Recurring (dreadful honesty)

I can't remember a time I've spent more than 20 minutes with Laura nearby since Freshman Orientation that someone in the vicinity hasn't mentioned Jane. Tonight an additional example. It is almost always harmlessly pressed, but it keeps coming up and it thusly asserts a slow poison to my consciousness.

Everyone from Trash Hall knows by now. If they're missing the connotation or the depth or the timeframe, they still have an idea of the primary idea: through highschool, I was dreadfully in love with Jane. Anyone who has followed for more than a month one of my blogs (though not the livejournal I keep to hear another voice of NIU) knows I have been battling with suppressing that love since I noticed I was leaving highschool. I can only imagine I could be successful if somehow I avoided all mention of her for a longer frame of time than three months--

but avoiding mention means not just avoiding people that might say her name, but also situations in which a similar presence presents itself. This has proven exceedingly impossible. I go maybe a month without hearing a word of her nor noticing the slightest reminder of her, but then I am blasted again with the thought. I have tried, as it ends up feeling more an obsession than an attraction, to escape the thoughts, but I cannot be successful. She is a memory that absolutely refuses to rest without recollection. I don't want to kill, to forever bury, the memory, but I realize how dangerous it is, how unhealthy it is, to spend time thinking about a girl no longer in my life.

This is painful. This is self-destructive, as it was through highschool. Because writing it, telling it, really, like this, it does seem to make more sense, like there is a pattern somewhere, like there is a reason the name or image or memory continues to pop up. Like May 28th wasn't the last time I'll see her. Like she'll reappear, if only I hold on...

and even if I don't hold on. Because through the last seven months, I have let go a number of times. I have let myself fall from my memories of her and I have consistantly landed, it has seemed, immediately where I let go. Two steps forward, one leap back.

It contains me--it entraps me. This bastard thought that maybe I was wrong, that maybe she wasn't so much afraid as not ready, and that maybe she will be ready in a little while, even though the little evidence I have heard should lead me to believe her role was a purposeful tragedy. That, eventually, maybe after I clear world 4 and 5, the real princess will finally appear, and I will be happy. Which begs the question: if she was a fake, a trick, how am I to know when the real woman shows her scene?

And the philosophy of love has been that I can't know. That I am destined to remain miserable until that gallant light ignites my reality and everything is immediately clear. Until then, I am destined to lament of the happiest stretch of months I had in my life: Junior year when I saw and talked to Jane near 5 times a week and made her smile and listened to her respond to whatever we would discuss. For those five months, I went home slowly thinking more and more confidently that she might yet love me. And then my reality crashed and my sanity shattered and my confession was replied with an uneasy and rushed voice that sounded like it expected anything but what I asked.

And I have been bitter.

Women haven't tried showing me better since then. They haven't convinced me that they aren't inherently cruel, that they can commit to ideas that aren't trivial.

This is disgusting. But, right now, this is a truth--until a woman decides to prove otherwise, this is my truth. Women are fearful creatures incapable of maintaining any faith in original creativity. Fifty years from now and I likely will still have not a slightest answer how Jane came to her decision of ignoring me because I loved her.

February is less than 40 hours away--this is right on cue.

Someone tell me.... someone try and give me an answer why I still think about a girl who ignored me, relatively (minding the thrice times I caught her outside of school and walked in front of her eyes), until after Graduation, and then only replied in the company of parties that beyed me from questioning her with concerns that are of immortal importance to my reality.

In short, someone tell me why the girl I fell in love with couldn't even reciprocate the tiniest fraction of, not even love, but /humanity/ for me after I told her I loved her.