Am I ever going to get over her?

I’m slightly terrified. As some of you may already know (especially if you know me personally), I come to the local coffee shop, Buon Giorno, just about every day. It’s become a habit. When I have nothing to do, I go to Buon Giorno. After school, if there’s no theatre work to be done, Buon Giorno.
But I realized something.
I thought back to before this addiction had manifested. To why I began coming here so often. First, I was introduced to this lovely place by a girl with whom I was infatuated at the time who, appropriately, works here now. But after that initial visit and a few proceeding visits, I completely stopped coming. Maybe it was because I was horribly busy, maybe it was because I couldn’t stand the thought of Jessi, the aforementioned girl, maybe some other reason.
When I started coming back here, was, coincidentally, when Caitlyn and I had our falling out. It seems that in a desperate attempt to rekindle our relationship, I began revisiting places that I knew were of her interest. She’d spoken to me of Buon Giorno before, but we had never been there together. Forever ago, she mentioned that she missed the easier days, when she and her friends would go there just to hang out.
Is that why I began coming here again? In a pitiful attempt just to see her again?
That should be odd, since the last time I saw her, I turned white as a sheet and nearly vomited. I don’t think she knows about that day.
It’s been so long. Why aren’t my feelings gone? What am I holding on to?
How do I let go? 

I’ve decided this today. I want to move to L.A. with the Miller sisters. We’ll live in an apartment together and I’ll pursue an apprenticeship in Scenic Design while auditioning for whatever I can. 

I got my job in the autumn of 2027, shortly after I graduated with a degree in psychology. Considering that’s what virtually everyone thought was interesting, that’s what the all majored in, and consequently, there were no practicing jobs for someone with a Master’s degree. The story of how I got the job isn’t too terribly interesting; I’d remembered a Grief Officer coming to my home as a child to inform my mom of my older brother’s passing. I was five years old at the time, so of course she sheltered me and told me nothing of the man in the black blazer that had knocked on our door and made my mother cry. I later in life put two and two together and got the very sad four out of it. But something about that man sparked an interest in me that never quite manifested itself until I decided that there was nothing else that I’d rather do. I’d already been through a rigorous psychology major, so I knew, well enough, how people ticked. I figured why not discover first-hand how people deal with death.
So I went to the police station and got a job as a Grief Officer. Surprisingly enough, there were an abundance of open positions in the latter. I was soon to learn why.

(To be cont., but I’m going to enjoy my cappuccino now.)  

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I just thought I’d let her know.

I should write a story soon. When I wake up, in fact. It will be about a beach, and that beach will be very cold, because that is the absolute best kind of beach there is. It will be about finding myself (or the narrator’s self). Thanks to Grace for the idea/inspiration.

I wish I understood why human nature pressures us to pursue things, specifically people, that are harder to get than others. Is it that we like the challenge? Then again, that wouldn’t make much sense, because I, and many I know, do not like a challenge. We take classes that we hope and think will be easy, and we all enjoy an exam that we can ace with minimal effort. We appreciate premade cookie dough, rather than having to mix the batter ourselves. We enjoy the convenience of the internet rather than challenging our brains to remember something, and who doesn’t love a calculator every now and then? You would think that, by this logic, men would go after women (and vice versa) that are of no challenge in the chase, so it is called; that we would rather go after people that were notoriously easy, rather than wanting someone who was in a relationship or someone who was not interested at all. Sure, some of us many prefer to go after the skanks, and some of us like trying to do long division in our heads. I am not one of these people, I have found. Instead, I often find myself the most attracted to those who I cannot have. 
My current crush, for instance. I know that she doesn’t have interest in me. Maybe not even the slightest bit. Yet I’m still so strongly drawn to her. Maybe it’s just that I like her that much — or maybe it is indeed the fact that she is such a hard catch, so to speak, that I feel inclined to chase after her. This all reminds me very much of a quote from The Dark Knight, where Heath Ledger’s Joker says, “I’m like a dog, chasing a car. I wouldn’t know what to do if I actually caught one, I just… do.”

I wish that I didn’t like her as much as I did. I think about her far too much, and I’m not sure she has any idea. 

I’m in Galveston once more. I was here around this time last year.
If only I’d known. If only I’d known what the coming year had in store.
January 1st of 2011 was the first time I had ever kissed someone at midnight of the new year. It was Caitlyn, and we had both toasted (with our sparkling apple juice, of course), “To the best year of our lives so far.”
Back up a little. It was the beginning of December, and I was, as I am now, surrounded by the sea on a run down but pleasant island. It was then that I began to fall into a spiraling abyss of love and hate that I’ve still yet to pull myself out of. She had shown me a song called “Home” by Edward Sharp and the Magnetic Zeroes. I listened to it again, and again. It was while I was listening to that song that I thought there was a chance that this relationship, the one that was going to inevitably become me, would be like no other.
She has more than broken my heart. After you abuse something so fragile enough times it eventually becomes powder, irreconcilable residue, dust, worthless, and hopelessly lost. It is this that she has done to me.
Do I doubt that I’ll ever get over her, no. But as of now, I am still lost. I am still a vagabondish lover, traveling from noncommittal relationship to noncommittal relationship, with no destination in sight. And as for no, I’ve no idea what form my salvation may come in. Time, perhaps. But I’ve a better idea… A dream, wild and unrealistic, but… I can’t help but think it somehow tangible.

You won’t admit it and you won’t tell me what I did but for some reason, the things I do, the things you say you want, bother you so much. You say they don’t but I know they do. I know why today was so weird for you. I just wish you would let me help.