The Dream Maker's Gonna Make You Mad, Spaceman Says Everybody Look Down...

Funny how things that you used to base your life on become a distant reach in your brain. Song lyrics have a way of sticking to your mind like nothing else can. Oh, dear... Oh, dear.

Death, Injury and other things that make me lose sleep.

This sort of thing doesn't happen in real life. One is not simply hit by a jeep and come out fine. My boyfriend was smashed by a Jeep Liberty. I mean, I've experienced horrible loss, but the thought of losing him was probably the last thing I could handle. Luckily, the worst of the damage has left him with only two injuries which may affect him permanently. The rest... Well, he doesn't look exactly like the boy I love, but at least he still exists.

Tuesday November 9th 2010

Exactly one year ago, I wrote this in my journal in Spain.

So, mom broke out the rugs today.
I thought, "OK, normal for winter." And then she pulled out one of those old roler things we used in the 90's in the churches to clean crumbs off low carpet floors. I couldn't help but laugh.
You would've lost it after though, 'cause then she MOPPED the rugs. Gotta love spain, eh? Ha!

The Old Sycamore, Love

Here's a sneak peak at the first Sycamore poem.


His tan farmer boy arms elevate him to the first branch
Of the old sycamore
And he bids me encouragingly to rise up, up to those limbs
Of the old sycamore
We sing our love songs, upwards our voices, rustle the leaves
Of the old sycamore
"You and Me" we would call out across the canopy, dreams
Of the old sycamore

I know exactly how much control I have over this boy. I could use, twist, manipulate him in any way of my choosing.
"Stop that! Woman!" He swats me away in a gay-like fashion.
Her laughter shimmers over the sounds that the rest of the bus shouts into my ears.

What exactly am I supposed to be thinking?
It's been two years, and he is here. He is here in my laundry room. In my home.
He's gone back to wearing his glasses. I don't really mind. I sort of do wish to take them off, though. You can see much clearer the beauty of his blue eyes that way. I have my own glasses on today. I looked around to the empty downstairs. I turn back to this returned prodigy of mine.
I don't know what it is that starts it. Maybe it's the fact we're alone. Maybe this static has built up over time. Maybe we're hopeless romantics, and just hopeful in each other. Maybe I just look sexy in casual clothes. Maybe I have had a thing for his smile since the first moment it was placed in my direction. Whatever it was, it created a reaction. I felt the desire in the air as I moved in closer to where he stood. I was so eager, and I was so joyous with each inch I advanced with.
OH...
His lips felt just the same. So perfect. Unimaginable, unfathomably perfect.
It was messy, and raw, and real, the manner in which we kissed. It started eager and soft, and I felt his own will grow stronger, or rather, his resistance grew weaker. As I moved my arms around his neck to be in a better position to pull tighter, I felt the strength of his hands on my lowest back. He had never kissed me like this. I found myself pinning him to the side of the washer. My body sent messages, the ferver with which he kissed me sent back more. I wanted him to know that I wanted him, in such a strong way. I whispered it to him, "I want you...". He absolutely blew me away, and whispered back, but in my ear. With a tone I'd never heard from him out of all those years...He whispered sincerely, " I Want You Back "

Damn