Tag Archives: chicago

Cheery Chicago Chances

November twentieth, two thousand and nine. the first day your suckling, sanitary speaker stood up and soared. Destination Chicago, the Windy City, that was not so windy at all. just frigid. Coming from California, the cantankerous yet cool atmosphere of Chicago was a marvel in my eyes. my sheltered, solitary eyes, seeing nothing past the sunny state of California. Subways, schools, and timid psychopaths, fill the city, and the psychopaths, courteous enough to roam at night. a feeling of artic exploration came upon me as exacerbated by my thinner-than-sane attire. my only sense of safety, and warmth, came in a package that was five foot three, and barely a hundred pounds, ready to catch me in her arms as soon as my trembling right foot met the famous O’Hare airport for the very first time.

Simply surreal sights were seen still striding along state street through the smell of stale cigarettes and the endless storm of footsteps. If i had ever a thought about population control, it was there, in that moment as i squeezed by a flurry of students and tourists carrying a vintage brown leather suitcase big enough to stuff myself into. wheels. that’s what i needed. i could have opted for a more economical lightweight suitcase, but i felt the occasion necessary for me to exemplify my fetish with old brown leather, tagging this occasion as a special occasion. And what a special occasion it was. i’d left the eagle’s nest i refer to as Alhambra so that i may seek and destroy on my own. but i did no seeking nor destroying in chicago, no, it was a reconaissance mission that had one parameter. to not let go of the hand of my five foot three lifeline.

if i had never taken the chance of venturing to that city, i would have never realized how hungry my soul actually was. that city with a life of it’s own, shared itself with me and gave me kisses everytime i ran my fingers along it’s walls. i touched that city carefully, meticulously with my hands and my eyes, and savored the feeling of my dark brown locks freezing everytime i crossed a street. frankly, i’m surprised i didn’t run around the city at full speed, jumping and twirling at every street corner. i behaved.

the feeling of love fought the feeling of icicles for a throne on my face, but both feelings ended up sharing it. though sometimes it seemed that love was the victor because everytime i looked downward, my five foot three lifeline would flank my face with the warmest kisses you’ve ever felt. the lovliest of kisses ever reported on Michigan ave.

Hurrying to the horse carriage, we heaved ourselves whole-heartedly inside, and hampered ourselves with the blankets. we trekked through side-streets to teeter away from the thanksgiving crowd. before the befuddled horses brought us back to base, i borrowed a tiny box from the brown jacket i wore. inside that tiny box was a gold ring that belonged to only one finger. my lifeline’s finger. specifically her cold left ring finger. i proposed a proposition that purely put my pounding heart in pursuit of perpetual alliance with hers. i suggested that alliance last a long time, almost into infinite, possibly longer. she smiled, she crooned, said YES! instantaneously warped that windy city venture into a terminal where our hearts prepare to take off into our mischeivous skies.

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The Sweet ain’t as Sweet without the Sour

I was 23 when it happened. “Fell in love,” as most would say. Don’t worry, I’m well aware that I’m too young to fall in love, even younger to think about marriage. Yet, every now and then you hear of a story that starts out like this and that story, til this day, hasn’t finished, and perhaps I was coerced into believing it could happen to me through hearsay. And it did. She proposed to me during my vacation to Chicago, on a frigid horse-carriage ride through the South Loop. I said yes, kissed her, and ended up fondling each other for the duration of the ride across Michigan Ave. Beneath the blankets.

Two seraphically blessed months later, she passed away. I never got the chance to go through the whole wedding ceremony, never got the chance to hate my step-parents, never even got a chance to fight so bad, one of us would scream, “I want a divorce!” She just packed, and caught the next flight to St. Peter’s gate.

I didn’t feel so surprised, I felt like how I had my coffee. Unsweetened, no cream, and overcharged. I kept the ring she gave me, Juicy Coutour was etched on it. No she wasn’t so perfect, we seldom are, but her alchemy fit mine just enough to make fire. Except the departure was not as warm. Her vitality, her memory, her sweetness, her little hidden mole, stripped by the inevitably sour course of life. Was I still too young to have fallen in love, or thought about marriage? Or was she too young to die? I feel her with me, in everything I do, and it’s terrible. It’s not as sweet as they make it seem in the movies.

i got dumped twice that night by the same indecisive girl

we both died

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