All that talk . . . that, it seemed, was Anna, who, at least in this imaginary universe i’m living in, was put off by the fact that i had seemingly moved on, perhaps a little suddenly, from a year and a half love affair to a Swedish blond with piercing, bright blue-gray eyes. but that love affair was always muddled, to say the least, if not one sided, since she remained in a relationship with another for the entire time. So, frankly, when my body lost interest in her, is it any wonder that i should find myself relieved, as if, finally, i had broken through an impasse? What right did she have to find fault with me, when . . . or was everything still muddled? That is to say, was she finding fault, simultaneously, with both me and her boyfriend? But, even still, what right did she have to find fault with me, however unconsciously, when, for a year and a half, I did my best to convince her to leave her boyfriend in order to improve our connection?
Was she angry because she, for a moment, had considered it, and, now, seeing how seemingly easily i had moved on, she felt jilted—realizing, i suppose, that such a move, for her, and what she must’ve wanted out of life, would have been a huge mistake? But who knows if it would have been a mistake? I got tired of loving somebody that didn’t love me back—or, if she did, she, at least, wasn’t willing to make sacrifices (to her comfort level, mostly) that would have improved the connection. Or was she just being a total jerk, and, knowing full well that she never loved, and could never love me, since, as it happens, apparently she loves her boyfriend, choosing to point out that, for a time, i would have said pretty much anything to get her to close the gap, even a little, between us? I wasn’t all talk. I loved her for a year and a half—oddly enough, too, considering my overall preference for white skin, blond hair, and blue eyes.
Perhaps she was thinking . . . well, you never loved me at all—i always would have been second best to your Swedish blond, and, while it may certainly seem that way, now, it didn’t seem that way then, when, i felt compelled to woo her with line after line professing my attachment. Now, perhaps she is thinking that, well, i really do have a thing for dark women, and, to get her back for not leaving her boyfriend, i’ve chosen a Swedish blond because she’d notice, and, quite possibly, suffer, or feel some modicum of jealousy. But that’s not the case—i do have a thing for dark women, when, that is, dark women love me, but no, overall, i imagine myself, at least for now, with my Swedish blond. And i won’t apologize for that. My Swedish blond, at this time, trumps anything i felt for Anna, and whose fault is that? Is it my fault, if, deep down, i prefer blonds—but, i insist, i was sincerely smitten with this woman; if the raw physical desire wasn’t all there, that was because of the risperidone, and, more importantly, the fact that she didn’t love me. And, to top it off, it’s not like, at times, i haven’t, also, had problems getting into it with my Swedish blonde—because of beauty, and feelings inadequacy, perhaps, or, more likely, the medication, and, a general feeling that she, too, didn’t love me back.
Needless to say, over the past year and a half, Anna hadn’t simply gained weight—or, that is to say, i’d seen enough current pictures of her to realize that she didn’t look like the more flattering pictures of her so often shown on social media—but she’d changed. She’d become increasingly aware of the fact that people wanted her—and that, indeed, we, the little people, couldn’t date her, and that, even if circumstances were different, she wouldn’t date us. She, instead, would identify herself as what she believed we wanted to see, a femme fatale, something that we, in fact, couldn’t have—i’m not saying she’d change her politics—i still believed in her, but, over time, i’d come to believe that she, in fact, was a little in love with herself. But don’t let me ruin her chances at becoming president: I’m just saying that, as much as i hate republicans and the democratic elite, Anna seemed a little too focused on New York, which is the land of elites, or, at least, people that think they’re elite, instead of adapting, and taking a greater awareness of all of us—which, frankly, she would have to do, if, that is, she was going to get elected by people that distrusted city folk.
But, to be fair, I believe that Anna, indeed, had feelings for me, at least, that is, for the voice that she was speaking to, when, over time, we connected with each other, however much her communications with me overlapped with her communications with her boyfriend, such that, well, she may have never realized that she was talking to another man. So, in part, this ill will is my fault. I find myself let down—I allowed myself to believe that I had a stronger connection with Anna than i really did, when, in reality, i was so pleased to have any connection whatsoever, that i assumed that, for that to happen, well, she must love me, or would love me, too. I am, nonetheless, still using her voice, for whatever that is worth, and it should be worth something, since that is the frequency that i use to communicate with my Swedish blond—or any beautiful woman, that, for me, represents my connection to God, and, in fact, acts as God’s messenger, for the duration of our time together.