't take it. Those thoughts. The idea of another man with someone you want, someone you once had. I try to tell myself, it's a universal piece of living, how everyone has sex and I just got to get over the fact that people move on.

It's unfair how many thoughts can loom the breath of oneitis. The eager pointy thought cutting you open. How Pais is gone. How Megan's gone. How many others are gone. It's the curse of being a pick up artist. To know that someone is listening to their soft pulsing breaths. Pressing their thumbs across her damp breathing skin. Stretching her naked legs. Opening her. And taking her, over and over. And her enjoying it. That's where I'm stuck. I'm stuck realizing the acute inevitable. Because I failed. Because I wanted to be with her, and I can't. And I tried. I really really tried. I tried to be who I wanted to be, I tried to be who I already am. And the more I tried, the more I still have to move on, meet women, lose women, and deal with the inevitable thought that one day, she'll be gone, and I'll wake up at 3:15 in the morning, hating myself for trying.