Monday, October 17, 2011
My Dearest Alejandro,
They say the love that lasts the longest, is the love that is never returned. It has been two years since you walked down those stairs and said goodbye. Two years since I last saw your face. Two years that I still haven't been able to get you off my mind.
Two year since this un-returned love has lasted.
It was late June 2009. I was only nineteen. Summer was just arriving as you left. We had spent the Winter in the Caribbean, soaking up the sun, and working on our tans. We fell in love. Or at least it sure felt like it. I still clearly remember sitting with you underneath the warm Caribbean night sky watching the moon trying to out beam the sun, listening to the waves fall into each others arms, and the single red rose you'd left for me that night at the foot of my bed. Alejandro, you were the closest I'd ever gotten to a fairytale and now two years later...I just don't want to give it up. Falling in love with you was easy, you made it easy...but falling out is crippling. Like making someone crawl, when they've already learned how to walk.
Guys have come and gone, and I've felt a glint of what could possibly be love, but never fully let myself get there. I sent them on their way, and forgot about them, over a few weeks time, sometimes it took longer. But you were always there, on my mind. Wondering where you were, and what you were thinking, what grand adventures you were having, and who you were having them with. Have you thought of me often? I understand if you haven't.
The biggest part of me wants you out of my mind, out of my heart, out of my bones, and I even get angry at myself thinking of you, remembering you. Missing you. Alejandro, I'm not sure there is a point to this letter, I am not writing you to ask you to come back to me, nor am I writing you telling you that I am finally moving on, I am simply writing you to tell you that I still love you, I still love you and I hate myself for it everyday. And that I miss you.
Been missing you since the second you left.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
When I was little I used to think silly things about the man I would marry, I even had a set of "guidelines" for the right man. Though now that I am older, I look back on those so called "guidelines" and can't help but laugh. Things like; he had to have the same amount of letters in his name that I had in mine. Thats N-i-c-o-l-e-t-t-e I'd think nine letters in my name, so he'd have to have nine letters in his. Or that; he'd have to have the same last name as me GOMEZ. This was because I was (and still am) proud of my last name and where it came from...and wasn't (and still am not) keen on changing my last name. And the last one I remember was sillier than ever...one day while my grandma was doing laundry the topic of middle names had come up...my uncle Louie's middle name in particular-my grandmother had told me She named him Louis Alfonso Duran. Alfonso; I thought in my little 9 year old brain...that name is so romantic, I think I'll marry it!
At 9 years old, I had it planned out...I would marry a man named Alfonso Gomez...and we would live happily ever after. Forget the amount of letters he had in his name that was too complicated! All the little details in between (like if he was a good man or educated or had the same morals) really didn't matter...I mean I was only 9!!
Since then my "guidelines" have changed
Though there is an instant I often remember; being 16 and going out on my first date, with a guy who was named Luis Gomez. He was no Alfonso Gomez, and definitely didn't have nine letters to his name but I though it funny that at 16, when hearing his last name I remembered those 9 year old"guidelines." Being twenty two now, I don't really remember too much about that time, I remember meeting him at a friends birthday party, where a friend whispered in my ear "he thinks you're cute" and me thinking "really...me?" I thought he was absolutely gorgeous. A Spanish looking kid with dirty blond hair and dark green eyes, he was dreamy even without the last name. I remember going out in his red Mustang, feeling mature cause he had his own car, meeting his mom, seeing their apartment, and all the pictures inside it...I remember going home. And to be honest I don't remember how or why we lost touch. But I remember thinking of him often, thinking I would find him again one day and marry him...so I wouldn't have to change my last name!
And of course since then, I dated other guys, and was even engaged...to a man who was neither Alfonso nor Gomez. And then just recently (years and years later) while bored on Facebook, I hit the search engine...decided to look him up...one thing about Facebook...is if you want to find just about anyone you can, because almost everyone is on there...well he wasn't. But I'd remembered his sister-who was near my age...looked her up, found her and added her, hoping to come across him. Never really said anything at all to her, until just the other day.
I saw a post that read: I thank God everyday for the blessing to have spent 18 years with my big brother, Happy Birthday Luis, I'm sure God does parties up there better than we do!
I contacted her. Found out that he passed away, in 2007. January 20th 2007 she says. I try my hardest to think of what I was doing that day...that month, that year. And I know it was so long ago that we dated and that he passed, but sadness rushes over me. And I wish there were some way I could've been there, could have changed the way things came out. Maybe I could have saved his life, I think, as if I am some sort of heroine. I wish I could've been at the funeral. Seen him one last time. The thing about that is, I can't. No matter how much I cry and weep for it, I can't. The thing about death is that no one ever knows when it is coming, no one ever knows when to step in and start appreciating the people in our lives. It just sneaks up, and then we are filled with regret.
Less than four months ago, my grandpa died, and I remember feeling the same way, thinking the same things. I wish, I wish I wish.... I wish I would've done so many things different, would have told my grandpa I loved him more often, would have came home from Mexico sooner.
But I can't.
Now, I am older. I am no longer waiting for that Alfonso Gomez to sweep me off my feet and marry me (though I still think about it) I have a new set of "guidelines" a set of twenty two year old "guidelines." Ones that are a bit more... practical, who knows if they'll stick.
Though Luis Gomez will always be a reminder of how close I almost got to those nine year old husband "guidelines"...a reminder of not taking the people in my life for granted.
So this one is for you Luis, may you rest in paradise.