Why He Cheated: An Interview with an Ex

cheatThe whitful bold lies would slip out of his mouth like an actor that’s mastered the art of memorization. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone in the world, cheating is a knife in the heart. After being in a relationship for four years I couldn’t help but wonder, “Have I ever been cheated on?” There was this constant curiosity of why he hasn’t come home and who it is that keeps on calling. “It’s my boss.” “I’m having drinks with my dad.” And my ultimate favorite, “She’s just my lab partner” (from the school he was lying about attending). I was always someone to give the benefit of the doubt, maybe it’s the political scientist in me that truly believed in “innocent until proven guilty” or in this case “innocent until he left his email up and I saw the messages exchanged between him and girls on his secrete e-harmony account.” I’m no longer bitter, but after three years of being broken up I can’t help but still wonder why he did it. And the answer ladies and gents, he’s scum. Even knowing that, I called him up to find out. It wasn’t a heated conversation. There was no name calling or tears falling because after all of this I know I’m a better person than when I was with him. I just simply asked him, “why?”

His responses did not come as a shock to me, in fact they provided me with reassurance. “I can’t be with one girl for that long. I get bored.” –he told me. I then asked him how many girls he has cheated on, “I’ve cheated on almost every girl I’ve been with.” The responses were very honest and blunt. It’s not that he is proud of it, but he does continue to say that it’s in his nature. Things began to get even more personal. He was telling me about each individual relationship and where it went wrong, “At first it went well and then I fucked her over. I ended up going out more and sleeping with other people and thought, ‘shit I miss the single life.’” This was the most recent. He told me how he treated her like a queen at first, was totally in love. Then, things became mundane so he decided to make it interesting by treating his once-upon-a-time-princess like motel art, something that he saw only occasionally. This reminded me much like our own relationship, pin pointing exact moments where I began to notice his lack of interest.

Spite was another reason he began to cheat. With another girl, “… there was a part in our relationship where I did think she was cheating on me… out of revenge I started cheating on her, maybe ten times.” I ended our conversation with his beliefs, asking him if he believed in relationship Karma, “I do, what goes around comes around.” He paused after, as if he knew karma was watching him over his back, lingering for the perfect moment to cause him the pain he has caused others.

I no longer wonder why I was cheated on. Deep down I had a feeling that it wasn’t about me but his own insecurities. My advice to others: follow your instincts, recognize all the red flags, and understand that most the time it isn’t about you. Life after Branden isn’t tragic. It’s moved on. If anything I am more aware of what I want and what to expect. But, I can’t help but wonder what will ever happen to him. Will the perfect romance slip him out of the habit or is the player destined to be played as the shadow of Karma lingers behind him waiting for the perfect moment to cash out.

The Ghost Hunting Roommates

In the spirit of Friday the 13th, here is post from a dear friend of mine about our ghost hunting adventures while in college. 
The Ghost Hunting Roommates
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After a Dream

Andrew Newell Wyeth

Painting by: Andrew Newell Wyeth

My eyes grew weary from the heat filled room with eastward facing windows. The sun continues to turn my bed into a furnace as it shines through the glass during the hottest part of the day. As temperatures rise my eyes continue to gain more weight until they are too heavy to stay open. When my eyelids close out the sunshine all that is left is darkness.

The light kept out allows for a canvas of imagination. Dreams dwindling down the rope of the pulled curtain and left on the stage is the show. But, on this day I have discovered, even there you find me. My escape in my dreams, this hidden fantasy, a place where I can shut everyone out and welcome only those who are welcome, you find me there. You’ve walked into my room on this stage, entering the door as if it’s your own. I leap from the place I have fallen and land into the sea of your arms, until you melt away. You’ve left me on my own stage, in my own imagination, alone with you melted on the floor. Even here, in my own world, created with my own mind, my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, you’ve conquered me. I’ve fallen again, not just in the reality created by all men, but here in my world, I’ve fallen again. I am a fool.

So I’ve awoke from this dream and found myself laying back down in this hot, hot, eastward facing room. And I will stay here, for if I step out the desert breeze will only fill toxic sand in my lungs. I am left with nothing but these dreams I no longer have control of. The welcomed, the unwelcome- entering in and out. I allow my eyes to grow heavy to avoid toxicity within the desert air, for the wine stained clouds that float above this house never pour. Leaving the sun to continue to shine in these eastward facing windows and leaving you, the unwelcome, to enter on that stage door.

Within the Valley Walls

Salvador Dali

Salvador Dali

Religious relics chime in the wind,
As God whispers in the ears of those who are worthy.
The desert blaze burns the cityscape
And leaves my eyes red and mourning.

Fear passes the time,
Wonders world wide,
And curiosity follows the black cat in its passing.

A life in monotone lives with no worries,
And the mother weeps at the loss of her glory.

Ancient is as new life begins.
Rejuvenation of the holy.

The rest of us stop and listen to what the whistleblower said,
“Two guys shot down and dead.”

As the valley walls speak,
Old time lovers reconvene,
But nothings is more sweet than those departing.

Desert Breeze IV: “Sealed with a Kiss”

A few months had passed since I have left home. A discarded cell phone left ringing at the bottom of a rest stop trash can and the keys to a beaten ’91 Haritage Softail Harley rest in my hands as I waited for the check at a diner.

“Pay at the register, sweetheart.”

The waitress in a pinstriped dress with a white apron handed me the black book showing my dues for a plate of French fries and a coke. I responded with a smile and a nod but sat silently. I only spoke when I needed to. I did plenty of talking within my thoughts

At this point I wasn’t sure if I would ever head home. Each moment I was certain about polar opposite decisions. Being adamant with each only proved my indecisiveness.

I walked to cash rep and handed the lady my check with a twenty. Her mind was focused on each note, counting and recounting each dollar as if linen in the bills were silk. On the counter stacked postcards within a rack, one of which read “Crossroads of America.” I held it in my hand for only a moment. The edges were worn and the photo was faded from the southward facing windows.

“Take the postcard, they don’t sell anyways.”

“Thank you.” –I said, with a mediocre grin

Writing a note on the back would defeat the entire purpose of running away so I kissed it for good luck, which left a red lip stain in the musk back. I then tucked it in my leather jacket and took off on my bike.

I’ve been in this small Midwestern town for four days. People are starting to recognize me as an outsider. Tomorrow I will head out to avoid small talk and questions about who I am and where I am from.

Driving back to the motel I looked at the sun falling behind the clouds, a storm is coming. The sky turned a greyish green and the atmosphere was still. Not a person is out of their home and not a soul is traveling on the road. It’s just me trying to outrun the lightening, a race against the squall.

My room at the motel is on the bottom floor, making the second story a canopy from the falling drops of water. I pulled a fold out chair outside and listened to the pouring rain as a curiously stared at the “Crossroads of America” postcard that was gifted to me. The lipstick stain remained on the back as the senders address was left blank.

At this moment I thought about home. I thought about each person that was left behind and the reasons for that. Mostly, I thought about the friendships I replaced with lonesome days following the backs of cars on the open road. In this moment I thought about how selfish I was to leave. Regret left me slightly discouraged to continue on my journey.

I continued to stare at the blank address space. I thought if only there was a way to move forward without holding on to my past, but most importantly allow them to forget about my past.
I kissed the postcard again for good luck and got back on my bike, an exhilarating feeling driving in the pouring rain. This trip wasn’t intended to be long, just back to town. The sleek roads occasionally made my tired skid, but that did not stop me from accelerating my speed.

When I had reached a blue mailbox and held the handle for some time while nervously tapping the card with my other hand on my left leg.

I got back on bike even though I could hardly see the roads. The storm worsened but stopping now would only leave me in the middle of the country, between two corn fields, waiting out the storm. At the time, I thought it would be best to tough it out.

When I reached the final turn I skidded again, this time losing complete control. The bike tipped and slid until my entire body wrapped around a telephone pole. From then on, I only saw light. The sun beaming from the sky and all the worlds darkness escaped through the holes in the clouds. I rested there, peacefully, enjoying the sun’s rays drying my rain drenched body.

kisspostcard

It’s been months since any of us have heard from her, but I could never forget her handwriting, especially after years of passing notes in high school. I knew it was my best friend. This is her obscure way of telling me that she loves me and everything is ok. Secretes even from miles away are best kept between the greatest friendships. So I spoke to sky, thinking that her free spirit could hear me, “love you too.”

 

 

 

A Devilish Flight

SONY DSC

The light turned red so she came to a halt
Over her shoulder she could see the devil to the left
Despite the grim stare he was looking his best
Attracted by his luring appeal she turned west

With the burning sun in her eyes she followed the sky
The heat increased and he lifted her feat
With out restraints and no feelings that were weak
She started to fly while looking him in the eyes

Closer she drew to the burning sun
Only if she knew what she had just begun
Given the gift of flight
Lured in by beauty brought to her sight

If she only knew hell was a place up high

Solo Yo

-moon-a

Porque te fuiste sin regresar
No tengo una foto de ti
Solo mi memoria

No recuerdo cómo se sienten tus besos
Todo lo que queda es tu olor en mi almohada
Porque te fuistes

The smoke floated gently to the sky
As I looked at the moon
Lightly
Softly
Peacefully

Miro al cielo para ver tus ojos

A million stars look back
But I can never find you there
Sólo me veo yo

Sólo yo
Sólo yo
Sólo yo

Porque te fuiste

Writings on the Wall

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Venice, Italy 

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Venice, Italy


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Frankfurt, Germany 

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Frankfurt, Germany

008
London, England

043
Dublin, Ireland

182
Dublin, Ireland

059
Barcelona, Catalonia

081
Barcelona, Catalonia

087
Barcelona, Catalonia

054
Amsterdam, Netherlands

044
Amsterdam, Netherlands

Recycled: “Blind in Paris”

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Blind in Paris.