Paul Rachina

Paul, Paul, Paul

He was my best friend in high school. I loved him madly. He appreciated me as his loyal sidekick. He set me up with at least two of his friends. He himself had a taste for “untouchables”. The girls every guy wanted, girls I was never going to be. Polished, make-up always perfect, good parents, high standards, rich, well behaved girls. It gave me stomach aches to see him with these girls.

My dad trusted him implicitly, so I was allowed to go anywhere with him, even spend the night at his house. He did take very good care of me. Only once did he leave me stranded at a rave, but then again I drove and left him there when I got bored and couldn’t find him… sooooo… I consider that one even.

He was so much fun. He still is. He is a very unique, interesting and genuine person. True to himself even if completely oblivious to his outdated misogynistic views of women.

We lost touch a few years after high school and I remember trying to locate him for years and years. I never gave up and finally about 10 years ago I found him on the internet. We met and it was so lovely. At the time we were both married and while we were both not in great spots in our marriage we did not have an affair. I’m assuming that was maybe an option as we did end up in the bar of a hotel. Lol

Paul’s father was a man of few words and emotions but I do remember him telling me “stare at the same spot on the wall at the same time of day every day and soon you’ll start to see and understand things you never imagined”. Basically he was trying to teach me meditation but I was just a dumb kid and that sounded boring af. I wish I had listened. Imagine where I’d be now.

Paul contacted me yesterday for the first time in almost a year. It was such a pleasant surprise. He is finally a father and to a little girl no less. I hope this has softened him up. I know he is a very loving and caring person so I’m sure it has.

He doesn’t know that one of the main characters in the first book of the trilogy I want to write is directly based off of him. I miss having him in my life. He made anything fun. We once broke into the zoo. Well….. hardly breaking in really. We just walked right in through the exit as if we were employees and roamed around before opening. It was a blast! Who thinks of these things? Lol. He did.

I have so many stories. He was a good friend and an anchor to my tumultuous life. In fact it was after a 3 hour existential phone call with him that I visited Heaven. It’s a bittersweet experience. I was angry. So angry I broke down in tears when I woke up and realized who I was, where I was, and that I wasn’t there where I knew I belonged. I did absolutely not want to be here, but was not given that choice. Only the experience…… which I still don’t understand why. Seems like torture. I am grateful but…… it still brings tears to my eyes if I think of it too much; those feelings I had that morning.

I can’t explain why things happen or the timing of them, no coincidences….. but I also have no preconceptions of what the future holds. I nuzzle my dreams into my bosom and pray for them to come true….or better.

Wishing you….. all your dreams come true or better….. just make them count. Please. πŸ˜‰


Author: porngirl3

I have always enjoyed reading and writing. Maybe because I have always been on the quiet and reclusive side; which most people may not guess at first glance or if seeing me in a social setting, especially around people I am comfortable with but it’s also not something I have an issue with. I need solitude to recharge. Writing gives me the peace and time to renew that is offered to you for your enjoyment and pleasure as well. I hope. Lol

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s