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By Tim Submitted by somedaysoon Date: 2002 Jul 02 Comment on this Work [[2002.07.02.12.04.6382]] |
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Prologue. I love Lisa. I mean, I'm not very... in touch with my emotions, you know? And I certainly don't usually say that thing-that word-about people. I like to think I don't love too many people. But I love Lisa. Platonically. Romantically. Fully. I know other kids, friends of mine that knew her for longer and better than I, and would trash her. And I'd feel stupid, like, 'yeah, if I knew her better, I would probably see those things, too.' But that's a lie. Well, obviously it's true to some extent. But no one I know was ever so amazed, so in awe of her, so... stunned by everything about her as I. They just weren't. She's everyone I want to be, every trait I consider good, every attitude I'm perplexed by (in a good way). She is constant love: When I'm near her, like osmosis, her love becomes my love. I spend a single hour around her and all my anger or cynicism is melted by the blinding heat of her... of her. Just her personality makes my eyes tear and my heart explode. Every beautifully Irish red curly hair is crying exuberant with life, tears not flowing, but splashing from my eyes just with the knowledge-however unbelievable-that she exists. And the beauty, the real wonderful part is the platonacy of it all, the purely nonromantic love I harbor for her. I feel weird, writing this, feel nervous. After all, wasn't this book supposed to be fiction? Why, then, am I talking about a real person, relating real experiences? Am I doing my friends, parents-Lisa herself-injustice by combining fiction and fact in some awful permutation of reality? I'll show you my bad sides proudly, whether you want to see them or not, like a baseball player exhibiting his nine-inch dick after a winning game, proudly waving his flaccid masculinity at all observers, proud not of his game winning save, but the instrument between his legs. By chapter two you'll despise me: and if you don't, you should. By the end you might actually like me, but it'll be clear I'm no perfect person, that I deserve all I get. So I figure that I should show you now that I have the capacity for love... and that this girl is indescribable, that I want to spend so much more time with her, I want to be her best friend, but I feel like my personality is completely below her range: I'm too sadistic, too angry, too upset to dare ask to be given any more time around such a jewel. I'm not obsessive or anything: I hardly see her, hardly think of her... but when I do think of her my heart bursts. When I heard she'd gone to a clinic, I cried for the first time since I'd left my house... my heart, my cynicism, my bad mood can't compete with her. She's the most important thing that ever did or will happen to me, and I just wanted to let it be known that I can love, that my love for her transcends school, art, friendship, romanticism, idealism, or any other bullshit, so absolute is it. And if that isn't reason-or excuse-for life... well it is. That kind of love, the heart-bursting kind, is proof as to why life is so momentous, so valuable and worth keeping. I made choices because I was looking for answers, for change. Lisa was the key to those questions, the impetus for those changes. At least, I thought she was. |