So many things to say
Some things are best left unsaid. And having said that, yesterday was my birthday. It wasn’t the worst, but it was certainly uncomfortable
Bill and I, with Mike, went down to Long Branch, New Jersey, to the beach; both of them were broke, meaning no money. Not that I paid for everything, except for Bill paying for my tickets, I paid for Mike’s ticket. Bill felt bad, and it was a bit morose because of that fact. Mike was basically uncommunicative most of the day, which is standard, which doesn’t make him a good person to hang out with, since he hangs out with his phone, which is what he’s prone to do
But no effort and no words were said about contributing to the cost of what I was doing that day, yesterday. I even made the same joke twice, which landed the same way, meaning it died. I told Bill that if I stayed in Hoboken, I would have been on the 988 crisis hotline all day, and that was received with stone faces
Bill is planning on making up for the lack of money, and another date Mike is not saying anything like that. If he had said Hey, listen, I don’t have any money, but I can do this, I can do that but he didn’t. He looked at his phone. He did buy himself a cookie, whereas I would have said Hey, I know it’s not a birthday cake, but I got you a cookie that would have meant something. But when thinking only of oneself, no one else comes into the picture
There are so many things I want to say I’m not going to, cuz if I said them, Mike would not take them well, but I’m at my wits’ end. Part of me wants to maintain the friendship, which would require me not saying anything and letting it die, meaning my feelings, but it’s getting difficult to be his friend, especially since he has rejected any physicality with me, which was the basic basis of our relationship. Without that, what do we have?
This was brought up weeks ago, and here it is again, and yesterday I couldn’t help but feel that I’m just an ATM, and that’s no fun. I recall being friends with Julio back in the day, and he had money, and I did not, and I’d ask him for money, and he wouldn’t give it to me, which taught me a lesson. And I did the exact opposite of that with Mike. And now I sort of regret it, or not sort of, but actually.
Now I have just left the supermarket for my Saturday chores, and I’m going to go home and do my laundry and possibly Mike’s laundry. Last night I asked him when he was leaving, and he said Sunday, and I said Why Sunday?
Later, when Bill went to sleep, Mike asked Do you want me to leave and I said no. But I know that if he leaves, my life will get somewhat better because it’s too painful to be around him, and he’s oblivious since he’s looking at his phone all the time
I am planning on taking a break from social media. It might be today, at least at the end of the day, but it’s been a real downer lately, and it’s affecting me in ways that are most unpleasant, and also keeping in mind that social media is how I met Mike, and look where we are now.
A talk was had. Heated on his part, Mike, for he has a temper that rises since he uses words rather than fists or weapons. It’s ended. Any type of physical relations is gone. We do want to remain friends, but realize time apart is what’s best.
Mike mentioned yesterday that he wrote a play. It was the first I had heard of it, though Mike insisted that he had mentioned that before and that I had forgotten. I disagree. I remember Mike reciting a poem over the phone that he wrote, which was powerful, and I would definitely not forget something I would consider greater than a poem, a play.
He does not have a copy of the play; it was lost in a flood. He says he has it all in his head, and I told him to write it down, put pen to paper. Bill is willing to type out his dictation.
Bill and I talked on the phone just now for over an hour. It was all about Mike. I feel what has happened between me and Mike has made the bond between me & Bill that much stronger and has forced us to have a discussion about things.
We both agree that we see talent in Mike, but he lacks discipline. Bill has the discipline to study his lines for a play, and I write at least 500 words five times a week. Mike doesn’t have the discipline.
He says he wants a relationship like the one Bill and I have. I want that for him, too. I knew he would leave eventually, at least the bedroom, and I want him to have what I have. I thought I could work something out between the three of us, but obviously, I was the only one thinking like that.
a Google Gemini rewrite as a Maya Angelou essay
There are so many things to say, but some things are best left unsaid. This truth settled heavy in my heart yesterday, on the very day of my birth. It was not the worst of days, no, but a day cloaked in a discomfort that clung to me like a shroud.
Bill and I, with our friend Mike, journeyed to the shore at Long Branch, New Jersey. A pilgrimage of sorts, but one undertaken with hollow pockets. Both men were broke, a fact that weighed down the morning’s bright promise. Bill, bless his heart, found a way to pay for my tickets, though a shadow of moroseness still followed him. As for Mike, I covered his fare, a gesture of friendship I now find myself examining in a different light. He drifted through the day, a ghost in our company, his attention tethered to a small screen in his hand. No words of thanks, no promise of future repayment. My lighthearted jokes, meant to puncture the gloom, fell flat against their stone faces. I told them I would’ve been on the 988 crisis hotline all day if I had stayed home. The joke, like the rest, died a quiet, unremarked-upon death.
Bill, with his good intentions, has pledged to make things right. Mike, however, offers nothing but his quiet, self-absorbed silence. He did not say, “I have no money, but I can do this or that.” He simply stared at his phone. He did buy himself a cookie, a small act that made a canyon of a difference. A simple, “I know it’s not a birthday cake, but I got you a cookie,” would have been a small bridge. But when one’s world is contained within the narrow confines of the self, others become mere figures in the distance, their needs invisible.
My heart is full of words that I cannot speak. If I let them loose, our friendship would shatter, and I have held on to that fragile bond for so long. Yet, the price of silence is becoming too high. It is difficult to remain a friend to a man who has rejected the very foundation of our relationship, the shared physicality that once defined us. This truth came to light weeks ago, and yesterday it returned, a cruel and bitter lesson. I felt like an ATM, a machine from which one could extract something and then walk away. I remember a long time ago, a friend of mine, Julio, who had money while I had none. I asked him for some, and he refused. It was a hard lesson, but it taught me something about self-reliance. And here I am, having done the exact opposite with Mike, and I regret it more than I can say.
This morning, I returned from the supermarket, the weight of my chores upon me. I will do my own laundry, and perhaps his as well. Last night I asked him when he was leaving, and he said “Sunday.” “Why Sunday?” I asked, and later, when Bill had gone to sleep, Mike asked, “Do you want me to leave?” And I said “no.” But the truth is, my life would be better if he did. It is too painful to be around him, a man so oblivious to the world outside his own.
A break from social media feels necessary. It has become a drain on my spirit, a source of profound unhappiness. I met Mike there, and look where we are now. The journey has been a long one, and it has finally reached its end. We had a talk, a heated one on his part, for his temper flares with words, not fists. Our physical bond is gone. We wish to remain friends, but we both know that time apart is the only way forward.
He told me yesterday he wrote a play, a fact I had never heard before. He insisted he had mentioned it, that I had forgotten, but I know I would not forget a thing like that. I remembered his poem, a powerful work that I would never forget. The play, he says, was lost in a flood. He holds it all in his head, and I told him to write it down. To put pen to paper. Bill has even offered to help.
Bill and I talked for over an hour. About Mike. The bond between us has grown stronger, forged in the heat of this conversation. We both see the talent in Mike, but we also see his lack of discipline. Bill studies his lines, and I write 500 words five times a week. Mike has none of that. He says he wants the relationship Bill and I have, and I want that for him, too. I always knew he would eventually leave, at least from the bedroom. I want him to find the peace and partnership I have. I had hoped to find a way to make it work for the three of us, but I was the only one who believed it could be so.