I think I just fell in love

With these shoes.

Which I am NOT ALLOWED to buy, just because I need boots more than I need another pair of fabulous pumps.

*sigh* Heartbreak.

Possibilities

So it's been ages.
Here's the deal:
1. I'm engaged.
2. Wedding's in December in PR - we used the trip to get some of the big stuff taken care of. Wedding coordinator has been hired, praise the Lord!
3. We're both looking for jobs. Praying, praying, praying.
4. Yes, there are a gazillion wedding plans in my head.

That said, one of my favorite things ever is to make lists of songs that would be great first dance songs. Some are traditional, others not so much, some I'd never choose, some I'd choose if I could... Anyway, as long as I've got weddings on the brain, I figured I'd make a list of possible songs.

1. "Is This Love?" by Bob Marley

Because it's still the song that I most love for a first dance. I remember listening to it a lot while I was in Costa Rica and thinking, "This is so the song I want to dance to at my wedding."


2. "Forever" by Ben Harper

Ideal for non-dancers with its insanely slow tempo - all you have to do is sway. Plus, how sweet and sexy is it? And the lyrics! Lines like: "I won't let my forever roam" and "Give me your forever...not a day less will do" make me love this one.

3. "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds

Stinkin' adorable. That is all.

4. "Bendita la luz" by Maná

I can't even count how many times I've mentioned this song on this blog, and I still love, love, love it. Such a blessing to find those people at just the right time in just the right place. Bendita la luz, indeed.

5. "Making Memories of Us" by Keith Urban

Much more on the traditional side. Much more mushy than most of the songs I'd have chosen for myself, but still, I love it because I have an unabashed love for cheesy country songs. There. I said it.

6. "Cosa más bella" or "Più Bella Cosa" by Eros Ramazzotti

I remember listening to this song when I was, like, fourteen, on this Spanish channel (as in, from Spain) and falling in love with both Eros Ramazzotti and this song. I remember how I just LOVED the line that says "Gracias por existir"; it kinda blew my mind then and still does.

7. "Hard to Concentrate" by The Red Hot Chili Peppers

Because they're one of the few musical acts that I've loved since I was ten and because, hello, the love! Different, but still totally appropriate.

7. "Come Close" by Common

Because Common is a smart rapper, because it's romantic, because I love the idea of pulling out a little hip hop for a first dance.

8. "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" by Lauryn Hill

Classic with a twist.

10. "Amor de conuco" by Juan Luis Guerra

*Sigh* Honestly, what I most want is to walk down the aisle to this lovely little song. "Na' me tienes que ofrecer, tu mirada es lo único que quiero...." Off the charts, this one.

11. "Almas gemelas" by Gilberto Santa Rosa

How fun would it be to do a little salsa number as the first dance? And I love how it captures the idea of sharing and growing together that marriage is all about.

12. "Turn Your Lights Down Low" by Lauryn Hill and Bob Marley
Love, love, love! The sweetness! The sexy!

13. "En tus púpilas" by Shakira

I'm so glad she's been writing more songs about love that survives, because, at least in Spanish, I think she's got a great way of saying things.

14. "Refuge (When It's Cold Outside)" by John Legend

Because I can't have a list without Mr. Legend. This is, without a doubt, one of my favorite of his songs. The love!

15. "Solamente" by Fiel a la Vega

"Encontrarte es una historia que hoy deberían publicar" is just a bit too intimate, but this one - this one is lovely and abstract and perfect. It's hard to pick a favorite Fiel song or to rank them in any way, but this is one of the first ones that I fell absolutely in love with. It's those last two verses that really get me: "Rellenas mi espacio sin corazón y resurges mi idea de redención." *Sigh* Those Fiel boys get me every time!

Any other creative suggestions out there?

Mamita linda

With my beautiful mom on Mothers' Day

So I'm late on this one. I've been thinking about it since well before Mothers' Day and have been meaning to write it for a loooong time and then the end of the semester came and knocked me upside the head, and I'm only now beginning to emerge...just in time for the beginning of my summer classes. So anyway, I have cover letters to write and a gazillion pages to read, so I figured this was the perfect time to get this post out of the way.

I'm one of those women who thinks of her mother as her best friend, which is funny, because things weren't always this way. Growing up, my mom had no interest in being my friend. I had enough friends, she said, what I needed was a mother. Looking back, I'm glad for that. I had friends, good ones, but my mom needed to be something more, and she was.
She got here to the States when she was about twenty-four, following her husband, with two kids in tow: a four-year-old me and my one-year-old sister. She came without speaking the language, without knowing a soul, without knowing how many years of bitter cold she'd have to endure in this strange land. My mother is a brave woman, braver, I think, than I. I don't know that I could have handled it the way she did.
My mom learned English by watching Oprah and the news. She's the kind of woman who knows how to fake confidence, how to make herself look more secure than she is inside. She never apologized for her accent, and she wasn't afraid to speak up when she knew someone was trying to take advantage of her, of us, of anyone else.
My mother showed me strength, told me that women could do anything, let me know that I had choices. She stayed home with my sister and me, a stay-at-home-mom until we were old enough to fend for ourselves, and then home again when we moved to Germany. Once in a fit of anger, I lashed out at her, told her I'd be more than a housewife. I can't remember what the punishment was for that, but I do know that I deserved it. She stayed home, yes, but that did not make her weak, did not make her one of those silent, subservient women. There was a strength to choosing to stay home, choosing to forgo her own dreams to see her daughter's dreams fulfilled. There's a strength in sacrifice that I see now.
My mother is the type of person who will give and give and give without reservation, like her mother before her; I like to think I've inherited some of that. I remember her volunteering at my school, with a community of migrant field workers in our area, at our church. She gave her time, gave her skills, and never asked for anything in return. To this day, she works for a pittance because she loves what she does, and she translates and interprets for free because she knows someone needs to do it. She's an advocate, my mother. She's the woman people call when they don't have the words to fight for themselves, because she'll march into a bank or a store or a doctor's office with you and give someone what-for. Believe, she's a woman you'll want in your corner.
My mother flings open the doors of her home to bring people in. If you need a place to stay and you're in town, come on over. If you just want to hang out, come on over. If you need someone to listen, come on over. She'll let you in, feed you till you can barely move, and kill you with hospitality. The woman knows how to throw a get-together. And don't even get me started on her fashion! We used to tease her, my sister and I, for covering up and layering, but my gosh, she always looks polished and elegant. We have different styles - my look is a little funkier, a little more in the scoop neck/deep V territory - but we can both rock some basic pieces and have a passion for a beautiful, well-crafted shoe that is both stylish and comfortable. And best of all, she taught me how to walk in heels without lurching or looking like I'm tripping all over myself. Thank you, mom, for teaching me how to work a stiletto in comfort and with grace.
I love my mamita. Love her for being a parent, perfectly imperfect, the kind of woman who made me who I am: a well-adjusted, intelligent, passionate woman who can only hope to be half as stylish and generous as she. Even more, I love her because on this side of childhood and the self-righteous anger of my adolescence, we can be friends, women who can share victories and struggles, hopes and fears. I love that she's still in my corner, but I'm also glad to be in her's now.

havin' church

I know your deeds and your toil and perseverance, and that you cannot tolerate evil men, and you put to the test those who call themselves apostles, and they are not, and you found them to be false; and you have perseverance and have endured for My name's sake, and have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have left your first love.
Revelation 2:2-4 (NASB)

This is what they preached on this morning at church. I went to the second service, but I glanced at the notes from the first service's sermon and was struck by this:

Passionate about truth but not passionate for God.
Passionate for justice but not for God.
Passionate for purity but not for God.
Passionate for marriage but not for God.
You can hate what God hates and love what God loves and yet fail to love God.

My immediate reaction: "Gulp. Daaaaaaang...." Such a common thing for Christians. We're characterized by so many, many things. On one end of the spectrum, there's a quest for social justice and serving the poor; on the other end, there's railing against all the evils (and "evils") around us. Both are sin when it's done apart from a quest to love God fully. When we love God - really love Him - it's hard to hate the people around us, to feel that we are somehow superior to them. And, yes, I do believe that there are feelings of superiority on both ends of the aforementioned spectrum. This girl from the left can attest to that.
Anyway, it really helped me to gain some perspective.

Also, there was this song that we sang, a song which I've long loved. I was reminded of its power today when we sang it, partly because we sang it in a church where most of the members would rather speak English than Spanish, and you could still feel the emotion that swept us up. There was something beyond language that descended. I hate saying it like that, because it makes me sound all mystical, but it's the only way I can explain it. A hush fell over the room, and wow....

Renuévame, Señor Jesús, ya no quiero ser igual.
Renuévame, Señor Jesús, pon en mí tu corazón.
Porque todo lo que hay dentro de mí
necesita ser cambiado Señor.
Porque todo lo que hay dentro de mi corazón
necesita más de ti.

Stinkin' cheesy YouTube videos...

Jump and Fall

I don't fall easily; I really, really don't. I've got these walls, I'm careful with this heart, and I value my space and independence. I'm not "cariñosa" or mushy....
But when I fall, I fall hard. I've got a bit of a romantic streak deep down inside - deeeeeeeeep down inside. I don't believe in easy love or that you only fall in love once, or even that you can only love one person at a time. Love is - in my flawed and limited understanding of the subject - a messy thing that you have to choose to do, day in and day out. It's the kind of thing you have to work at and fight for. There's no fighting it; it's this almost involuntary thing, this subconcious decision - half feeling, half choice. And when it picks you up, it can sweep you under. But you have to make the choice to make it work. Does that make sense? You can love a person, love them with everything in you, and know that you can't make the relationship itself work. Not that the love will go away, just that that same love will make you choose to maintain some distance.

I've been in love. I'm still friends with the first man I ever loved, I still love him deeply, but I'm aware that our relationship won't work. I want what's best for him and that's not me.

I still hear from the only other guy I've ever loved. That love is a bit rawer, still the kind of thing that can sweep me up in its current, a little on the violent side because of a healthy dose of heartache that was thrown in by both parties. Me with my inability to express emotions, him with his indecision; fear on both sides, I guess.

This past week I've been wondering if it was worth it. There's a part of me that wonders why this heart still loves him, still thinks of him, still holds him in high esteem.... There's this song that says that you can't hide from love; it's too strong, and I kind of feel like that's the case here. Let's weigh the pros and cons, shall we?
The pros: It's mutual.
The cons: It's mutual.
Hmmm....

That sounds like it should work out, yes? But here's the thing: I don't think we'll be able to get past some issues, a few obstacles, our own fears - the usual. En fin, it's not going to work out, y eso se ve a leguas. Is it worth it? Worth it to talk about the reality of what we're feeling, the way we'd like things to be, the hopes we have?

I'm thinking it has been, and it still is. I've learned a lot and am still learning. When we finally make that decision to walk away, it'll be as wiser people. I've learned to take chances, emotional risks, say what I feel. I've been learning to surrender.
I like to think he's learned not to play it safe, that there's more to life than what he's always known, and that he needs to step it up and make decisions.

There's this song by Los Bukis (yeah, yeah, don't judge me!) that I like, and that Los Enanitos Verdes covered: "Tu cárcel". The chorus goes like this:

"Pero recuerda nadie es perfecto, y tú lo verás
tal vez mil cosas mejores vendrán, pero cariño sincero jamás.
Vete olvidando, de esto que hoy dejas
y que cambiarás
por la aventura que pronto verás
será tu cárcel y nunca saldrás"

A rough translation: "But remember, no one is perfect, and you'll see that maybe a thousand better things will come, but never sincere love. Start forgetting about this that you're leaving today, and trading in for an adventure that you'll soon see will be your prison and you'll never escape." It sounds even worse in English....
The point is, I don't believe that's how it works. I don't believe we'll walk away from one another and miss out on true love. I think we'll walk away and continue to love one another, but be better at loving the other people who come into our lives. Does that make sense? It's kind of like that Ricardo Arjona song "Reputación" - where all of their experiences have prepared them for each other.

So yes, the risk, the heartache, the confusion has been worth it: I have learned and am learning.

Mmm hmm

I love, love, love this man's music!

And his eyes, and his hair, and his stinkin' sexy voice....

And this song in particular:

"Refuge (When It's Cold Outside)" by John Legend



Of course, I love everything he does, so maybe that's not saying much.
zum Beispiel: "Show Me"
"PDA (We Just Don't Care)"

Two very different songs, but both are so smart and so good.


In other news, I am now the proud owner of a GPS system. That means I will be constantly annoyed by Lola's (that's her name) "Recalculating", but I will not need Mapquest anymore and I'll be able to figure out this area.

Brill.

She really is just freakin' brilliant....

Una más

"Una Plegaria Más (Padre Nuestro)" by Fiel a la Vega

"Y es difícil admitir un fracaso
y después venirnos a hablar de
salvación
yo sólo quiero hacer bien lo que hago
y dejarme ya de tanta conversación
Tú y yo sabemos que lo único
que queda aquí
es morir de pie..."

"And it's difficult to admit a failure
and then come here to talk about
salvation
I only want to do what I do well
and leave behind all the conversation.
You and I know that the only thing
that remains here
is to die with dignity."

Échanos tu bendición....

In the meantime

Once finals are over, my classroom is cleaned, and grades are turned in, I promise a substantial update. One that includes Obama pics and pics of the kids that made my life either so sweet or bloody hell for the past three years and possibly a C. wedding update.
Until then, there's this from my boy E. from fourth block - all grammatical and orthographic errors are copied from the original with an occasional note for clarity:

Los días, los meses, los años han pasado con gozo

Las memorias vívidas de los años
han volado en mi mente como las cenizas del
fuego de ayer.
las sonrisas, y el gozo que pasé nunca
los voy a olvidar amiga mía. Todas estas
memorias de gracia las voy a marrar [a amarrar] en el profundo
de mi corazón, como un niño amarra el globo
a la mano para que el globo nunca vuela
de su alcance. asi marraré [amarraré] las memorias amiga
querida.

Si por razón vuelas fuera del alcance, del niño
mandaré una paloma de mis recuerdos.
Si la palamo no llega a lo destinado,
mandaré un pez de mis recuerdos,
si el pez no llega a lo destinado
mandaré a .... Victor Manuelle con
los recuerdos. :)

FYI: Víctor Manuelle is my favorite salsero. E. went on to call me "Mrs. Manuelle" (they don't realize it's his middle name and not his last name, but that's okay) and to say that I am the "BEST TEACHER I'VE EVER HAD".

It makes my heart swell.

Okay, I have placement exams and final exams to grade. PEACE!

Back to hiding....

Happy Birthday!

I love my job. I really, really do.

I got to work today and as soon as I got to the planning office, I noticed roses (Colombian roses of death, but it's the thought that counts) on the table. S. informed me that one of my students - "a really pretty little girl with olive skin" - had dropped them off for me and that they'd also brought ice cream cake. I.C. dropped off some cupcakes, A.A. brought chocolates, my girl, A. brought me a gift and a card that brought tears to my eyes. I.D. brought me the kind of mildly inappropriate card that only she could bring, 1st block signed a card for me, and A.R. gave me his soccer t-shirt. As I was leaving work, my heart was full - I have some truly amazing students, not to mention that my coworkers brought three kinds of cake to choose from.

So anyway, I had to leave work relatively early (before 3! It's a miracle!) to make it to the DC United game, and as I was walking across the parking lot, I noticed four cake-shaped balloons stuck to my car. I stopped in my tracks and looked again: no, really, it was my car. I hurried over, saw the card taped to the window, the ribbons decorating it, and the "Happy Birthday" sign on the windshield. W., E., and J. had decorated my car for me and written me a little card. I remembered how I'd gotten on J. for being in the bathroom so long (I asked if he'd fallen into the toilet) and realized that he must've been out there working on that....
No sé, pero me impactó tanto que hubieran hecho eso que lloré. I seriously cried because it really touched me that they'd do something like that.

I sat in the card and thought, "THIS is what I'll miss." My hero, Mr. Barber, always used to tell us that life was all about RELATIONSHIPS. And he'd kind of bounce around as he said that word, like it was all there was to know. Relationship with God, with Christ, with one another, with people in need.... I have that at work. I have these RELATIONSHIPS, these connections. These are kids that I've invested in, that I've lost sleep for, that I've prayed for. I have felt like those moments in the classroom, after school, during passing periods have been this incredible ministry for me. And I mean that not in the preachy, overtly Evangelical sense, but rather in a way that has given so many of these kids a sense of their worth. I like to think that I gave them a reason to be proud of their heritage, of their other language, of their brown skin, of their accents.... I hope I've given them a reason to fight for what they want and some tools to do so. I hope I gave them someone with whom they could identify: young, brown, bi-cultural, bilingual, and successful.

I was reading the A2's exams and many of them (I'd had them for three years) thanked me for specific things. I was so proud reading W.'s essays: she still has a lot of errors, but there were complete sentences without a single word in English. I could just picture her working and working to get things right.... S. said something about how she learned so much about her own culture because of our class....

J. gave me an article awhile back about the lack of male African-American teachers in schools and the impact that has on African-American students. It was an interesting read, and I could see how some of these same issues translated across ethnic lines. There's a real need for minority teachers, and if they're male, so much the better. These kids are hungry for someone to tell them their own story, to give their lives academic validity, to tell them that someone like them can also make it. I've seen and heard so much from educators - good people who mean well but don't understand - we need teachers who will fight for and defend these kids, who will give a voice to the voiceless.

This took a turn that I hadn't been expecting, but I guess it's what I needed to say today. Do I think I'll go back to education? Someday. In a different capacity, perhaps, or maybe back in the classroom. Sólo Dios sabe. But I am grateful - beyond grateful - for these past three years.

The Colonel

We had my Stinky's retirement ceremony today. C, my sister, arrived as a surprise to my parents. They both cried when they saw her in the General's office before the ceremony.

My dad is amazing. Amazing. He's got this thick Puerto Rican accent, but that man gave a speech that was so brill. He talked about the importance of teamwork, about the stability of institutions that allow us to move in and out of them without losing the vision or efficiency. He talked about God, about Jesus putting everything in order for him. He talked about his small town in Puerto Rico and all the opportunities the Army has given him....



The truth is that my dad came out of nothing. He came from a poor family in a poor town, chasing Army convoys as they rattled past on PR's Ruta 1. I can imagine him running in that dust, under that sun.... And here he is, 29 years later. Nineteen stamps in his passport, medals on his chest, and the knowledge that he was both a good soldier and a good leader.

Everyone told me I had an awesome dad as if I didn't already know that. He's a good man, my Stinky. Hard-working, humble, human....

Anyway, the point is, I'm proud of him.

Just another manic Monday....

So it's been a hot minute since I've been on here. The past few weeks have been stressful and busy. I've started working on Saturdays, doing Internal Assessments for IB. The next two Saturdays will be devoted to that, as will the 29th. This is what effective teaching requires: giving up your own life. Blah....

Other than that, S was here over the weekend. He's the ex that my parents formerly hated. I say formerly because my mom thought it'd be cool if he went with us all to dinner at this Argentine restaurant, and she ended up inviting him to go to church with us the next day. My mom.... She never ceases to amaze me. Anyway, she's now a fan since she knows nothing is going on anymore. Haha.

I'm going to PR in 12 days with BK - my bestest - and I can't wait. I really need that break. Also, we will be seeing Kanye (be still my heart!) in May. Loooooove!

Finally, today should've been alright. Yeah, it was going to be stressful since I was cheated of a weekend, but it should've been okay. Bearable.

But here's the thing: Friday, I literally ran into J. in the parking lot outside the Vietnamese place. He was leaving the barber shop, I was picking up dinner. He was all nonchalant as soon as he picked his jaw up from the asphalt. Hey, what's up. I dapped him up, whatever.... Why you following me? he asked. I rolled my eyes, "Please, I'm not following you. I'm tryin' to get some food." I walked off, still on the phone, still working my walk.
Today, at the GC meeting, he said, "I gotta holla at you." I said fine, thinking it had something to do with students, with their stories, something to do with work. So I stopped by (mistake number 1) and sat down when he asked me to (mistake number 2).
He said he had three things to tell me, but that I had to wait it out and listen to all three.
Okay....
1. I'm sorry for everything.
Okay.
2. Out of respect, so you don't hear it through the rumor mill, I'm going to be a daddy.
Okay.
3. Seriously, I didn't want things to end up this way. I really thought we were going to be together forever.
What?
I thought we were going to be together forever. I mean, I thought....
Who?
You and me, he said.
I rolled my eyes. I don't believe him. I can't. He says he still can't stop thinking about me, that he dreams of me, but I can't believe him. I've worked too hard to get over him, cried too much to let this happen again, have waited so long for some semblance of healing. This man broke my heart. Crushed it. And I won't lie - I'm not totally over him. I know he's not worth it. I know I deserve better. I know he did wrong. But that doesn't change the fact that I really hoped that it would work, and what's worse, I believed it'd work. It was the first time in five years that I'd imagined myself being with someone forever. I believed in it, and I wanted it. Really wanted it.

He had a list of 100 things we should do together. He wanted me to take it, but when I saw it, it made me tear up and made my heart break a little.
Grade papers together, wash dishes, watch the sunrise, see Kanye, go to a Redskins game, watch my little sister play sports, go to school fundraisers together....
It was those little things that got to me. I couldn't keep it. I dropped it on his desk and walked away.
I gave him too many opportunities. I know this. I won't do it again, and I told him that. He called after I walked away. I didn't want to talk.
He said something - some sob story about A. and how things weren't working out. I cut him off: "That's your story. You chose it."
"You're right."

I'm a stupid girl. I HATE that. HATE that I still feel this when I know he's wrong. It's not that I'm going to turn a blind eye to everything, but that doesn't make it hurt less. I'm not going back to him, but that doesn't mean I wasn't dangerously close to falling in love with him. Things like that aren't so easily erased.

My wounds were just beginning to heal and now this. Now this.

I talked to BK about it, though. Because she gets me, because she will listen to me cry, validate my feelings, and then remind me that I'm better than this. Too good for him. He's not what you want, she said. She's right.
Goodness, I love that girl.
Don't know where I'd be without her.

Ah, and for today:


I decided to forget and mature. I will start again, I will make it. I left you in the past, you've been forgotten. I don't want to see your picture on my dresser....

...wir müssen geduldig sein...

Some things never change...

I was on the phone with an old friend today - an ex, to be exact - and it occured to me that change comes slowly.

In spite of the way things may come across in this blog, I'm not a very emotional person. I'm such a freakin' boy when it comes to feelings and tears and all that jazz. I hate crying, I hate having those conversations where you talk about how you feel, I hate that kind of vulnerability. I run from it. Seriously. And this is where what I'm thinking of comes in.

Two people like this can't have a real relationship, right? You can't have two people who don't want to discuss feelings ever work out a real relationship, can you? It might work for a while, but it will soon fall apart. I know this.

The thing is that I fell in love when I was about 19. Maybe it happened before then - I mean, I met him when I was 14, and I had a crush on him for the next three years. I confessed this to him, like, two weeks before I moved across the Atlantic. Goodness, I was young. It was ages ago; I've known him for eleven plus years.

He's still a part of my life. The only man I've ever really really loved. I'm a stupid girl, I know. Anyway, after my teenaged confession, we talked occassionally on the phone. I went off to college, and we kept talking. Only now it was something more regular. It got to the point where it was every night for hours. I was in love. He was the first man I ever said that to, the first time I meant it with everything in me, the man I thought I would marry. I was young. When we broke things off - badly, I might add - I was only twenty; he was twenty-one. It hurt to lose him.

I'll be honest, most of the break up was my fault. Yes, there were some things he could've done, but I'll take the bulk of the blame. It is what it is, and the truth is that I put that final nail in the coffin.

We didn't talk for a year. One long year. I thought about him all the time - wondered what he was doing, if he'd found someone else, if he thought of me.... When I couldn't stand it any longer, I sent him an email, gave him my phone number, told him to call me.

The miracle is that he did. And we settled back into this comfortable conversation. Not the five hours a night of yesteryear, but still considerable conversation. I remembered how much I'd loved him. I said it then, and I'll say it again: I think I'll always love him. Even if it could never work between us, there will always be a part of me that loves him.

There are things we never talk about, subjects that we hint at as we tip-toe around our vulnerabilities. I would've given everything for him. Really. Things fell apart then; they kind of imploded. Since then, we've almost confessed these residual feelings without ever really really clearing the air. I'm not going to open that can of worms and neither will he; we'd lose control of our carefully controlled emotions. When things get too intense, someone's phone magically dies or suddenly I'm interested in football, or he has things to do. We're not going to touch it.

Maybe we're still in love? Maybe it's hard to let go. Eleven years. Eleven years he's been in my life - an important part. I think about him. I think he thinks about me.

This kind of hurts my heart. I don't know what prompted me to write all this, to tell this story, except that I'm realizing how much I miss him. Five plus years later and I'm realizing how much I still miss him. Is there something wrong here? I'm sure I could write a list.

We almost talked about things today, again. Tip toed around the ruins of what once was, remembering the beauty and the pain of it. Then I tried to switch the subject to football.

He makes me painfully aware of my shortcomings, but at the same time, I want to make them better.... Cliche, I know.

Anyway, the point is that I don't know what the point of this entry is. I haven't resolved anything, though that wasn't my intention. I haven't somehow gotten over him, though that might be impossible. It's still the same confusing mess it's always been. But it's okay, I think. We'll muddle through it and come up with one of our confusing agreements.

Nur wir müssen geduldig sein... *

(I stole the title and the last line from the following song. It means "we have to be patient")