Dancing like Stars

An actual match. Not forced. Not altered. A match. Pure. Innocent. Unyielding.

Here we are dancing like stars, creating shapes like planets and opportunities like meteors. We are creators. Artists. Hopefuls.

The days pass and we are aligned in that it feels like years. Decades. Memories. Yesterday was a year ago. Yet only the hours remind us. We are happy. We are young.

Moments tell us we have an eternity left. These year-days. I have no more reasons to count.

I’ve found my stationary euphoria. Marked it. Captured it. Watching it grow, eyes wide and heart full.

Advertisements

Tides changing.


I’m not used to the fresh scent of life pouring over me. So new. So exciting. It seems endless, like the ocean.

My breath comes deeper now, like the tides. Calm, regular. I find less hesitation.

The rhythmic melody colors me strange. Feeling completely natural is unfamiliar.

I could blame others for that, the status quo, the redundancy of lowered expectation, but I won’t.

From here I’ll just enjoy the salt in the air, the birds above and the promise of a new life. Fresh.

Footprints in the sand, the ocean calls me away from shore.

Blips

I’m running as far away as I can from anywhere. All directions. Seeing all points falling into the distance, I still run. There’s too much in the air that’s left. Too much resonating. I feel the vibrations in my skin. I know I’m still too close. Still to near what it was I was running from. I can’t stop. I must continue to move forward. Forgetting careful steps. Forgetting paths. Forgetting direction. Just away.

****

I like to hide.

Finding a safe place that’s just my own. I can be myself here. The vulnerable self.

Like a Turtle, I have to gather strength for the day. The morning ritual. Alarm. Let dog out. Take shower. Coffee. Breakfast. Day.

Counting down till the moments when the day is real again. Inside my cave the time doesn’t matter. It’s “real life” that takes the hours.

****

Forceful vulnerability is one of the most cruel and unusual punishments.

Devouring Recesses

You’re an unwelcome visitor. Trespassing. You stomp through the serene meadows and swiftly chop down all signs of life. You hunt for sport. You kill for power. The enigmatic overflows of dreamless notes are devoured into your darkness.

In the after glow of a great book moment you eat away. Chipping. Gnawing. You gather in all the recesses. You are a plague.

Your hunger is insatiable. All that is will be yours. All that can be taken and broken shall be. You are an ever brewing wake.

In you I see evil. I feel it. Taste it. In you are all the darkest values and desires. To you life is what you can take out of it. What can be removed. Tangible, delectable, destruction. We are the galaxy and you are the sun. Revolved. Distorted. Your surface ever-changing yet mirrored.

You are hard to define because in that would be to know you. There is no one that knows you. Chopped character flaws. Descriptions and whispers.

To say you are anything would mean you were complete. You are without. You are wanting. Destitute and diluted.

I wish I had strayed away from you. Toxic and overbearing, misleading and mindful. We falter to those who need. Interpretations to the lust misunderstood. I’m left, pieces stranded, puzzle. Shapes. Angular and incomplete.

You are the night.

You are the nothing.

SuperHero

Since I could dream they were filled with the desire to be remembered. Filled with a possibility of somehow being greater.

The events that follow prove to be somewhat limiting. However, being that I’m only 24 going on 25, I can see now I have time.

Previously feeling constrained by the counting seconds, I now feel something greater, time. Time for what it is.

I am in training for the attainabilty of what I know is to come. Forcibly so.

What is life but missed opportunity? I never want to feel the sting of regret. Truer then most failings, regret is so long-lasting. In memoirs we leave them to continue forward. Forward carried in the eyes and ears of our descendants.

One day, long from now, I want the wind to whisper my name. But more so, even if I was just “that one girl,” I’d be fine. For it’s what was done and the acts that are remembered that are of significance.

Being recollected is only the small of it.

Let my war cry ring from the mountains as I am now wanting my life to be mine, shared.

We are communal and in that I want us all to have these same desires.

I do have a dream and I hope I never awaken. For sometimes the dreams are greater.

Communicator

I spend a good part of my days trying to conceptualize who I am. It’s because I feel so confused. Seems there’s a large part of me that can’t comprehend the complexities of others. Therefore, by conclusion, I find I do not understand myself.

“Everyone hears only what he understands.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Maybe the puzzle begins there, if I can grasp some sort of self-realization I can then make my way through this maze. Life is complex because of people. If you break it down to days, minutes, seconds, where are the key moments located? In instances of interaction, social, or otherwise.

“To understand the heart and mind of a person, look not at what he has already achieved, but at what he aspires to.”

Kahlil Gibran quotes

From there would behaviors feel so irrational? I would assume not. My question really, however, is what happens as we grow and change? Then what, does all the research get thrown out the door? Or, with the insights granted, we still have some comprehension as to why behaviors are occuring? Then we can never say we are surprised but that we saw something ignited.

“Get in touch with the way the other person feels. Feelings are 55% body language, 38% tone and 7% words.”

-Professor Albert Mehrabian

As one can probably tell I have reasons for wanting all this “knowledge.” Some days it feels worth the effort and others, well I just want to throw everyone into a pit of fire.

Being that I’m human my patience is wearing thin. As I strive to “give the benefit of the doubt” or to strictly “get people” I become less patient with their…limitations.

Granted you can see I am not a perfect communicator but I do value that I try, honestly. There is no day I want to pass with someone being confused as to what I meant by anything, spoken or otherwise.

Midnight and Thought Provoked.

So, obviously on a sugar rush. Here I am. Insomniac. Thinking and deliberating.

I can miss what I used to see. Miss all those memories. But really I can’t tell you truly, if I do miss you and me.

Rhyming sucks.

***

Kind of spewing at the moment.

I’m feeling like I’m ready for time to move more swiftly. Can we say…quick montage to the future? That’d be great. First, of course, the epic background music (remix) has to be chosen. Not sure yet. Have a few ideas.

Eye of the Tiger

The final countdown

I’m a Barbie Girl – just to mix it up.

In no way does the music have to be motivational.

***

I’m not sure where I’m at. Kind of feeling like I’m floating through life. Grasping at straws.

The straws being forcible diet and exercise. Can’t tell if I’m really enjoying the participation or just the routine. Or just any of it.

For now I’m going to continue.

Work is losing it’s luster. Stress. Repetition. Disappointment. It’s so hard to really depend on any of my co-workers there. Smooth sailing ship is like a wet dream.

***

Good night. I think I’ll start a new book tomorrow. Something more…entrapping.

Just to Clarify

Can I clarify? My Blog, I will clarify.

What do I miss about love? Love. Ha. Just reading it makes my heart sink 5 feet into the ground. I almost feel like I’m not quite sure what that is. I know what it’s not. I know I’ve become friends with aspects of it. Visited it. Pretended in it; like dress-up.

Because of new/old people in my life, revisiting, I’m seeing things I never would have noticed before. Things that I need in someone else and in myself. I can’t get by in life only having my work life. I can’t get by without writing or taking pictures or being excited about life and it’s possibilities. Previous to my Divorce I was on a one way, no rest-stops, no exits. Just careening towards the inevitable.

What do I miss about love? Romance. The innocence of it all. That at the base of every moment there is only one thing, love. That sickly, can’t shake it, death-bed please be by my side at my worst, love. Currently I don’t want those things. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to be naked.  But I miss it. More than mourning the loss of my best friend, I’m mourning love lost. It’s what hurts the most.

What do I miss about love? Having it.

Free Translation

World traveler. Artist. Writer. I want to be a winner of the spoken and or written word. I want to spin a web of images that are so vividly painted they are 3D. Attainable by all. Fad. Because like the fad it is addict-able. Able to become addicted to. This web.

Spinning. Spun. Just as worth to see the finished product as it was to create it. Each individual fiber like blood in the veins, giving it life. Oxygen.

To be understood is my heroin, each injection more needed then the last. But not to be understood by anyone other than myself. Self comprehension. Emily Dickinson. But if you find some meaning in it all, kudos.