What I see

My dearest love has eyes that shine,

and skin that glows, and hair so fine.

My dearest love has legs so tone,

a waist so small, and fine cheek bones.

But what I love most is not eyes, skin, or hair

it’s not her waist or her legs, or her cheek bones so fair.

I love her blemishes, freckles, and scars

I love her flaws no matter how bad she thinks they are.

Because each one is a part of her life

a moment of struggle, of battle and strife.

And more than her body, hair and skin,

I love who she is, the woman within.

Words from the past

I had the privilege of reading something I had written some time ago. It's amazing, I think, to read what you had thought and felt in the past and be able to compare those feelings to how you feel now. The writing itself interests me as well. I like reading my own papers. My memory is such that I can only barely remember what I wrote, but upon reading it again I can recall the feelings, the emotion that went into each word. What I read was a description of my best friend and I. It starts with how we met as teenagers in school, and reading it I remember the feeling of growing up with her. The happiness and joy, the excitement when we would get together, the love that started there. My words carried me through some of our fun times, and I had written about the hardships our friendship faced, the distance that we had to overcome as well as my own foolishness at times. We stayed friends, and we are still best friends, as well as so much more. I liked reading this paper that I had written before because it shows what was there and is still there. I talk about our friendship, our bond to one another. I say that we are linked, because we are. I believe now more than ever that we are two halves to the same whole. I speak of her as I saw her then, and every thing I said about her has held true to this day. Here is the post "best-friend-for-life" so that what I am trying to convey can be better understood. Suffice it to say I had found my best friend, and I knew it.

Early morning

 I heard my phone alarm in the other room, but it was not what woke me. I was awakened by the feel of you close to me. I was happily awakened by the soft sound of your breathing and the warmth of your body. My alarm meant that I had stayed here all night with you, sleeping together in your bed. I knew that I should get up and go, that we were pressing our luck, but I could not leave you just yet.

 I ran my hand along your body, sliding down your legs to where I could reach and massaging gently as I went. I was rewarded with soft moans as I cared for you. I moved then to your arms, running my fingers up and down, then holding your hands in mine. I placed my hand on your chest, near your heart, and whispered our love words in your ear.

 When you woke, the day began and we had to get to living our lives, but in those moments prior I was living my dream.

hazy

I don't feel right today. There is a cloud over things, a fog over my thoughts and feelings, leaving everything hazy and distorted. I want it to clear. I feel there are important things I should be focusing on, but I cannot get my mind to clear. There is light here and there, and darkness here and there, and it's hard to tell which I am walking toward and which I am walking from. I just hope the fog clears soon so I can figure out where I should be putting my attentions. Maybe if the sun shines long enough it might burn away the haze in my mind. Until then, it's loud music and scowls...

Alone

Sometimes I feel lonely as I sit at my desk. It's amazing how three little walls can put up such high barriers around you. It sometimes feels like I'm the only one in the building, in town, in the world. It feels like everyone decided to sneak out while I wasn't looking. Then I get sad, because I'm lonely.

 But when that happens, when I get lonely like that, I open my wallet and pull out a little slip of paper that simply says "I love you! XOXO" and it's as if a veil is lifted. I'm not lonely anymore, maybe she'll text me, or maybe we'll talk on my way home, but if not I know she will be there when our lives give us some time to be together. And I know that, even when I'm lonely, I am never alone.

Head pain

 Headaches make me angry. I get annoyed with my head for hurting, then frustrated at the light for hurting my eyes. Then the people just won't stop talking in their not a whisper voice that just grates on my nerves. Everything becomes a hassle, a pain to be endured. When I have a headche it is like I am transformed to Mr. Hyde. All the niceness and optimism I normally feel, all the caring for others and not caring about the wrong they do me goes away. I just want to yell at everyone, to tell them to get the hell away from my cube, QUIETLY, and shut off the damn lights on their way out the BUILDING!

 It just shows what a great Libra I am, because even though thats what is going through my mind I am still smiles and good natured remarks. I still encourage and do my best to help others, but really I just want to tell them to go away as I lay my forehead against the barely cool desk top and wait for my sanity to return.

 So, if we ever meet, and I say I have a headache, know that that means to run. Run as far as your legs can carry you because I won't be a nice guy.

bad day, full night

 As the moon rises, bright and shining in the eastern sky, you can feel its pull on you. The full moon draws at the emotions contained within you, crashing them against their barriers. For some the barriers are weak and break immediately, snapping their sanity and leaving them to instinct and emotion. For others, like you, the barriers hold and their emotions are kept in check. So when other people are out in the moonlight wreaking havoc and running amok, you are safe in your home.

 But tonight is different, dangerously so. There is an added stressor that wears at those barriers throughout the day. Today is Friday the 13^th and, for those of a superstitious mind, that makes it the unluckiest day of the year. A day once called “witch’s Sabbath” and a number that is a depravity of completeness. There are those who are too afraid to even leave their homes on this day, who refuse to fly or drive or work.

 Even if you are not superstitious, it still weighs on your mind. Anything that happens on this day is attributed to bad luck, no matter how simple or profound. Accidents and incidents are emphasized, and by the time the moon begins to rise and the tide begins to shift the barriers within your mind have been worn thin.

 Looking at the moon, staring deeply into it, you hear a rushing sound, as if the ocean itself were right before you. You feel an urge to run, to howl, to be free of your burdens. Never before has the moon looked so large, so near, as if you could reach out and pluck it from the sky.

 The ocean sound has become a rumble, and then a roar as it fills your ears and your thoughts. It is the wave of your emotions, your instincts breaking loose and coming forth in a tidal wave to submerge and eradicate your rational thoughts. That last thing you comprehend, beyond the roar in your ears, is a howl. It starts out low and guttural, gaining in pitch and loudness as it grows. Something breaks loose in you and you go to shout, but you hear only the same sound coming from your lips before you lose yourself and the world goes dark…

A Morning Vision

 As she prepares for the day I watch. From the table I see clearly into the bathroom where she stands in her nightgown, stopping at mid thigh, and looking into the mirror. Her hair is a beautiful mess, dark and wavy as it falls against her bare back and shoulders. She begins there, brushing her hair into place until it looks soft, shiny. I want to walk right over and run my hands through it. But I stay, I sit, I watch as she continues, applying unnecessary make up to an already alluring face. She lifts slightly on her toes, tensing the muscles and showing off her toned, tan legs. Her gown rides up slightly, pooling at her lower back and accentuating her firm, athletic buttocks. I ache now, fighting to keep myself in place instead of going to her, walking up behind her and running my hands up those sexy legs, grasping her hips and pulling her against me, then sliding my hands along her sensuous body, nibbling at her shoulder and neck as I do.

 In only a few minutes the show is over, too soon in my opinion, as she finishes in the bathroom and goes to the bedroom to change into her work clothes. It is quite the transformation; this natural, sexy woman who just crawled out of bed, and my arms, and is now a primped and prepped business woman. Still sexy, still beautiful, but its reserved, defined, completely opposite the unrestrained appeal, the radiant beauty that I woke to.

 Is this bad, to love a woman who can so quickly change from one form to another, a chameleon in her own right? No, it’s truly a privilege, a gift and an enjoyment I wouldn’t trade for anything. She is all the woman I need, and everything I could ever want. When I am shopping, she is the one I want next to me, people watching and rambling as we walk hand in hand. When I am at the bar, she is the one I watch over my pool cue as she leans over to make her shot, or shooting me a quick smile. When I am lying on the couch, she is the one laying with me, my arms around her holding her close to me. When I fall asleep at night, she is the one in the darkness right beside me, her fragrance all around me and the taste of our goodnight kiss on my lips.

 But now she is the worker, and it’s time to get to it. She grabs her lunch and coffee cup, and we head toward the door. Just before we leave the house to go our separate ways for the day, she turns and kisses me, deeply, and I see once more the sexy woman I woke too, barely hidden behind her work clothes and make up. Then we turn and leave, knowing it will only be a few hours until we are back together again.

Participation

 I am annoyed by the lack of participation at my work during this "bring your child to work day." Of the eight people who could have brought their children in today, only one did. What possible reason could you have for not bringing your child to work on this day! The one day of the year when its fine to have them with you at your job. If my kids were here they would be with me. Would they learn anything special from seeing me work, probably not. Would I work as hard as I normally do, probably not. Would I be overjoyed at the fact that I get to spend an entire day with my kids, a privilege usually only reserved for weekends or holidays, absolutely. It may be selfish, but what other reason do you need to bring your children with you, to be able to see them in a place where you can only think about them.

 I am sure that it is only because my kids are not here that this is bothering me so much, but when they were here my son came with me and I had a great day at work. I never enjoyed work so much as when he was here messing things up. It really makes me angry that all these people can so easily dismiss a chance to be with their children, using excuses like school or not thinking anyone else would do it. Who cares if anyone else does it. Why are you worried about what someone else does when you should be thinking of all the things you can show your child, or things to interest them while you work. Just having them near me as I worked would make me so happy.

 I hope they realize, before its too late, how few and far between chances like these really are. Because, in the end, it is not a lack of participation of this event that really bothers me, but a willing lack of participation in the lives of our children.

no help

I am missing you my little ones. You are so far from me, and I can do nothing but hope for your well being. It is such a helpless feeling, because I can't be there for you. If you fall down and scrape your knee I cannot kiss it or get you a band-aid. There are so many moments in your lives I'm missing out on and when I stop and think of them it is too much, a crushing weight in my heart. I listen to music, to alleviate the pain, the sounds and lyrics washing away the painful thoughts that threaten to overwhelm me. But today the music is against me. Each song brings you to mind. Each chorus seems like a tiny dagger piercing me. I'm fighting these saddening, maddening feelings as best I can, but I am drowning in them, barely treading water, the fill my lungs, weigh me down, clog my mind, Im pushing and pushing, and still I go under. The darkness of my thoughts envelopes me and I am lost to the world, to the smiling people around me, to the questions and banter of my coworkers. I am deaf and blind and numb to the world. The only feelings I have now are on the inside, and they are painful.

It was made for this

I think of you and my heart beats fast.

I dream of you and my heart aches.

I see you and my heart stops.

I touch you and my heart rejoices.

I love you and my heart knows what it was made to do.

Art Sense

  As we lay together on the bed, I on my back and you pressed in close to my side with your head on my chest, I can feel your breath against my skin  as we talk, and every shift as you move your body against mine.

  The darkness is almost total, as if I were struck blind. I rely instead on feel and hearing, listening to our hearts beating, to your voice as we whisper to each other, and feeling your skin as I touch you gently with my hands, then feeling your hands on my stomach, caressing at first, then slowly you begin to draw images. You draw, and I guess.

  The sensation and intimacy of your hands distracts me at first, but slowly I begin to see the images you draw on my skin. Then you turn over, and it is my turn. Lifting your shirt, I trace silly things at first, snow men, pine trees, an easter egg, a house. You are very good at this game, guessing sometimes before I have even finished. A heart, then an “I love u”, a smiling face.

  But then you are stumped, I try again and again. It’s a word, four letters, over and over I draw it. Finally you give up and I tell you. The word is kiss. The issue, how I draw my “K” of all things. We laugh at my second grade handwriting and then you ask what I would have done next. So I spell it on your back, and you turn and bring your lips to mine.

  The game is over, we are too busy holding each other. You turn on your side and I fit my body to yours, my hand around your waist, and your cold feet against my hot skin cooling me down and warming you up. We fall asleep like this, close together, happy and, I like to think, smiling.

From only a few words

 Sitting there with tape on my lip, and my mind completely focused on the small package in my hands, my fingers feeling like sausages as I try again and again to get the right fold in place before I tape it down, you smile at me and say I look handsome wrapping presents. I stop momentarily, looking up into your beautiful eyes, smiling your amazing smile, and I know this is what love is. Such a silly little phrase, and yet coming from you it meant so much to me.  I smile and then continue working on the small gift, but inside I am bursting with emotion. My love for you threatens to overflow from your simple words. I want to place the gift on the table, lift you into my arms, and carry you to the bedroom to touch your skin the way your words touched my heart.

 We continue to chat and I finally finish wrapping, and you come to me, and we hold each other, your warm body against my own, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, your head on my shoulder and mine buried in your hair. I feel your lips against my neck, flaring heat wherever they touch my skin. The music on the radio changes to a familiar song, and we sway slowly around as you nuzzle my neck and I sing softly into your ear. You kiss your way up my throat to my chin, and finally my lips as our hands caress and touch each other’s bodies. So soft, so tender, we kiss like a summer breeze, letting that breeze blow across our burning love and setting it ablaze. We pull closer, kiss harder, drawing into each other, needing more of each other as our love song plays in the background.

 The song ends, and we slow, touching softly again, and kissing gently. You touch my face, and I the curve of your neck and your cheek. Taking my face in both your tiny hands, you pull me down and kiss around my face, my lips, my chin, my cheek, my eyes, all around and each kiss is like gasoline on the flame of my heart, sending waves of heat throughout my body. I take your hands in mine, kissing the palm of each before I place them on my chest over my rapidly beating heart as we put our heads together and breathe deeply to calm ourselves. We come together, wrapped in each others’ arms once more, and then we kiss softly before I leave. We could do more, we could let ourselves go completely, give in to our desires, but then I would not be able to leave your side, just as you can never leave my heart.

“It’s not beautiful…”

 Is it so hard to take a compliment? Why is it not beautiful? It is emotional and heartfelt, and what is more beautiful than that? What is beauty then? All these pretty words on special paper, lines of nouns and verbs and punctuation, is that beauty? “The golden flower that blossoms after a long white winter fills the garden with hope.” Is that beautiful? Do you see the flower growing, pushing through the snow to rise triumphantly and call forth spring to the garden. Can you feel the cold of the snow, and the winter chill that fights against that spring? Beauty is not just the way things are written, or which words are used. It is the feeling, the meaning behind the words that makes them glow. Beauty is not what you see, but what you feel.

 Just like it is not physical appearance that makes a person beautiful. It is not the legs, the ass, the stomach, the chest or breasts, or even the face that makes someone a beautiful person. You are beautiful because when I hold you, I feel like a giant holding a small and fragile child. Then I look into your eyes and I am the child, weak and timid and seeing only comfort there in your eyes. You are beautiful because who you are brings joy and warmth to my life. You are beautiful because when I close my eyes at night I do not just see you, I feel you there with me and we are holding each other close. It is not your body that I miss on those nights, but everything within you that calls to me.

 I do cherish your body but I also respect your mind, have faith in your strength and determination, and love your caring heart. You are more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and one day I hope you will see that. And maybe when you read your words again in a week, or a month, or 5 years from now, you will see the beauty in it as well.

Simple

 The simplest things can bring joy when you are with the right person. Talking and smiling as you walk from aisle to aisle in the store, comparing prices and getting in each other’s way; or sitting together on the kitchen floor, cleaning out the fridge and putting groceries away can be an adventure. Sitting down and eating can be a special treat with someone you truly care about. Watching them fix their hair, or brush their teeth, do the dishes, or sit on the computer can be its own entertainment.

 There is magic in every motion, every touch, even in the way they sit still, or cannot seem to, that brings a smile to your lips and warmth to your heart. Because it is every little thing they do that makes them the one you love and to enjoy and cherish each moment is to cherish them. So remember those simple things, watch for them, and when you see the simple things smile, because that someone is watching you too and enjoying each simple thing about you.

Beautiful Night

 The house is quiet when I come in carrying my contribution to the evening, a bottle of wine and a Tupperware bowl. I set them on the table as you greet me with a kiss, and then another as our hands wrap around each other. We hold a moment, talking softly into each other’s ear. Then we separate, I take the wine into the kitchen and open it, showing my complete lack of skill with a bottle opener, while you retrieve glasses. Then I open the Tupperware to reveal the fruit I managed to cut without losing a finger, and remove the container of chocolate caramel dip from my coat pocket. We get plates and forks, and you regale me with the story of your favorite fork. When you go to heat the caramel I follow, wrapping my arms around you as you stand before the microwave. I feel very much the teenage lovestruck fool, but I don’t care as I hold you against my chest until the beep brings us back to the present.

 We sit down at the table, our little dessert set before us. I pour the wine as we talk, going over the events of the day, the good and the bad. We talk, and nibble our fruit, and sip our wine. It’s not that bad, we decide. You’re contemplative, thinking about important things, and I’m fine with that. I simply sit beside you, my hand gliding up and down your arm as I sip the wine. It is quiet, and simple. It is an everyday kind of feeling. It is exactly how I thought being with you would feel.

 We move to the couch and watch a show as you lay in my lap and I caress your face and neck. I am more interested in the shape of your jaw and the curve of your throat then what is on tv, smiling each time you shiver at my touch. At each commercial you turn to me, and I allow my hands to move along your face, your arms, your stomach, touching gently here and there. Then the show comes back on and we continue to watch while I touch you softly. When the show finishes, we lie together on the couch and just hold each other, dozing softly. You comment on the speed of my heart beat, and I say something corny, and you smile without opening your eyes. We drift off to sleep together.

 We awaken a few hours later, and we rise and hold each other, kissing softly. It’s time for me to go, and time for you to crawl into your comfortable bed. I want to crawl into that bed with you instead of leaving you. We kiss once more, and hold on for a bit longer, and then I turn and walk into the night air. But before I leave we makes plans for the next time we’ll see each other, and as I lay down in my bed, I think of you laying in yours, and of the beautiful night, and knowing there are more to come. A promise of tomorrow is a wonderful ending for this night.

Pictures

 Thousands of little moments captured in a flash. Happy times, sad times, good times and hard times, all kept forever to be revisited at will. They hold with them emotions and memories, they can bring back the past...

 Looking at the picture you see a smiling man and smiling children, a happy father and his kids. I see the tea cups on the floor where my baby girl and I had tea with the other princesses on her little pink mat. I see the little monster truck that my son drove through our tea party with and we had to chase him away. When I stand to go, they grab my legs and I drag them across the wood floor, laughing and giggling all the way. Up the hallway to get my push up bars and down again to the living room, my son sliding off slightly (he's getting to big to be riding on dads leg).

 I try to work out a little, and end up working out a lot as first my baby, then my big boy climb onto my back and laugh as I go up and down on the push up bars. The picture is taken FLASH when I am in the up position and both kids are laughing and so happy. I do a few more, then a few with each child separately before I can't anymore. Then I roll over and grab my two wonderful kids and tickle them to stop them asking "again, again!!" I lift up my girl and we dance, and my son climbs on the couch and jumps up so that I am holding them both, one in each arm, and spinning around slowly while I sway back and forth. I spin a little faster and they laugh and yell, and then we all fall onto the couch smiling and laughing as they say "again, again!!" and I catch my breath.

 All that from a single picture, a single flash, a single moment captured in time. Looking at it now, with my kids so far away, I remember the happiness in the moment and see the smiling faces, and I can't stop the tears.

Rambling song

There is a song out about a rambler; the song is called Colder Weather. It’s a very good song and if you haven’t heard it you should. When it’s on I know most of the words, and it has been stuck in my head more than a time or two. It is slightly melancholy, talking about wanting to see someone but not being able to. The song is beautiful, but I am saddened by it. It touches me closely because I’ve always felt like a rambler, lost in the wrong time, just travelling through. The chorus goes:

He said I wanna see you again but I'm stuck in colder weather
Maybe tomorrow will be better, can I call you then?
She said you're a ramblin man,
You ain't ever gonna change
You've got a gypsy soul to blame,
And you were born for leavin'
Born for leavin'

I’m not leaving, I’m not going anywhere. But deep down it feels like I’m still rambling. I know I’m moving towards something amazing. I’m heading home, where I belong. But I’m not there yet, and that is what saddens me. There is still a long road ahead before I can stop rambling, before I can finally be home, with the ones I love all together. And I can’t wait till then…:

When I close my eyes I see you,
No matter where I am
I can smell your perfume through these whisperin' pines

I'm with your ghost again,
It's a shame about the weather,
I know soon we'll be together
And I can't wait till then
I can't wait till then

Not going to fall

 I have that feeling sometimes, like we're heading toward a pitfall. I want you to know that I hear you, that I am listening, that what you have to say means so much to me. I see the fire in your words. I see that you are trying to get through to me, past the fog clouding my mind when it comes to this. I can’t help but smile, not because I am making light of what you have to say or the situation, but because you care so much about it, about me. I’ve never felt so cared for, so loved. You can be angry at me, its okay. You can tell me off and raise your voice and shout and scream. I want to know how you feel and what you think. Don’t hold back. When it is all said and done we will still be together. I see the pitfall coming, and we will find a way around it. And if the floor should fall out from under us, we’ll float.

childish fear

 A frightened child is a heart wrenching thing. All you want to do is hold them and tell them that everything is going to be ok, to soothe their fears away and make things right. What if you can’t?

 What if it's your child and the thing they are afraid of is you. Imagine a long dark hallway, a deep, deep green on the walls, almost black in the near dark. Your child stands in that hall, their arms up in front of their small bodies, looking as though they want to just crawl into the fetal position. Their lips are turned down in a mask of sadness, and their eyes are filled with tears that have yet to fall. You step toward them, and they step away. Their face the same, their body a statue save for the movement of their feet keeping away from you.

 You step again, and again they go back. You try to call to them, to beckon them to you so that you can take care of them, but only shouting comes out. Like a radio broadcasting some horrible story on the news on its highest volume, the words come screaming from your open mouth. The tears begin to slide down their cheeks. You try again, closing and opening, closing and opening, but always the yelling and the shouting come out. They are crying now, still just as far away as before. You close your mouth. You walk toward them, but always they move back. You speed up, and somehow their small legs match your pace.

 You run now, chasing after them, your hearts pounding like war drums as you push to catch them. But the gap never lessens. The distance is never shorter. You stop finally, red faced from exertion, breathing heavily, slightly stooped, and trying to catch your breath. Your child has stopped crying, they just stare at you as if seeing something they've been afraid of their whole lives. Then they just turn and run down the hall, and they are gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

 And then you see yourself, As if an image were projected in front of you. the red and angry face, the stooped posture and heaving breaths, the sound of shouting still coming from your open mouth. You see it all from a height of only a few feet off the ground, the height of a child, perhaps. You see the monster you must surely appear to be to them.

 And then you wake up. Your chest is heaving, your hands are clenched and wrapped around you, and your pillow and face are wet. What do you do? You get up, you get dressed, and you go to work, and change the radio station every time any song of children comes on…

Deep Dark

 It was funny, for a few seconds. But it’s amazing how funny can turn to fear in a matter of moments. Like when, as a joke, your friends close you up inside a sofa bed and then sit on it, laughing the whole time. It was funny, when they sat there, and I could feel their weight in the darkness that was so complete I could not see my own hand in front of my face, if I could move enough to put it there. It was funny when I told them to let me out and they said not yet. It was funny when they finally agreed and started pulling on the bed. I could feel them pulling, my whole world shaking and moving, the clinking of the springs muffled by the mattress surrounding my body, but I could also tell that I wasn’t getting anywhere.

 It stopped being funny when they swore, because I knew there was a problem. It wasn’t funny when they said “we’ll be right back,” and I could hear the worry in their voice as they ran upstairs. It wasn’t funny when it sank in that I was alone. It wasn’t funny as I felt the bed get tighter, or when I started to wonder how air tight a mattress can be. In the movies you see people suffocated by pillows, and a mattress is so much thicker than a pillow. I began to thrash a bit, moving myself as much as I could, kept turning my head even though I could feel the mattress material hard against my cheeks like sand paper. I had to keep moving my head, I had to keep breathing. I could feel the air getting thin. I could feel the pressure on my chest getting heavier, crushing me. Did I black out?  How do you know if you’ve blacked out when there was no light to begin with? Is there a darkness deeper than your tomb?

 I was going to die, trapped in this mattress. I couldn’t think anymore, all I knew was that I was going to die. They wouldn’t come back in time from wherever they went. I’d be buried in this sofa. I just gave up. I gave up struggling, I gave up moving my body, I gave up moving my head side to side. I just laid there and breathed, waiting to die, feeling the darkness fill my body.

 I didn’t hear them come down the stairs. I didn’t hear if they called my name. I don’t know how long I was inside the sofa bed. The first thing that registered was movement, ascension, upward and outward.  Then the weight was gone, and light appeared, bright and wondrous.  I didn’t jump and flee from my prison. I sat up and looked around, then climbed off the mattress. It may have been shock that made me seem so cool about the whole thing. I laughed it off with the guys. I played it off as no big deal. They said I must have fallen asleep or something and I didn’t deny it. We went outside and walked to the store.

 This was many years ago, but there are still times, as I lay motionless in my bed, when I close my eyes and plunge myself into that deep darkness and feel the weight pressing against my body as the world wraps itself around me tightly. I hold my eyes shut as long as I can, the air getting thinner in my mind and my lungs, the darkness behind my eyelids fading into something deeper and darker still, something that beckons to me. Then panic from lack of breath forces me to open my eyes and expel the nightmare I had placed myself in.  As I stare at the ceiling until that deep darkness fades, I wonder if I was really asleep and, if so, how much longer before I would never have woken up, before that deep dark that calls to me would have called me home.

Let Go

 Such a simple thing, touch. And yet it can fill you so completely. Hands on skin, lips to lips, body to body, so exotic and amazing. But it doesn’t have to be just so, it can be so much more. Like fingers entwined on a cool night as you walk along together, or a hug that lingers for just a moment more. These feelings are what get through to me. These are the moments that peel away my armor of self control. Piece by piece I let it fall away, giving in to emotions I’d kept dormant for so long.

 I could feel the walls crashing down in my soul, creating waves of joy and excitement as I held her hand in mine. I could hear the beating in my ears and feel the warmth in my chest as my long silent heart began to pulse anew. There is no awkwardness as we talk, no insecurities. We laugh and smile and enjoy each others’ company with no remorse or fear. The outside world is only a distant memory, completely separate from the place we are right at this moment. There is only us, and the path we walk along together.

 When the night is done and we hug goodbye, I can feel the pressure as we pull each other closer. The want to say more, the desire hanging in the air. We hold for a while, more than a moment but just short of eternity. And yet, even though I have let go of so much, surrendering myself to these feelings, there is still that shred of control still there, a single piece of armor still shining in the moonlight. And so, we smile sheepishly and say our goodnights and goodbyes, and we go our separate ways. I drive away, the feel of her arms around me and her head against my chest to comfort me as my mind wanders to what could have been, if only I had finally let go.

Out of Control

  Such fury as I have never known. Such anger as should not be felt by any man. To think the things I could have done to her. No one has ever pushed me so far, has drawn from me such anger as she has. I could feel it like a savage beast barreling through my veins, through my chest, my arms, my mouth. It was consuming me. When she stood up and pushed me, I grabbed her arms. I pushed her onto the couch. I held her there as she writhed and fought and tried to kick and claw. I would not let go. I could not. I did not grab her for fear that she might hit me, but because I did not know what I would do if she did.

 I could feel my control dwindling, not relinquished through joy or love, but abraded by her sharp tongue and constant assaults, pushing me closer and closer to that edge. Like a cord pulled taut I could hear the individual twines snapping as she cut away at them, and I could feel the monster in me pulling harder, screaming for release as his shackles slowly came loose.

 I held her so, on the couch with my hands on her arms holding her tightly in place, until I could feel the chains lock, until the door could close and seal it in once more. I could not let go until I knew I was in control once more. After it was done I did let go, and I sat down, and though she wailed like the four winds, though she said all she could to draw me out, it was too late. This battle was over. We had both lost. Her words of how I surely bruised her arms went unanswered, her insults were barely acknowledged. I let her sit there on the couch where I released her and let all her rage and frustration out on me like a hurricane against a tree. I did not bend, and I did not break. I only stayed where I was until it passed.

 And pass it did. Behind it all I found the fear and anxiety she was hiding. After the storm I saw the troubled waters beneath. We spoke more calmly then, and though we did not solve anything, no answers were found that night, we left each other with a little more understanding, and hopefully a little less pain. But still, as I lay in bed that night, I could feel that rage inside of me, stronger now for being so close to release. I could feel the breath of the beast on the back of my neck, feel his growl in my own throat, and hear his howl in my ear. Sleep took long to find me, and when it did I dreamed of beasts...

Best friend for life

  We were sitting in a classroom talking about those silly things teenagers talk about. Friends who really aren't, enemies who have done us no serious wrong, how hard/boring school is, and love that we don't understand but swear we do. How the conversation started I have no idea, I was very shy in school so I’m sure I didn’t start it, and I do not know how it happened, but suddenly we were opening up to each other. We told each other everything and anything, our deepest fears and desires, our most humiliating moments, the things that truly made us happy. Sitting there in that classroom we talked to each other like two old friends, long lost but never forgotten and always thought of. And just like that, in the blink of an eye, we were best friends for life. We've played jokes on each other, and made fun of each other. We've talked with each other about things we could not tell anyone. We've cried on each other’s shoulders, and held each other when the world was too cold. We've carried each other’s burdens, and worried one over the other as if we were two parts of the same whole. And we are, connected by a bond and a line that is unbreakable and intangible. We’ve gone sledding together, drank together, we have even showered together; don’t get too excited we were fully clothed, well until I took my shirt off and through it at our friends’ mom. We were wild and crazy, young and free, and totally ignorant about life, as it should be for teenagers. We each had our own problems at home, which we talked to each other about, and troubled relationships, which she talked about because I didn’t really have any, and it helped to get us through school and life.  In the years since high school we have been apart, but never truly apart. When I was in the desert she wrote to me, and wrote to me, and I barely ever wrote back, but she still wrote. Her letters were a wonderful reminder of the bond we share. And when I get those loner tendencies, when I feel the foolish need to disappear and get the crazy idea that it would be better for everyone if I did, I feel that bond pulling me back, and I know she would hit me if she were there. When the worries of the world come crashing down around my best friend, I am right there to move away the rubble and rebuild the house of cards we all live in (because she can't really build card houses, no patience). She has grown into a strong and capable woman; though try to make her believe that! She is a wonderful mother, caring for her children above all things. She is strong willed and stubborn, but she is also kind and caring to a fault. She is willing to work hard to get the job done, but she can just as easily sit down and relax and read a good book or chat with friends. Her beauty is greater even than her absolute denial of that beauty. She is a smile when you don’t feel like smiling, a laugh when you want to cry, a conscience when you feel evil, and a compass when you’ve lost your path. She is many more things as well; I could write for days and not cover the depth that she hides behind those eyes. I am thankful to her, and I am thankful for her, because there is no other person I would rather have to remind me of exactly who I am, because she knows me better than I know myself, and that is why she is my best friend for life. Because I could go a lifetime and never find another like her.

My Brother

  I have a lot of siblings, so to say he is the brother I've never had isn't because I've never had a brother, or that I compare him to the brothers I did have, but because we were brothers, no matter the blood lines or heritage or science of it all. He was tall and goofy, and lived only a few streets away. We had a class or two together. We hung out and had the same friends. We would play video games at his house and hang out before and after school. He was a talented artist, with an imagination as open as the sky. He could draw anything, and it would look amazing, even though he would always say its not done yet. I have to wonder if he's ever truly "finished" any piece of art he's ever started, not because he procrastinates, but because he always wants to make it better.

 We wrote a story in creative writing class, me him and a third boy. The third boy gave us some help, but he and I were the driving force on the small novel we had started. We wrote more than we needed to, and our teacher said she liked the vividness of our story, although she thought maybe we had a little too much description. The story was about a convict being given freedom if he would fight in the war, and we used our extensive knowledge through all the books of different soldiers we've read to capture every gruesome detail. It was the most fun I'd ever had writing anything at the time. We were friends before this story, and better friends after, and then somewhere along the way we just became brothers.

 He lived with me senior year of high school. My parents let us make our room in the loft over the garage and we were as free as two guys could be. We played video games and talked and stayed up all night and, though I'd never admit it to my mom, we played hookie from school more than a few times. It was messy and dark, but it was a great time, one of the most comfortable places I've ever lived. We also worked together at a hardware store and walked everywhere in our small town, he with his tall lanky legs and me with my determined stride to keep up and in step with those I walked with. I was shorter than him even when I finally grew which didn't surprise me, but being short for so long and then having some actual legs underneath me instead of toothpicks made me fast. There was a time when, on our way to my house, I had the sudden urge to urinate, He had his bike that day and was riding slowly next to me. I think I got out "I have to pee!" before I started sprinting the last block to my house. He never caught me, even with my turtle shell-like backpack bouncing on my shoulders the whole way.

 There are a million such memories that I have of hanging out with him, and though we are roughly the same age, there were times he felt like a big brother to me, a mentor. I can't explain exactly when or why, but that's just the way it was. We were different in so many ways, but no two brothers are exactly alike, not even twins. I was quiet, book smart, and had the artistic ability of a rock. He was very artistic, could be loud and outgoing when he wants to be, and had street smarts. We've gone our separate ways since those days in the loft. I joined the army, went overseas, and being quiet as I am, I did not write or call often. He did write, and we talked sometimes, and I always knew if I needed him, he would be there. For his part, he fell in love, he married, and had kids. He also joined the army, and is a great soldier, husband and father, and still an exceptional artist. We don't talk often, and when we do it is simply catching up, but even with the distance, and the time, and the long silence between talks, I still know he's there, my brother.

The Giant

  We went to summer school together, not because we had to, but because we were bored and not yet in high school. It was a JROTC (a military sponsored class to teach things like responsibility, pride and teamwork) course for middle school kids going into high school. Even then he was a giant, especially standing next to a kid like me, who's growth spurt waited till senior year to kick in, but he was about as intimidating as a bologna sandwich with no crust (aka extremely scary!). We were friendly to each other, we talked and had the same interests in video games and x-men. Then one day a trouble maker in class, who had been trying to start fights with everyone for no apparent reason, flew by us on his bike as we left the school. The giant said "have a great day!", and there was no sarcasm in his voice (he hadn't found out what that was yet). The boy stopped as if slapped, turned and flung his bike at me and the Giant, and then began to yell and bring his hands up as if to fight us, spouting the gibberish that usually comes up when someone is trying to start trouble. We tried to walk past, I swear we did because me and the Giant are the same in that we are very nearly always in control and not in the least aggressive, but the boy would not let us. He even went so far as to swing at the Giant. In a move that would have been used to swat at a fly, he raised his right hand (he's left handed) and connected with the boys cheek, to my eye it seemed barely a nudge but a nudge from a giant can't be measured in the same way I suppose, and the boy staggered back with a look of astonishment and fear with his hand pressed to his cheek. When he pulled his hand away, it was bloody from the cut appearing at his jawline. He ran straight back to the school. We could have run, we could even have just kept walking, no one would have taken his side or said anything, but we didn't. The Giant went back, I think he even took the boys bike with him, and got expelled from the class for fighting, even though the teacher knew it wasn't his fault. When he did the right thing, when he did the opposite of what every other kid I knew would do, that's when I knew we would be friends for life, me and the Giant.

take it back

I'm going to try to take my life back. To actually be who I want to be and do what I want to do. It's going to be really hard in the beginning. I will be letting go of a lot to do this, and I can't say it will ever be worth it, but I cannot just let go of everything and gain nothing. So I will use this freedom I will soon have to its full advantage. I plan to better myself, I plan to work out, and learn an intstrument, and go back to school. These are goals I've given myself. But most importantly, I will be more of a friend to those people who have been my friends through it all. This is not a goal, some measurable thing that can be checked off on a list when it is completed, because it never will be completed. I have been someone else for a long time, and yet these people knew the real me and carried that part of me with them, as if I were a wounded soldier who needed rest to heal. I have rested enough, and now it is time to walk on my own two feet, and to carry any who need the weights lightened on there back. I cannot take it all away, but I can share the burden now, and I am stronger now from my trials. So, I hope my life is ready for me, because I'm coming to take it back.

Still Living

 You know there are those people in life that you wonder "how are you still living?" I have one of those. He's my step brother. His life has been one bad choice after another. He smokes, does drugs, and drinks alcohol even though all of these activities aggravate his severe asthma. He is older than me only in age, because he acts like a 15 year old gang banger wannabe. He’s in his 30’s by the way. He has a criminal record, hangs out with disreputable people, has two kids that he doesn’t take care of, gambles constantly, and only does work when it suits him. What amazes me through all of this, is that he is insanely lucky. Things just fall into his lap and then, because he always wants more, he wastes whatever he’s given in an attempt to get more because in his diluted world he deserves it.

 Now, while it has been entertaining to vent about my step brother, I can’t give up on him. Not because of my generosity or a good heart, or through any religious sense, my reason is much simpler. The bastard saved my life once. When we were young, what seems like forever ago, our family went to the beach with our cousins. My stepbrother, who normally did not have time to spend with his family even when he was a teen, preferring to steal hubcaps and hood ornaments, actually came along. It was a great day and the water was cool and inviting, so my cousin and I got on one of those inner tubes and decided to try to swim to a distant buoy.  We were about half way when I decided I didn’t want to do this anymore, it was boring and too much trouble for what little fun we would get from reaching our goal. So I tried to turn us around and swim back. My cousin did not want to and, after a brief scuffle I decided just to swim back. I am a better than average swimmer, and was even at that time, so I pushed off and began swimming back. I began swimming freestyle, and then switched to the sidestroke as I tired, and then finally the backstroke. I continued to swim even though the water kept splashing in my face and interrupting my breathing. After what seemed like an eternity I decided I must be close enough to swim freestyle to the beach, but when I turned I found I was still a fair distance from the shore.

 I swam as hard as I could, trying to get as close to the beach as possible before switching back to backstroke, but a wave rolled over me and submerged me. I continued to swim, pushing to the surface but my wits had been swept away with the wave. I frantically kicked and lurched, throwing my arms forward in a haphazard motion paying no heed to my form or swimming technique. I was drowning, and what was worse is I knew I was too far for anyone to notice. I didn’t scream, or call out, not from any sense of pride but because each time I opened my mouth, whether to breath or shout, water came flooding in. My throat was raw from forcing air in around gulps of water and my arms and legs were tired and sore, each movement harder than the last. When I went under the second time, I took the largest breath I could and, forcing my appendages to coordinate, swam as hard as I could under the water. But when I went to resurface my body finally gave out. I reached the surface, but only long enough to throw my arms skyward before becoming submerged once more. I remember briefly feeling weightless before blacking out, although I cannot say if it was from the water, the fact that my entire body was numb, or some other unknown reason. I didn’t think about dying, or feel anything, there was no thrashing as my body convulsed from the lack of oxygen, just that weightless feeling, seeing the murky green hue of the water, and then darkness.

 A rushing feeling against my back brought me back to my senses. I coughed a few times before my throat was able to take in air, and I open my eyes. I didn’t know what to expect, or who, but I knew I had been saved. Then I looked up I saw my step brother. I had made it close enough that he could touch bottom only barely, so he had to swim at first to get me to where he could stand and walk. He had grabbed me around the chest and, while bringing my head out of the water and swimming forward, he had forced the water out of my chest. He walked back to the beach with his arm around my chest, dragging me, and when we were completely out of the water he let go and I fell to the floor where he sat down next to me. I couldn’t believe he was the one who saved me. This step brother who was never around, who was always getting into trouble so that my step dad would have to go get him at the police station and ruin whatever plans we made, who never seemed to even want to be part of our family. After things settled down and the stories were told my cousin got punished for not coming back for me, even though I told them it was my fault for jumping off the tube and trying to swim back alone. I don’t know if my step brother was congratulated, or even acknowledged, so busy was everyone with my well being and my cousins punishment.

 I wondered how he had seen me, how he had known I was in trouble, but I never asked. I should have, and could now, but all he remembers is that he saved me. The rest of it is lost in the haze of whatever he’s currently on. So ever since then I have tried to repay him for that. Not by any monetary means, he has a magic talent for acquiring money, but just by being there and helping him when he calls. Nothing he has ever asked has been illegal, and I am thankful to him for that. Mostly I give him a ride when whatever, or whoever’s car he’s driving breaks down and along the way listen to his wild ideas about how he’s going to make his money and get what he deserves.

 I could turn him down, or just not answer his calls. I could give up on him like many others have. I could say that, after at least fifteen years of being there for him I have repaid my debt. I do not though, not because saying that would make my life sound cheap, or because I think he is going to turn around one day. I guess I still do it because sometimes, when I go to pick him up, when we drive here or there and he goes on about this or that, I look into his eyes and I see a drowning boy sitting there, and all I can do is try to keep him afloat and pull him closer to the shore whenever he gets too far out into those murky waters to reach bottom.

 I guess maybe my point is that those people that you wonder how they can still be alive, well maybe they have a purpose they haven’t fulfilled yet, or maybe they have and whatever they did, whether they remember or even know of it, someone out there is trying to pay them back for that. Who knows, maybe you are the one keeping that person afloat and one day, when life takes you under and fills you with doubt until you can’t breathe anymore, they’ll be there to pull you ashore.

 One last thing, though. When I pick him up and help him out, when I glance into his eyes, even after all these years have gone by, there are times when I see his young eyes staring back while drowning, and sometimes I see my own.

An amazing piece of writing!

This is my first time adding a link, but I think this post by a fellow blogger is definitely worth it. So click HERE and check it out! Thanks Katie, for sharing your thoughts in such an uplifting way.

escapees

 I heard a song, though for the life of me now I cannot remember what song it was, and while I listened and sang along, in the horribly off tempo and bad keyed way that I do, I felt wetness on my cheek. It was a single tear. There was no hitch in my throat, that I could feel or hear through my idiotic warbling, no nose sniffling, nor was there any stinging in my eyes. There was only this single tear, and then after it another, two small escapees from that place I have kept all of my emotions prisoner. I did not feel sad, my sorry attempt at singing is one of the few things that I draw real joy from anymore, nor was I unhappy or disgruntled. But somewhere, something had cracked for just a brief instant and let these two tear drops flee. If anything, I was surprised, surprised by the feeling as they slid down my cheek, so much so that I did not dare wipe them away. I let them roll down my cheek and fall away. They had worked too hard to let their freedom be rescinded so heartlessly. I granted them their freedom. Who knows, maybe someday all of the other tears I’ve kept in will follow.

Simple Night

After a late invite I went to my friends’ house. They said it wasn’t a party or anything, just some friends coming over, which was fine with me. Of course, when I got there, I found it was only me. We sat and watched Golden Girls, laughing as much at the commercials as the show. Then another friend showed and we channel surfed a bit, drank a Smirnoff, and talked about nothing in particular. One last friend showed up and we watched Failure to Launch, went and picked up some Taco Bell, and talked of nothing more important than job applications, driving distances, and the weather. We stayed in the shallows when it came to our relationships, and that was fine with me. Over all, it was as enjoyable as it was ordinary. I hope to do it again, and soon. It was a simple night, with good friends.

Believe

 I went to church Sunday, which is rare for me. The pastor(preacher, reverend, whatever you call him) that normally is there was not, so they had a guest pastor. He was nice, made attempts at being funny, and was a good speaker. I think, if I did go to church regularly, I would much rather have a carousel of pastors, never having the same person speak to us twice in a row. It seems like, in my opinion, there is more freedom in this.
 The speaker was talking about Jonah, the guy who was swallowed by a whale. It was a good sermon, and made sense, as sermons usually do, but the thing that got me was more a sub point to his talk. He brought up John 3:36 which says: "He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him."
 He pointed out that, throughout the Bible, there is only one thing that can either condemn you to hell or rasie you up into heaven, and this is it. You have to believe, believe in Gods son. Are there trials and tribulations, are there rules and consequences if those rules are broken, of course. But through it all there is one thread that ties it all together, if you believe in Jesus, and ask his forgiveness, you'll be saved. I never thought of that before, the simplicity of that statement. The rest of his sermon spoke of why Jonah was swallowed by the whale, that he tried to run from what God wanted him to do, to hide from his duty, to leave the path God had set before him. And it was only after he was swallowed by the whale that Jonah accepted the task that he was given.
 So, while I am not highly religious (I doubt I will find myself back at church too soon), I am a believer, and whether these things that are happening in my life are part of the path that I'm suppose to follow, or signs leading me back to that path, I will continue to walk forward, because I believe.

Lust

 Raven hair, long and thick and black as night. It swirls as you spin, your fiery dress of orange and red barely covering your tan, lithe body. The flames lick at your legs, dance in time around your feet, merging then separating from your clothing as if they are two parts of the same fabric. Your eyes burn like dark coals of black and red, your lips hold a sneer that pulls me closer even as it stabs at me.

 “Come into the fire,” you call in my mind. “Come dance with me, you know you want to.” She spins quickly, the tails of her dress flying out and away like sparks shooting into the sky, bright flashes of heat and intensity. The flash of her long legs, dark and sinuous like cords of wood, and yet seeming so delicate as she moves softly from one to the other, do not give heat but draw it from you, igniting passions and desires in long forgotten places.

 You take a step closer, and in response the fire blazes, singing your skin with its force, holding you back with its ferocity, and still she calls. “Dance with me, lover,” she coos now in your mind, imaginary fingers sliding along the length of your spine. “Touch me,” and there is a warmth on your chest as if her hands already caress your bare skin. Every word drips with the drug desire; each whisper injects more into your veins.

 The fire she lit inside you is growing; the heat is flowing through you, your blood like gasoline on the flames. She bends down as she twists and turns to music only she can hear over the roar of the flames, the curve of her breasts is evident through the tight dress, and her movements seem half challenge half plea to place your hands upon her.

 You step closer again, the flame within you rivaling the inferno that surrounds her. It blazes further, turning white and blue from the immense heat that it is sending out. Her dress too is white and blue, shining like diamonds, like the sun itself. The brightness of her dress only accentuates her body, the darkness of her skin, the black of her hair, the burning in her eyes.

 You bring your hands up, not for protection from this flame that has already burned away your clothes, and is even now searing your flesh, but to reach out to her. You continue forward even as the flames envelop your hands and arms. There is no pain, only numbness and shock as the flames eat away your nerves, burn and blister your body, strip away your skin and blacken muscle and bone.

 Still she smiles at you, still she calls you to her, moving and dancing, her eyes never leaving yours as her body seduces and draws you closer. Her smile is one of satisfaction now, and her eyes are portals to the depths of hell itself, and she watches you come closer and closer, until your body gives out, your bones cracking from the heat, and you fall to the floor. Still you push forward, crawling toward her, needing to touch her, needing to feel her. The fire consumes you, skin, muscle, flesh and bone. All that remains is a pile of ash, until even that is burned away and there is nothing left. Only a flame and a dancer.

The waters fall

There is, hidden somewhere in the world, a magnificent waterfall. In its clear waters are seen flecks of gold and flashes from diamonds. This waterfall has not only one rainbow, but a thousand dancing among the mist. Some would say it is simply the suns light refracting through the diammonds and the water. But, when the clouds roll over head to bring the waters back up to the mountains, when the sky is dark as night and there is no light to be found, still there are rainbows dancing here.

 Why is that, you ask? It is because there is magic here. The rainbows reflect the light that shine from the waters, for in the journey down the mountain, the waters pick up things more precious than diamonds and more valuable than gold. They collect, in each little droplet, the wishing stars that have fallen down onto the mountain side as their wishes pull them from the sky. The waters bring those stars down from the mountain, and as the waters fall they release those wishing stars into the world, helping them on their way to fulfilling those wishes. As the stars fly away, they blaze through the mist, and the rainbows dance by the thousands. The light bounces off of every surface, from every diamond, because nothing shines more brightly than a wishing star after all.

Let...

Let it be good. Let things go my way. Or at least let them go the right way, even if thats not the way I expect them to go. Let the sun find me, and shine until all the clouds are gone. Let the words I cannot find find me instead. Let the friends I thought I had be replaced with friends I deserve, even if its the same person. Let me grow stronger from my trials, and softer from my happy moments, so much so that by the end of this year I am more pillow than stone. Let this new year bring with it all the things I've lost in the last year, and let me be open enough to recieve them. And if it cannot be good, then just let it be.

Out with the old...

 Now is the time to start anew. Now is the time to leave behind the life you left behind, the pain and the trouble, the people and the drama. Now is the time to remove yourself from all that was, just let it all go and focus on what is.

 Because what is is the important thing. What was means nothing. Only fools live in the past, and make dreams from memories. Take only what and who you want with you into the future, and cut away the waste that is everything else. Live in the happiness that they bring you, and forget everyone else. This is a new dawn, a new day, a new year, and a new life. There is no past, only your new future.

W's

 Who is this man in the mirror? I am not myself anymore. I used to joke and smile with the image I saw, flex and laugh and call myself sexy, and even believe it sometimes. Now I only stare, and count off my flaws, all the reasons why. I'm not big enough, not strong enough, I'm too short, too small. I'm not ugly, but by no means am I handsome. I'm just a below average brown eyed brown haired man, not even worth the dime for a dozen.

 What happened? I'm becoming someone completely different on the inside. I changed, that's what happened. I should have kept things the way they were, kept it all locked away and safe, but I didn't. I opened up, and now I can not close that door again. Not that it would matter. What was kept there is now gone, like opening Pandora's Box, and now only foolish hope remains.

 When did I lose it all? I wish I knew. I run it all through my head like a movie, and point out everything I did wrong, my own critic. But to say when it started, or what ended it, is impossible. I will never know, unless I am told. Then again, the when of it doesn't matter.

 Where is my faith? It's fading slowly with the time. It's not gone, but it's not what it was. It feels so weak at times that I could blow it away with a single breath, so I hold my breath. What would I be without my faith? If I don't believe in forever, what is there to believe in?

 Why can't I cry over this. Why do I have to laugh and smile and put on a good face. No one says I have to, but then again no one wants to share my pain. When you are the rock, you're not supposed to cry. So I don't, I won't. Rocks do not cry, you cannot draw tears from a stone. So I will let the tears fall on the inside, and let them fill me up until I've drowned my own soul.

Let go

 Find what you love most, that thing you've given the most of your heart to, and let it go. Just set it free.
"Will, it come back?"

 If you're asking that question then you really haven't let it go, have you? There is still a thread tying you to it. Just let it go, cut that last string. It's not coming back, there is no meant to be. Even that simple hope is a shackle. It is the smallest thing, but the strongest chain.

 The only way to love is to give it all away. Give until it hurts, and then give some more. Let the broken pieces of your heart be their wings to fly away. And when you have no heart left, when you are all loved out, when you have nothing left inside you, you'll look into the sky and see a flash of light off of broken hearted wings.

 Their not coming back to you, but knowing that they are out there, free and happy, is enough, right...?