The Art Of Letting Go

The human connection.We fall in love with the people that we connect with, not always love in a romantical sense, but in love with who they are. It’s a fucked up beautiful thing. It can be the thing that drives us or the thing that drowns us. It can be a beautiful fairy tale one minute and then a natural disaster the next. It can be found in the smell of a Magnolia on Euclid street. In the memory of a sunset on Venice Beach. And it can be lost in the blink of an eye.

It can be found in a friendship or in a relationship. It can be instant or grow with time. It can make you feel as if you are on the top of the world, or it can give you comfort in knowing that there is someone else out there that thinks you are ok.

It can be fulfilling and make you thrive while you have it, but when it is gone or taken away or ripped from you out of nowhere, it can drain your soul of the good things. If we are lucky in this life we will feel an intense love for someone at least once. Some of us never will. And, some of us will settle for what we think we deserve.

I fell in love with him because he was kind. He was giving and you could see in his eyes that no matter how out of control he could get, he was always still a giving caring person on the inside. His moral compass was stronger than mine, yet helped guide me into a better direction than I was going at the time that we met.

It was such a strong feeling that it felt as if I had been swept up in a riptide and the only way I was going to get saved is if he came along on his surfboard and rescued me. Maybe for a while he would have, he would say no, but I think he would have been my lifeguard if needed. For the short time that he was my friend, he was my anchor on the bad days, and for that I am thankful.

He was the perfect amount of bad boy mixed with an angel. His kindness was displayed everywhere and it drew me to him as if he were put on this earth to feed my soul for a short period of time. He would compliment strangers and find the beauty in the bad. He would take the Carabiner off of his luggage at the airport and give it to the lady who said her son would love it. He would fly in for my birthday weekend to see Die Antwoord. He would show me the things in myself that I needed so badly to see, yet I was afraid to look at.

He changed me. He changed me in ways that I don’t believe anyone else could have. And now, even though we no longer speak, I can look back at it and be grateful for the blessings and lessons he taught me. I have grown because of him, I have grown as a person, I have more compassion, I am no longer as reckless as I once was. Those are all better qualities to have if you ask me. Much better than what I used to offer the world.

When I met him I was so lost I wasn’t sure where I was going. I was in a relationship that had been dying for years. I was carrying around a lot of hurt and pain from things that had happened to me in the past, and I had been trying to drink them away as a pastime. I was at the peak of my rock bottom when we met, and I’m not sure if that was planned by the fates in order to save me, or if it was just bad timing.

He doesn’t know that the conversations we had helped me see the world differently. The music he sent me to listen to spoke to me as if it were the soundtrack of summer 14. The text messages, early morning selfies before surfing, the pictures of his dog, those were the things that helped me smile during a time when I didn’t really have much of substance to smile about other than the substance abuse that I was allowing to spiral out of control.

I fucked it up. I fucked it all up. And I will forever regret that. I miss him. I miss his text messages and I miss his silly sense of humor. I miss the connection with another human being that was so strong. I haven’t felt it since and I doubt I will ever feel it again. I fucked it up when he flew in for my birthday and I decided a line of coke was necessary. That was a piss poor life choice and one he didn’t want to be a part of. For that, I respect him. I no longer use that shit, and I hope that anyone that is reading this doesn’t either. It ends in nothing good.

I fucked it up when I didn’t respect the distance that was needed for him to figure out who he was and where he was going. I fucked it up when I disrespected his brother and even though that has been fixed and patched up, it hasn’t changed the silence.

And now things are different for me. I am more alert and awake to who I am. I am in touch with my life and where I am going. I have goals and dreams now instead of bottles of vodka and a straw. I have changed and I partially have him to thank for it.

The things I do now, I think twice about. I miss having him to text and talk to, but I believe he is doing ok and living his life the way he wants to, and for that I am thankful. Maybe someday it will be better. Maybe someday I will get that random text that just says “Hey” and I will say “Hey” and then I will say “thank you for all that you have taught me, and thank you for finally forgiving me for fucking up so badly”. And if that is all that we ever said to each other again, I think that would be ok.

Until then you will see him in my art, I don’t mean for it to happen, but it does. The memories and feelings come out on a canvas instead of in a letter. I will see him in the black and white checkered Vans that pass me by on the street, the surfers in Venice, and the California sunset.

Love. We don’t chose who we fall in love with. The heart really does want what the heart wants. For this heart, I would just love to have my friend back again. That's all.

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