The Heart of the Matter


Sometimes I really hate writing. Especially when it comes to how I feel. Writing humor is easy in comparison, mostly because there’s no emotion invested in making a joke. But for whatever reason, I can’t seem to stop writing about this girl. It kinda makes me wonder- is it as much a Hell for you to read it as it is for me to write it? If so, my apologies. I don’t want to sound like a broken record.


On the other hand, there are those of you who read that stuff probably think, “Wow… this guy is completely head over heels for this chick!” In which case, all I can really say is… *sigh….* yeah, I really am. And I know is it’s pointless, and stupid. Sometimes I honestly feel like her heart is surrounded by a barrier as big and tall as the great wall of China, and I’m pelting at it with spitballs.


It’s incredibly frustrating.


If I were using these words with anyone else, they would have melted a long time ago, yet this girl is worse than the iceberg that took out the friggin’ Titanic. I’ve been floundering in the chilly water ever since. Sometimes I think it would be better to just let myself drown.


The sane thing would be for me to put as much distance between myself and this person as humanly possible, but I can’t. If you’ve read everything I’ve written up to this point, you probably know why. There are very few times in life when you meet a person who just ‘gets’ you, and not only that, they affect you in a way where you become something better than you are; than you ever thought you could be. It’s like they’ve known you forever. They’re what I like to call ‘the missing piece in the puzzle’. There’s a simpler word to describe her, but I refuse to use it.


Truthfully, I don’t even know if she believes me or if she thinks I’m some sort of obsessed psychopath. There are days when I wonder that, myself. But I guess as long as I question it, I’m fine. I only wish I could resist this impulse to write about her. Like now, for instance. (Insert laugh here.)


I was talking to a friend about it one night, and she read one of my pieces, saying it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever read and how she’d wished someone would do the same for her. I said, “If I felt that way about you, I probably would.” And keep in mind, my friend is a total biscuit who just became single. Not only that, but she’s also a writer like me and the closest you’d ever get to meeting a real-life Disney Princess.


But my heart ain’t pointed in her direction. So she told me, “Unrequited love has summoned some of the best art and writing in the world!”


Like that does me any good. The last thing I want to do is spend whatever life I have left pining away for something I can never have. I’ve already wasted twenty years doing that. The only reason I was able to finally move on in the first place is because I never thought I could find what I’d lost again.


I know it’s real, because I’ve been through this before. What I felt then, I feel now. I knew it from the second I first spoke to her. Then when we met and I looked into her eyes, it was right there. I wanted it to be a false positive, I really did. I wanted to be wrong. But the second my fingers hit the keyboard, I knew it was true. It’s been fucking killing me ever since.


What makes it worse is that she loves to tell me, “I can’t give you what you want.” Which makes no sense whatsoever, because even I don’t know what the Hell I want.


Do I want her in my life? Yeah. Now that I found her, I can’t picture it without her. Do I want to be in a relationship with her? That’s a complicated question, and I don’t have an answer. My first impulse is to say, “Hell, no!” But that sounds offensive.


All I really need is her. As my friend, as my muse, my conscience, and my inspiration. I want to write for her, I want to conquer the world and hand it to her on a silver platter. I want to make her laugh, and I want to teach her everything I’ve learned. I want to be there when she needs me. I want her to be everything she yearns to be, and more. I want to help build her dream, and I want it to succeed. I mean, look at every single thing I’ve written and everything I’ve done. Do you people think I would do any of this for just anyone? Or that I could?


The plain, simple fact is, this goes beyond love, and it goes beyond a relationship. This is about fate and destiny. I may not know where any of this is going to end, but I know this is where I was meant to be. Like it or not.


I’ve always known that love is more than just holding someone’s hand and whispering romantic platitudes. It’s an intimate connection between two people who are meant for each other.


I may have my doubts, but at least I know what I’m fighting for. Maybe I got lost for a while there, but she was always there, still in my heart.


I’m not done yet, and I have miles to go before the sun sets.

Gregory B. Gonzalez

Writer at MadMikesAmerica and Anne Cohen Writes
Gregory B. Gonzalez has a column on MadMikesAmerica and is a regular Contributor on Anne Cohen Writes.

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