I find myself thinking about Tim. He doesn’t cross my mind every day or even in any particular span of time. The thought of him swells in and out of my brain in the seconds before I fall into sleep, while I’m in the pause of waiting for a phone call or occasionally in the middle of a conversation.
I’ll see a man drive by while I’m waiting for a bus and he has particularly full cheeks, or he’s sporting a Red Sox cap, or the light catches his face in just a way that I think... maybe ... just maybe it could be him…. and my heart skips a miniature beat. I know it’s never Tim that is actually there and I’m tired of the inconstant trip back to reality. Even if it was him in that car, what would it matter? If I passed him in the street, would he stop for more than a second or so to say hello?
I felt both incredibly brave and torrentially stupid for the way I acted around him in the time that I became aware of my feelings. I knew that as long as I stayed silent my heart would break quietly but without the more intense pain of rejection. Every day that went by I thought that if he didn’t say anything to me about it that it wasn’t meant to be . He had the question of security with the only real job he’d known, a failing relationship of seemingly epic proportions and two young children he adored and saw too little of; a lovesick girl was the least of his problems.
I’ve had crushes before. In fact, I could be crowned the “Crush Queen”. Everywhere I’ve worked or become social, I’ve found some cute guy to ogle if only for the fun of it. Tim was different, Tim was an intensity that seemed to grow every day that I was around him, and not of the usual crush variety.
He wasn’t gorgeous in the classic sense of my taste, but really just an average Joe. He was a little on the chubby side and in his early thirties (older than I'm used to). He had beautiful subtleties - A SMILE I'D KILL A HOBO TO SEE ONE MORE TIME- LIGHT BLUE EYES, LIKE THE SKY - I'M SUCH A DORK BUT I COULD WRITE POETRY ABOUT THEM - DORKY POETRY - THE WAY HE POKED FUN AT ME THAT WASN'T AT ALL INSULTING - HIS SILLY LAUGH - HOW HE LAUGHS WITH LITTLE PROVOCATION - THE SOUND OF HIS VOICE -
Before I formally met him, I sat on the other side of a sort of wall and could hear him chit-chat. He was particularly obsessed with a movie about the Crusades, and I remember thinking what a dork . After a week or so, I was ushered into the seat next to him by my manager to make room for others, and I thought he’d have to be the world’s greatest guy for me to have a crush on him.
Boy, did I eat my words. I should have known to not think something like that, because a similar thing crossed my mind when I first met Ben *who was a real doofy mess in High School*.
Tim is the world’s greatest guy in my book, and should be to any woman not lobotomized. He has his dork-ish tendencies, and the intense insecurities, but if he was given half a chance at real happiness he would be untouchable. He was in a bad place in his life and I would have given anything to take that hurt away from him, a hurt that seemed tattooed across his face when he alluded to certain events. When our department split up and dispersed, it hit me like an uppercut to the gut. I would have burned the building to a cinder without a single regret, I hated that warehouse so much, but I would have stayed there until the day I died just to listen to him talk. God, I miss him. I miss him so much I have to fight myself from finding a way to see him, a way into *the Warehouse* or just the neighborhood.
I’m not sure what this entry is all about, except to give me an outlet for this painful nostalgia that haunts me every once in awhile. I'd figured that being removed from the situation would erase the whole thing from my head, as time is supposed to heal all wounds. How can that be true when I’m sitting here contemplating him? Even after most of my Ben crap has dissipated and he's merely a far away obsession, somewhere deep inside I’m still stuck on Yoda.
I’ll see a man drive by while I’m waiting for a bus and he has particularly full cheeks, or he’s sporting a Red Sox cap, or the light catches his face in just a way that I think... maybe ... just maybe it could be him…. and my heart skips a miniature beat. I know it’s never Tim that is actually there and I’m tired of the inconstant trip back to reality. Even if it was him in that car, what would it matter? If I passed him in the street, would he stop for more than a second or so to say hello?
I felt both incredibly brave and torrentially stupid for the way I acted around him in the time that I became aware of my feelings. I knew that as long as I stayed silent my heart would break quietly but without the more intense pain of rejection. Every day that went by I thought that if he didn’t say anything to me about it that it wasn’t meant to be . He had the question of security with the only real job he’d known, a failing relationship of seemingly epic proportions and two young children he adored and saw too little of; a lovesick girl was the least of his problems.
I’ve had crushes before. In fact, I could be crowned the “Crush Queen”. Everywhere I’ve worked or become social, I’ve found some cute guy to ogle if only for the fun of it. Tim was different, Tim was an intensity that seemed to grow every day that I was around him, and not of the usual crush variety.
He wasn’t gorgeous in the classic sense of my taste, but really just an average Joe. He was a little on the chubby side and in his early thirties (older than I'm used to). He had beautiful subtleties - A SMILE I'D KILL A HOBO TO SEE ONE MORE TIME- LIGHT BLUE EYES, LIKE THE SKY - I'M SUCH A DORK BUT I COULD WRITE POETRY ABOUT THEM - DORKY POETRY - THE WAY HE POKED FUN AT ME THAT WASN'T AT ALL INSULTING - HIS SILLY LAUGH - HOW HE LAUGHS WITH LITTLE PROVOCATION - THE SOUND OF HIS VOICE -
Before I formally met him, I sat on the other side of a sort of wall and could hear him chit-chat. He was particularly obsessed with a movie about the Crusades, and I remember thinking what a dork . After a week or so, I was ushered into the seat next to him by my manager to make room for others, and I thought he’d have to be the world’s greatest guy for me to have a crush on him.
Boy, did I eat my words. I should have known to not think something like that, because a similar thing crossed my mind when I first met Ben *who was a real doofy mess in High School*.
Tim is the world’s greatest guy in my book, and should be to any woman not lobotomized. He has his dork-ish tendencies, and the intense insecurities, but if he was given half a chance at real happiness he would be untouchable. He was in a bad place in his life and I would have given anything to take that hurt away from him, a hurt that seemed tattooed across his face when he alluded to certain events. When our department split up and dispersed, it hit me like an uppercut to the gut. I would have burned the building to a cinder without a single regret, I hated that warehouse so much, but I would have stayed there until the day I died just to listen to him talk. God, I miss him. I miss him so much I have to fight myself from finding a way to see him, a way into *the Warehouse* or just the neighborhood.
I’m not sure what this entry is all about, except to give me an outlet for this painful nostalgia that haunts me every once in awhile. I'd figured that being removed from the situation would erase the whole thing from my head, as time is supposed to heal all wounds. How can that be true when I’m sitting here contemplating him? Even after most of my Ben crap has dissipated and he's merely a far away obsession, somewhere deep inside I’m still stuck on Yoda.
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