i pretend i'm a writer.


(la doleur exquise.)
the exquisite pain.

the boy, the girl.

he was 6'2 with a precarious smirk and a devilish air about him. he was hard about life, not one to believe in immature and childish eutopian philosophies about life. he wore black on his sleeves and in his heart. he walked down the magnificent mile in chicago muttering to himself about the uselessness of politics and the obnoxious population of homeless persons. "this city is full of useless trash." he proclaimed. he'd had a permanent cloud of darkness looming over him for years. he wasn't sure why. he just felt so angry and helpless. maybe it was the godlessness. maybe it was the betrayal of chicago politicians. or politicians in general. maybe it was his own loneliness. he couldn't place it. but on this particular day, he felt called to walk the "mag-mile".

then he sees her. the girl with the green hair. her tattered and torn leggings. her bright yellow plastic mini-skirt. her black sequin top. her silver 5inch knee high boots. she looked like an alien, "completely out of this world."

she bumped into him, asked him for a light, wrapped her arm up and shot a hit of heroin, right there, on the mag mile at 2pm on a monday. "who the fuck is this girl" he asks himself.

that's how they met.
the boy in black and the girl with the green hair.
that's where their story begins.

you could guess it, the twist of plot -- they fell in love.

fast forward,
the boy in black and the girl with the green hair, they're at dinner. celebrating their 3 year anniversary.

he's about to propose. his heart couldn't be more full. this is THE girl. he finally found her.
and then, her phone rings.

"hi craig, can i call you back?
i'm in the middle of a breakup dinner."

the meaning of goodbye; 6.28.09

i saw his friend's car in the parking lot and i instantly felt attacked- that fiery yellow color, boasting of the stings that lay ahead, just thirty feet in front of me. we walked into the lobby of the smokey cafe, i tried to hang out there, avoiding this inevitable crash of emotions. i poured myself a cup of coffee, in hopes of dilluting the nervous vibrations i felt hanging in the rafters above me. but my friend grabbed my arm and shoved me to the nearest table. the orange walls and grunge art did little to put me at ease. i was feeling a world of turmoil building up in my stomach. i scanned the room, hoping it'd be just a sea of strangers. but alas, i was met with that unfriendly face - the face of the.. exboyfriend.

the reminder of all things heartbreaking and earth-shattering. he had a new girl on his lap. some abercrombie blonde with empty eyes and a pretentious smile. i looked away. i'd rather jump out of a moving vehicle going 90mph on a busy chicago highway than meet eyes with him. i'd rather roll over dead in my grave than give him the validation he'd been looking for. i didn't miss him. i didn't even care. i just didn't want him at MY coffee shop. on MY turf. i thought when we split, he knew i got full rights to this place. him and his small pervvy penis were not welcome here. or in my life. i thought he knew that's what i meant when i said "goodbye."

a simple father's day story, 6.21.09

the other day, as my friend chase and i were sitting on his porch, we began talking about the roles our fathers play in our lives. how appropriate with father's day quickly approaching! i explained to chase that i felt my life would have been less complete without my dad's presence. i remember very clearly the day i told my second grade teacher that "my daddy was a superhero." it's only now, at twentytwo, that i realize just how accurate that statement was - but instead of the ability to fly, he empowered me to fly with my own wings - seizing every opportunity that came my way. and though he may never solve world hunger or find the cure for cancer, he was there every time i scraped my knee. and every time i felt my world crashing down around me, there he was, equipped with a kleenex box and an encyclopedia of reasons why i still "kicked ass."

chase's perception of his father seemed to parallel my own. he views his dad as the iconic figure that helped shape him into the man he is today. "he's the hard-working, loving, determined champion i always saw him as." he went on to say that he didn't always understand his dad's tough love, but he also mentioned that he realized that if his dad pushed him, it was because he only wanted the best for his son.

chase then paused for a long time and feeling an exacerbated silence, i asked him what was on his mind. staring out into the sunset, he takes a long deep breath and says, "how cool is it that we respect our dads so much.. especially when there are people out there that have no concept of who or what a father is?!" - and as i looked out as the blending of colors in the sky, i simply and quietly said, "you know what, chase? i think we got pretty damn lucky."


_dedicated to wolfgang ritter, my superhero.

stupid brain, stupid heart - 6.19.09

it took me forever to fall asleep last night. i tossed and turned back and forth relentlessly, mercilessly willing my brain to sleep. i tried counting sheep. i tried reading a boring book. i tried watching cnn. these desperate pleas, all to no avail. i pulled up my curtain and stared into the night sky, even at 3am, in complete darkness, i could feel its beauty. the warm summer air filling my lungs, i laid back down, closed my eyes and muttered a final plea, but again, my senses failed me. suddeny, i felt the warm summer air turn to crisp autumn air, the beautiful calm night sky suddenly filled with harsh storm clouds. a loud crash of thunder and a bright blast of lightning and then a sudden onset of torrential downpour. i started crying, finally, i found the release i had been looking for. i closed my eyes and drifted into dreamland.

when i awoke, instead of feeling calm and rested, i felt as if i had sunk even lower. i had a dream - about HIM. it's been months since i last dreamt about him and yet, there he was, plain as day. as real as he'd ever been. i woke up, reaching out for him, calling out for him, as if these last two years without him were just a bad dream. i couldn't understand why my mind revisited this painful slew of memories, but i sincerely wished it didn't. but the ever optimist in me snapped back, "maybe there's something left open. maybe you still need closure about all of this. maybe there's some lesson to gain from this.."

or maybe.. my heart just likes to fuck with me.

june 19th, 2009.

maybe it's silly but after all this time, i've kept that one little box.

after we went our separate ways, i got rid of most everything. i tore up pictures, i shredded your sweatshirt, i wanted to erase every little moment in the grand space of time that we shared. but that quaint little shoebox, filled with love notes you'd written me and stories i'd written about us, for some reason - i just could bring myself to get rid of that box. i wouldn't allow myself to completely erase the story of you and me.

and maybe it's silly, but from time to time - i thumb through that box.

i don't know why i keep going back to it. it's rather ridiculous actually. after all the hurtful words, after the backstabbing, after the "fuck you's" and the "i never want to see you again's" - after all the space and the distance.. i still hang onto little pieces of you and me. i guess maybe there's a part of me that, dare i say it, wants to believe that at one time, i was inexplicably, extremely and inconveniently happy, in love.

it's silly. but i wonder, if maybe, i lost a part of myself when i tried to get rid of you.

i've changed so much since then. you'd barely even recognize me. i'm not as carefree, i'm more quiet, reserved. i rarely make rash decisions and i'm extremely cautious, especially when it comes to my heart. i don't know. maybe it was the heartbreak. maybe it was the act of growing up. or maybe i just lost my childhood optimism. but somewhere along the way, i stopped believing that love conquers all.

a big night; may 24th, 2009.

i grabbed my sister's garmin, drove into the city i love so much, parked my car, put on another sweep of mascara, smeared on my favorite lip gloss and headed down the sidewalk towards the bar. my heart raced. "stay calm, sweetie. no big deal."

as i made my way into the bar, through the crowds of people, a guy smiled and winked at me. i barely noticed, i had too much on my mind. and soon enough, i heard that familiar voice, "hey, over here kid."

i recognized the voice instantly, connected it with that face, those eyes, that smile. i couldn't have imagined a better reunion, greeted with a big, all-encompassing hug. the kind i'd missed so much. further into the night, a few drinks down and laughs all around, he reminded me of the text he'd sent the night before. "oh kid, i heart you." it sprawled across my cell phone screen that previous night. in true fashion, he quickly made an excuse, blamed the alcohol, apologized for his ridiculous behavior and just like old times, my heart sank.

i don't know what i expected to happen. we live in different states, in different worlds. and i knew it driving home that night - we're just friends. we've always been just exactly that. friends. friends that float in and out of each other's lives. we're good at that. and maybe that's how it should stay.

so i said goodbye to him, wished him a safe ride home and decided to move on with the rest of my life -- life's too short to waste on a story that might have been.

may 1, 2009.

you're asking if i'm okay?
well, am i?
no, not at all.
i'm just supposed to brush it off,
pretend like i don't care,
say it doesn't matter,
say it doesn't hurt,
you gave up and walked away
and now, i'm the one left behind,
left with all the pieces.
you say you want to be friends?
well i can't do that.
i can't sit here and pretend to feel
any less than i do.
your feelings change,
but i can't help mine.
i can't walk away like you do.
i'm just not as good at it.

the beginning of goodbye, april 26th 2009

i felt it in the silence between us that night, hovering over us like a dark storm cloud, warning me of the sadness about to unfurl. i felt it in every electrically dead moment. the distance in your voice when you'd break the silence, the cold rigor mortis in your hand when you reached for mine - the things that once made my heart race now just felt like the motions of a young couple falling out of love. it cut even deeper with every empty look emanating from your eyes. you felt so far away from me, farther than you'd ever been before and i could feel the tears welling up from inside of me. i tried to ignore it, but my stomach started churning and my head started throbbing and i knew, in that moment, there wasn't anything i could do to stop it. i was helpless.

but nonetheless, we carried out our duties as a couple still in love: a nice dinner, a night at the movies, a quick endearing kiss in the parking lot - i had almost begun ot think that maybe i was overreacting; maybe we could salvage things. we loved each other, after all and love conquers all - or so i've been told. but on the way back to your apartment, i still felt the space growing between us and all of my doubts resurfaced. the silence in the car was deafening. i sat there, analyzing every little detail since we first met, trying to figure out how we got to this place, but nothing added up. and overnight it seems, we turned into strangers. i was still trying to fight back the tears but they just kept on coming, a faucet left on, showing no signs of stopping. every second was exhausting, painful even. i was struggling, trying to find some air. i sat, trying to memorize my surroundings, trying to focus on anything but how i felt.

you offered me your hand and instead of finding comfort, i felt that if i moved the slightest inch, it'd all come crashing down. so i held my breath, closed my eyes and just told you i'd be fine and i almost believed it.

the day in the purple-gray room, may 20th 2009.

i sat in the purple-gray waiting room filling out form after form. last name, first name, middle initial, street address, city, state, zip code, phone number, birth date, social security number - all of it seemed pretty standard. but about six pages in, halfway down the orange paper, the redundancy of filling out forms subsided and the reality of my current situation began to hit me like a thousand screeching bullets.

"is this your first pregnancy?"
"is this your first abortion?"
"have you taken time to consider all of your options?"
"what is your relationship with the father of the baby?"

all of these questions staring back at me, all at once and suddenly, i became short of breath. the warm beige tones the room was decorated in seemed so sarcastic to me; a fake illusion of serenity and peace of mind while you're sitting in a waiting room, amongst a long line of women, who've made the same mistake, ignored the advice to use protection and ended up with child. all of were waiting for the same thing - the operation to remove us of our guilt and clean our slates. one lone woman in her designer business suit, briefcase by her side, blackberry in hand. one scared teenager in a band t-shirt and sweatpants, clinging to the solace of her ipod. and one couple, about college-aged, looking somewhat paralyzed from the previous night's party and then there's me and steve. all of us with different backgrounds, different reasons, different motives but one common purpose on this day, in this waiting room, they've gathered us all together, as if to shake a fist and point a finger, scream at us for our lifestyle choices, our behaviors. I hear their screams ringing in my ears as I check off the boxes one by one.

"yes, this is my first pregnancy." one voice screams out, "SLUT!"
"yes, this is my first abortion." another one shrills, "IRRESPONSIBLE!"
"yes, all other options were exasperated." one more, "HARLET!"
"the father and i were dating, now we're not." "SKANK!"
"yes, i still want to go through with the procedure."
and the loudest accusation of all, "MURDERER!"

i felt it being played over and over again into my ear, i looked around the room for some comfort, a nod of approval, something, anything from my fellow murderers. but they were all wrapped up in the same moment as me. all of us wondering, searching, hoping we were making the right choice. we were all lost little children facing the task of caring for another child and feeling inadequate. i kept scanning the room for something to jolt me out of this feeling and then another couple appeared in my line of vision. they'd just returned from the ultrasound room, her fingers clutching a dark, blotchy square of paper. she sat down in one the purple-gray chairs and began sobbing. i wanted to run over to her, tell her she wasn't alone, that i felt it too. but the guy she was with beat me to it. he lovingly put his arms around her, whispered a few words into her ear and as she looked up at him, she saw his endearing smile and she knew instantly, she wasn't alone. she didn't need me to reach out to her in our time of need, she had him. they pulled in for another long embrace and her tears subsided. my eyes rolled back down to my forms and i suddenly felt of a rush of loneliness stir inside me. my gaze slowly moved to the chair beside me. in it, a shaggy brown mohawk, calm brown eyes and a boyfish figure. i suddenly remembered i too had someone with me - someone to comfort me, someone to remind me that i had hope and as i gazed at his face, i saw him, texting someone about a party later, completely ignoring me. i had forgotten for just a split-second that we weren't together anymore, that he had ended things three weeks previous, and that i had a broken heart as well as his baby in my body. it was in that instant i realized i would be completely alone in this pregnancy, just like i was in our entire relationship. there would be no loving embraces, no endearing kisses nor any encouraging words shared between us. there were no more doubts and no more second guesses about what i was doing. steve wasn't there to comfort me, he was just there to make sure i went through with it and pretend like he was the good, comforting guy that he wasn't -- and with one final form: name, address, birth date, phone number and signature, i decided i wanted to move on from the pain that was the short story of steve and i.

april 18th, 2009.

he walks through the crowd. red shirt. dark wash designer jeans. short brown hair. piercing green eyes. you think you could read him so easily - but he's more than just a whitened smile and cookie cutter looks. he's got an allure most guys would kill for and most girls drool over. you'd never guess but he pays no attention to that stuff. another wink is just another wink. he's got the world at his fingertips but he couldn't care less. he's been through a world of pain that you can't even imagine - in fact, don't even try. he's mostly quiet but once in a while he'll speak his mind through pained, thought-provoking sighs. he'd probably be one of the chosen few the would change the world. maybe so, maybe so but we'll never know. a bullet to his head became his fate the day he realized, "the view through designer sunglasses doesn't change the fact that the world is shit."

april 4th, 2009.

he looked me right in the eyes, upset - waiting for me to erase the previous moment. i wanted to give him something, anything. but there was nothing left to give. i wanted so badly to lie to him, to tell him that i trusted him, tell him that i loved him, tell him that our love could survive anything, that it would last forever. i wanted to tell him these things so badly. but instead, i sat there. i watched the snow collect on the ground outside. i wished he'd just make a joke and forget all about it.

the couple, november 2009.

part one.
he's got a black hat on.
burning eyes and a grimace to match.
he's trying to be someone he's not.
maybe he's a jazz player,
maybe he's the next frank sinatra
or maybe he's just trying to run from something
he wants to forget.

with the bright lights,
loud music busting through the speakers,
filled with whiskey, rum and cocaine,
he's out to lose himself tonight
because nothing makes sense since she left.

part two.
she's in the club tonight.
working that red satin number,
the one that drives all the boys wild.
with all eyes on her,
she's the one in control tonight.

his skin on her skin, she keeps dancing for this stranger,
makes him believe he's her number one
she's gotten good at this game,
one more shot down, she's out to lose herself tonight
because nothing feels right since he fucked that whore.

part three.
love's just a game -
so they turn the other way,
filling themselves up with things that leave them numb
they'd rather feel nothing at all
than remember the pain of loss.

part four.
the party keeps raging on,
with the disco ball glittering
and wine glasses filled to the brink,
she grabs the vodka and suddenly those voices surround her,
they're all ringing in empty tones.

for this stranger, she keeps on dancing,
losing herself in the music.
maybe it's the vodka or the acid,
but suddenly she remembers his face.
she hates it. she misses it. she can't decide.

part five.
there's a crash of a cymbal and
a hard pound of the drums
and suddenly he can't stop himself from screaming out her name.

the city is alive tonight
but all he feels is death inside
he's tried to run so many times,
but no matter how many roads or how strong the drug,
she's with him wherever he goes.

part six.
her shift is over, she's walking out now
the cold air hits her like a knife,
the vodka's wearing out
and she's feeling the loss.
one more line of cocaine, just one more.

she's looking for something, anything to fill his hole.

part seven.
they're both inside now, two different apartments,
two different lives, so intertwined.
they're left with the loss and the pain,
and no matter how many flings or how many drugs,
they're with each other wherever they go.

all that envelops them is the darkness
and the silence of the telephone is the only sound.

this is me, this is my heart.

after much contemplation, i've officially decided to let all of you in on my heart.
i am a thinker, romantic, dreamer and philosopher all wrapped up into one being.
so here. this is me, this is my heart, spilled out on pages before you.

i hope you enjoy this,
this attempt at tearing down the walls.

always, tiff.