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!
6.10.11
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
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
30.9.11
12.9.11
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 "
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 "
11.9.11
22.8.11
The Locket Picture
This morning, I walked in to see your face. Smiling. And when the semi-akward greeting came, I reached for your hand. You let me touch it. And as I gentley squeezed it, you responded. We let go and I softly said hello.
When you left, or rather, were on your way out, you turned back and yelled your classic, "Hey!"
My composure inside was broken. You told me that you had to see the inside of the locket hanging from my neck.
I refused as you persisted. The room turned it's focus on us, but the only focus I had was on the warmth of our hands touching. Neither pair wanted to surrender the silver heart.
For a moment, for a God blessed moment, I thought you refused to let go because it was one more moment to touch my hands. I told you that you were making a scene. You laughed.
The people around us were now very curious.
'What relation does he have with this flamboyant flamingo girl, all in pink, with a silver locket?'
Well, she likes him enough to keep their picture in the locket. And he smiled as he was solely showed the contents.
<3
When you left, or rather, were on your way out, you turned back and yelled your classic, "Hey!"
My composure inside was broken. You told me that you had to see the inside of the locket hanging from my neck.
I refused as you persisted. The room turned it's focus on us, but the only focus I had was on the warmth of our hands touching. Neither pair wanted to surrender the silver heart.
For a moment, for a God blessed moment, I thought you refused to let go because it was one more moment to touch my hands. I told you that you were making a scene. You laughed.
The people around us were now very curious.
'What relation does he have with this flamboyant flamingo girl, all in pink, with a silver locket?'
Well, she likes him enough to keep their picture in the locket. And he smiled as he was solely showed the contents.
<3
21.8.11
She is more beautiful than my imagination has allowed me to explore.
Wow, more real blogging. Braced yet?
I'm pretty much starving, and I have felt like this ever since I got home from Spain. I am ALWAYS hungry!!! I love that I actually have made some time to blog. I stay up way too late thinking about...
1. What to even put in this silly blog.
2. Why people have taken to me so well at UCAS.
3. What this kid has to be thinking not to love me back.
Well, number three isn't always true, and I don't know if it's even true that he doesn't love me. That's the problem when people leave you hanging. They leave you hanging, not knowing, unaware, confused even...
In Other News...
If I get ONE more missionary farewell invitation, I swear I will scream out loud. I was discussing this with a good friend the other day who is going out this year for his LDS mission.
I told him how I was happy and supportive of him, but that this whole mission thing really isn't a great thing for the LDS women. The men receive these inspiring travels proseliting, (oh, gosh, the spelling,) and the women are left at home with studying and the crappy men who don't have consciences, (let alone VALUES). What are you all doing to these women? Leaving them with no valuable men/fish in the sea.
And the KICKER?!
The men come back, demanding righteous women!
YEAH?!
What have you done for THEM on that front?
Oh yeah. Left. Left them in bad situations.
I just disagree...
She is more beautiful than my imagination has allowed me to explore.
I'm pretty much starving, and I have felt like this ever since I got home from Spain. I am ALWAYS hungry!!! I love that I actually have made some time to blog. I stay up way too late thinking about...
1. What to even put in this silly blog.
2. Why people have taken to me so well at UCAS.
3. What this kid has to be thinking not to love me back.
Well, number three isn't always true, and I don't know if it's even true that he doesn't love me. That's the problem when people leave you hanging. They leave you hanging, not knowing, unaware, confused even...
In Other News...
If I get ONE more missionary farewell invitation, I swear I will scream out loud. I was discussing this with a good friend the other day who is going out this year for his LDS mission.
I told him how I was happy and supportive of him, but that this whole mission thing really isn't a great thing for the LDS women. The men receive these inspiring travels proseliting, (oh, gosh, the spelling,) and the women are left at home with studying and the crappy men who don't have consciences, (let alone VALUES). What are you all doing to these women? Leaving them with no valuable men/fish in the sea.
And the KICKER?!
The men come back, demanding righteous women!
YEAH?!
What have you done for THEM on that front?
Oh yeah. Left. Left them in bad situations.
I just disagree...
She is more beautiful than my imagination has allowed me to explore.
17.8.11
Moulin Rouge & a one hallway school?
I think I could use 11 hours of sleep.
Wow! Are you guys ready for actual blogging/journaling instead of creepy love free verse? I know I haven't been, at least not really up until now.
Utah County Academy of Sciences feels like this family I've just been adopted into. And although I know I'll find a place...I'm nervous and scared to find it.
I have no problem leaving Springville behind, as sad as that may be to the few true friends I have therein.
Being a new Junior is a tough gig. And I try not to whine.
I mean, Sophmores are cool. I surely testify to that truth. But a lot of the time, I feel that's where I'm left. Integrating with the other Juniors has proved...not impossible persay, but rather tricky. I don't want to give off wrong impressions, and get the wrong attention. I am not stating that I am afraid of attracting the 'wrong' crowd, but rather a group that I would grow out of. Unfortunately, this does tend to happen to me.
Try "I'll Fly Away" from the Moulin Rouge musical soundtrack.
Wow! Are you guys ready for actual blogging/journaling instead of creepy love free verse? I know I haven't been, at least not really up until now.
Utah County Academy of Sciences feels like this family I've just been adopted into. And although I know I'll find a place...I'm nervous and scared to find it.
I have no problem leaving Springville behind, as sad as that may be to the few true friends I have therein.
Being a new Junior is a tough gig. And I try not to whine.
I mean, Sophmores are cool. I surely testify to that truth. But a lot of the time, I feel that's where I'm left. Integrating with the other Juniors has proved...not impossible persay, but rather tricky. I don't want to give off wrong impressions, and get the wrong attention. I am not stating that I am afraid of attracting the 'wrong' crowd, but rather a group that I would grow out of. Unfortunately, this does tend to happen to me.
Try "I'll Fly Away" from the Moulin Rouge musical soundtrack.
14.8.11
Love.
In Spanish lands: or you know, my Spanish high school:
We're having English class one day. I was sitting there, writing to myself in peace, when I tune into what my teacher has just said.
"Yes, 'love'. That terrible feeling."
And I crack up.
Because, in that moment, I completely agree. Love is such a terrible thing to some, and the wonderful part of life for others.
We're having English class one day. I was sitting there, writing to myself in peace, when I tune into what my teacher has just said.
"Yes, 'love'. That terrible feeling."
And I crack up.
Because, in that moment, I completely agree. Love is such a terrible thing to some, and the wonderful part of life for others.
Another Rainy Monday
Have you ever Built-a-Bear before? I think you should.
Have you ever been in a summer rainstorm, soaking wet, and just laughing as you ran?
I went by your home to pick up a few things and you weren't home. It wasn't creepy or anything, your sister is always a sweetheart.
I just felt, purely, "YOU", dear, in each raindrop...and by the time I reached home, "YOU" were coming from my eyes too. I had laughed and cried and ran through all of "YOU" coming down and down...And when I reached my front door, I went and wrote you a little song...
Have you ever been in a summer rainstorm, soaking wet, and just laughing as you ran?
I went by your home to pick up a few things and you weren't home. It wasn't creepy or anything, your sister is always a sweetheart.
I just felt, purely, "YOU", dear, in each raindrop...and by the time I reached home, "YOU" were coming from my eyes too. I had laughed and cried and ran through all of "YOU" coming down and down...And when I reached my front door, I went and wrote you a little song...
8.8.11
6.8.11
Heros and Protestants. I mean, Evangelists.
In my recent metal conversion, I was given this band, Protest The Hero.
I don't think she knows how much I actually want to be a hero. You know, her hero.
I love the colors in her hair.
When I look to my own colors, I want to rip my own hair out.
But her skin glows.
I want to be big and strong for her,
that sort of hero she looks for in each boyish face.
I wish to lift tall buildings, airplanes,
and I wish to fly.
Maybe she would let me take her with me.
I do feel like I could fly when she smiles.
1.8.11
The Spotlight
She had wavy red hair, and I wanted to rub my fingers on the ends of it. I wondered what it would feel like. I would need to be close to her to touch the gorgeous locks. To imagine her close sent me into an acute, but sweetenly sick coma. The little curve of the ends of her hair made the nerves in my arms electrify. My hair was so straight, and I was so skinny. I wanted those curves. Not for me, but just to rub those of hers. Precious.
31.7.11
Anger Waves
Do you really believe that because you hear the name of another man escape my mouth, that I've forgotten all about you? That it's safe to say things that would've hurt when we were two names said together? Spoken on the lips of our friends and dear ones?
I know what I said was hostile, but what you had just done was pain.
I know what I said was hostile, but what you had just done was pain.
24.7.11
Mediterranean Coastline Contemplations.
I'm sitting on the Mediterranean beach at 7:00 PM on June 2nd, 2011. There are only a few families here right now, it's fairly overcast, and there's a consistent breeze. The actual coast is rather scummy, and slightly smells. I don't know why I bother with explanations. My purple toes are hinted with sand. There's a little sailboat coming into the dock next door to this little piece of coast. It's a rather dreary scene, when described. The sea is a shade of blue green and grey. There's the promenade and a lighthouse. There's a lot of wishing you were here to see it. But, the sun has hidden behind the clouds, and wind makes this place anything but warm. The backdrop to the beach is full of forest, palm trees, Spanish houses, and the passing city-goers here. Let's let the sea take us.
Alfa & Omega
On my wall, there is a small card with an artist's interpretation of Jesus. The title is "Alfa and Omega".
In my Spanish Baptist church, there is a song that goes like this:
Alfa, omega/
Principio y fin/
Jesucristo, Mesias/
Salvador, feliz
[Alfa, omega/
Beginning and end/
Jesus Christ, Messiah/
Savior, happy]
Ask a teenager if they believe in God. They could firmly tell you there is no God. 'No proof.'
Ask a teenager if they believe in love. They will be convicted in that they do.
God is Love.
In my Spanish Baptist church, there is a song that goes like this:
Alfa, omega/
Principio y fin/
Jesucristo, Mesias/
Salvador, feliz
[Alfa, omega/
Beginning and end/
Jesus Christ, Messiah/
Savior, happy]
Ask a teenager if they believe in God. They could firmly tell you there is no God. 'No proof.'
Ask a teenager if they believe in love. They will be convicted in that they do.
God is Love.
It's Almost Like A Matchbox Twenty Song.
You know the song "3 A.M." by Matchbox 20.
This morning's my version..."It's 4 A.M., and I suppose I'm lonely"...save the sprinklers that just started and attacked my window.
No more Monster Energy at 11 P.M. for me. Or you know, not writing for more than 4 days.
Is it illegal to miss something you have no right to?
This morning's my version..."It's 4 A.M., and I suppose I'm lonely"...save the sprinklers that just started and attacked my window.
No more Monster Energy at 11 P.M. for me. Or you know, not writing for more than 4 days.
Is it illegal to miss something you have no right to?
Horas...Hours...
If it's one thing that we find evidently true, it is that the most important gift we can give to someone is our time. We may be able to take back most everything else, but we will never gain back the time we spent on someone else.
If there's someone who comes along my 'camino', my path, and asks me what I regret, I will look him in the eye and tell him I have none. For I gave my most precious gift I could give, and it's something I could never wish to take back.
If there's someone who comes along my 'camino', my path, and asks me what I regret, I will look him in the eye and tell him I have none. For I gave my most precious gift I could give, and it's something I could never wish to take back.
I used to dream in black and white, and it was so glorious. A young girl without a care in the world, my dreams guided her through dark passages without a single stab of fear, and the youthful girl climbed to the highest heights without any vertigo. These nightly illusions had sustained me throughout my otherwise barely bearable life. That was until I had met someone who made me prefer to be awake and live a dream. rather than lay in bed and allow my heart to fabricate away, starting at dusk.
I was in a peaceful state of rest when his voice passed through my ears and into my very being. With a bit of a startle, abnormal for me, I came into consciousness. I wondered what had caused him to wake me in place of just in my own time.
As it was with us, I just smiled reassuringly to encourage him to speak to me. He could only explain if he would part his lips. I hoped my smile would do just that.
My white face must have seemed curious, for he told me then that there was something that I must see and he beckoned me to come with him. Going with him was like going to him. Easy. Natural even, I realized as he took my hand to help me up.
It was so strange of him to not say where we were to go. I was not expecting to wake to him, as I had done so few times, and I told him only of the startle. (I kept the pleasure it gave me to myself. I had to keep careful with him.) His tender apologetic reply made me hush for a moment, for I could see he was truly disappointed he didn't watch me sleep longer. I almost blushed.
We were now both standing there on a glorious, empty coastline that I had failed to take note of upon my arrival into the waken world. Tending to notice only him was a common occurrence in his presence.
I touched my face, rubbing my eyes as a toddler may do after their nap, and then traced his figure against his background, wordlessly... How was it possible that he could look so perfectly in place everywhere he was? My eyes grew larger still.
He took my hand softly, as I let him, and he guided me to the edge of this heavenly waterfront. It was like some kind of movie, and it made me spurt laughter. I noted not if he looked back at my face. My eyes were open to the sky as I stepped behind him. I was content, laughing, with my hand in his. I only needed to be happy to laugh.
It was snowing, softly, but snowing even so. How silly was that, to have snow on the beach? It gave me another reason to laugh. He let go of my hand as we arrived at the watery border. I stared at the sky, trying to determine where the flakes were coming from. I made no note that they touched me, I was too deep in my fascination to care for any cold. When I picked a white, tiny, shape of a flake, I watched it's descent. It came down in front of him there, in front of me. I saw him look back at me, and my sincere smile escaped.
His thoughtful face looked creased and worn by worries, but joyed when he caught my simple smile. Our eyes lit on fire. The intense blue from his and the wintergreen from mine combined to make a shade more beautiful than the sea itself. In that moment, the world existed, and it mattered with intensity to me. For he was my world. Mine, and I was his. He then took my hand again.
He pulled on my hand, for the second time in this space of time together, and I decided I'd push him to see if he'd tell me of our destination. He was so gently insistent to move, I was curious. When I asked him, he answered me with a simple explanation that it was somewhere warm. He wasn't going to tell me anything more, and I was sure I could be content with that. Look, I was content again. I laughed in my small moment of simple, pure, happiness. He gave me these moments. He gave me life.
His hand pulled once more, but it was only because I was being hesitant whilst as I was pondering.
Wherever we were to go, we were to go together. And I would follow him anywhere, I would be at his side. Whatever he wished was his and always was. Part of me was lost in these thoughts, that I was all of those things he wished, only me...So lost, indeed, that I did not realize we were walking on a frozen ocean.
The crystallized water wonder of snowflakes coated our little world together on our journey, and I enjoyed each one that placed itself on my skin. It gave me such will to spin, twirl, and dance in all sorts of circles around him as we walked. Although he picked the direction, he could not keep me in a straight path. He gave me too much joy with his presence.
Our surroundings gave me such awe. He seemed to give the strange circumstance we were in no notice. The only thing he looked to was the way we made our way with such high spirits.
Spirits. At one moment along that time we were skipping along on the snow covered ice, I felt what my Baptist pastor may have defined as a spirit accompanying us. Their comfort, these spirits that may or may not have existed there, it warmed me in such a way that my body felt no wind chill or sadness. It was then I felt completely lost with my partner in this trip to who knows where. And I was complete in myself. I made every moment count, bringing as many smiles to him as I gave myself. I was carefree, and my whole body glided along with his.
The energy never stopped flowing, but the snow did start to dwindle from the mysterious clouds so far above us. Sunk into the moment that had a duration of what could have been months, it took me a few seconds to realize that he had pulled on my arm in his sweet way and he had halted to look below our feet. Had I not felt weightless on my feet, I may have felt fear to fall through the image I saw through my footprint. A true marvel, a marvel that was almost of terror, there was movement and morphing shapes below us on the seafloor. A million thoughts struck hotter than lightening through my mind. My first instinct was to conceal myself in his arms from this enigma of a picture below us.
[[[[His profound eyes held the same gasp that I was barely able to contain expelling from my weak lungs. The very wind in our ears faded out and we were transfixed. It was so impressive to me, that in this moment our own breathing halted. My acute senses detected the movements of whatever was so far below us, and soon enough, it must have detected us. With soft force, it rose to bump the ice. We did not see them, these that had frightened us...But we played with them. They would bounce onto the ice, and we persisted in following them. Our laughs floated through the chilled air, and I could almost imagine our under the frozen wave friends laughing with us in their own special language.
As we followed these magnificent manifestations, catching glances at their impressive shapes in the patches of ice, the hand on the clock of time could have spun so fast Father Time became dizzy...For we chased them on, and on, and on, skipping, racing, our heartbeats accelerating, but yet I still felt his heart there next to mine. And it was beating the same quick rhythm. Synchronized, we were. ]]]]
After the adrenaline of those few moments, my eyes lifted to admire my company. My darling company. I saw the color of fear fade from his soul windows as the creature tapped on the ice below.
Then together, we, with each tap, followed them on. Gracefully and joyously we persisted in following them. They were a wonderful contrary to what fear we could have held, dancing and racing so fearlessly upon ice.
All my diversion was in the fact that I was in his presence, and he in mine, and that we did and went about what we did, together. Our laughter of bells, chimes, was a harmony more magnificent than the size of all the underwater animals that could've existed beneath our dancing feet.
We came to a point in our journey when the enchanting soft flakes ceased their own dwindling journey to the ground. Our eyes beheld an indescribable thing then. It was the very source of life, the glorious sun. It's presence was encompassed by a gently moving river. That was the sun's encasement, a place where our underwater companions could swim and surface periodically, spontaneously... Each jumped high into the fresh air. I smelled the salty breeze and internally jumped each time in sync with them. The jump I experienced was small in comparison to the startle of happiness I received in being in company of Leo.
As they propelled through the air, they sent our way warm droplets of sea water. It soon began to rain. Where it came from, I did not know for sure. I was in sync with my partner in our ocean ballet.
The atmosphere pondered on the happiness and peace Leo and I emitted as we took each others hands and played freely. The journey was not over though, and his gentle pull on my hand told me so. We bid our onlookers, admirers, and ocean friends farewell before continuing on our way, side by side.
I was in a peaceful state of rest when his voice passed through my ears and into my very being. With a bit of a startle, abnormal for me, I came into consciousness. I wondered what had caused him to wake me in place of just in my own time.
As it was with us, I just smiled reassuringly to encourage him to speak to me. He could only explain if he would part his lips. I hoped my smile would do just that.
My white face must have seemed curious, for he told me then that there was something that I must see and he beckoned me to come with him. Going with him was like going to him. Easy. Natural even, I realized as he took my hand to help me up.
It was so strange of him to not say where we were to go. I was not expecting to wake to him, as I had done so few times, and I told him only of the startle. (I kept the pleasure it gave me to myself. I had to keep careful with him.) His tender apologetic reply made me hush for a moment, for I could see he was truly disappointed he didn't watch me sleep longer. I almost blushed.
We were now both standing there on a glorious, empty coastline that I had failed to take note of upon my arrival into the waken world. Tending to notice only him was a common occurrence in his presence.
I touched my face, rubbing my eyes as a toddler may do after their nap, and then traced his figure against his background, wordlessly... How was it possible that he could look so perfectly in place everywhere he was? My eyes grew larger still.
He took my hand softly, as I let him, and he guided me to the edge of this heavenly waterfront. It was like some kind of movie, and it made me spurt laughter. I noted not if he looked back at my face. My eyes were open to the sky as I stepped behind him. I was content, laughing, with my hand in his. I only needed to be happy to laugh.
It was snowing, softly, but snowing even so. How silly was that, to have snow on the beach? It gave me another reason to laugh. He let go of my hand as we arrived at the watery border. I stared at the sky, trying to determine where the flakes were coming from. I made no note that they touched me, I was too deep in my fascination to care for any cold. When I picked a white, tiny, shape of a flake, I watched it's descent. It came down in front of him there, in front of me. I saw him look back at me, and my sincere smile escaped.
His thoughtful face looked creased and worn by worries, but joyed when he caught my simple smile. Our eyes lit on fire. The intense blue from his and the wintergreen from mine combined to make a shade more beautiful than the sea itself. In that moment, the world existed, and it mattered with intensity to me. For he was my world. Mine, and I was his. He then took my hand again.
He pulled on my hand, for the second time in this space of time together, and I decided I'd push him to see if he'd tell me of our destination. He was so gently insistent to move, I was curious. When I asked him, he answered me with a simple explanation that it was somewhere warm. He wasn't going to tell me anything more, and I was sure I could be content with that. Look, I was content again. I laughed in my small moment of simple, pure, happiness. He gave me these moments. He gave me life.
His hand pulled once more, but it was only because I was being hesitant whilst as I was pondering.
Wherever we were to go, we were to go together. And I would follow him anywhere, I would be at his side. Whatever he wished was his and always was. Part of me was lost in these thoughts, that I was all of those things he wished, only me...So lost, indeed, that I did not realize we were walking on a frozen ocean.
The crystallized water wonder of snowflakes coated our little world together on our journey, and I enjoyed each one that placed itself on my skin. It gave me such will to spin, twirl, and dance in all sorts of circles around him as we walked. Although he picked the direction, he could not keep me in a straight path. He gave me too much joy with his presence.
Our surroundings gave me such awe. He seemed to give the strange circumstance we were in no notice. The only thing he looked to was the way we made our way with such high spirits.
Spirits. At one moment along that time we were skipping along on the snow covered ice, I felt what my Baptist pastor may have defined as a spirit accompanying us. Their comfort, these spirits that may or may not have existed there, it warmed me in such a way that my body felt no wind chill or sadness. It was then I felt completely lost with my partner in this trip to who knows where. And I was complete in myself. I made every moment count, bringing as many smiles to him as I gave myself. I was carefree, and my whole body glided along with his.
The energy never stopped flowing, but the snow did start to dwindle from the mysterious clouds so far above us. Sunk into the moment that had a duration of what could have been months, it took me a few seconds to realize that he had pulled on my arm in his sweet way and he had halted to look below our feet. Had I not felt weightless on my feet, I may have felt fear to fall through the image I saw through my footprint. A true marvel, a marvel that was almost of terror, there was movement and morphing shapes below us on the seafloor. A million thoughts struck hotter than lightening through my mind. My first instinct was to conceal myself in his arms from this enigma of a picture below us.
[[[[His profound eyes held the same gasp that I was barely able to contain expelling from my weak lungs. The very wind in our ears faded out and we were transfixed. It was so impressive to me, that in this moment our own breathing halted. My acute senses detected the movements of whatever was so far below us, and soon enough, it must have detected us. With soft force, it rose to bump the ice. We did not see them, these that had frightened us...But we played with them. They would bounce onto the ice, and we persisted in following them. Our laughs floated through the chilled air, and I could almost imagine our under the frozen wave friends laughing with us in their own special language.
As we followed these magnificent manifestations, catching glances at their impressive shapes in the patches of ice, the hand on the clock of time could have spun so fast Father Time became dizzy...For we chased them on, and on, and on, skipping, racing, our heartbeats accelerating, but yet I still felt his heart there next to mine. And it was beating the same quick rhythm. Synchronized, we were. ]]]]
After the adrenaline of those few moments, my eyes lifted to admire my company. My darling company. I saw the color of fear fade from his soul windows as the creature tapped on the ice below.
Then together, we, with each tap, followed them on. Gracefully and joyously we persisted in following them. They were a wonderful contrary to what fear we could have held, dancing and racing so fearlessly upon ice.
All my diversion was in the fact that I was in his presence, and he in mine, and that we did and went about what we did, together. Our laughter of bells, chimes, was a harmony more magnificent than the size of all the underwater animals that could've existed beneath our dancing feet.
We came to a point in our journey when the enchanting soft flakes ceased their own dwindling journey to the ground. Our eyes beheld an indescribable thing then. It was the very source of life, the glorious sun. It's presence was encompassed by a gently moving river. That was the sun's encasement, a place where our underwater companions could swim and surface periodically, spontaneously... Each jumped high into the fresh air. I smelled the salty breeze and internally jumped each time in sync with them. The jump I experienced was small in comparison to the startle of happiness I received in being in company of Leo.
As they propelled through the air, they sent our way warm droplets of sea water. It soon began to rain. Where it came from, I did not know for sure. I was in sync with my partner in our ocean ballet.
The atmosphere pondered on the happiness and peace Leo and I emitted as we took each others hands and played freely. The journey was not over though, and his gentle pull on my hand told me so. We bid our onlookers, admirers, and ocean friends farewell before continuing on our way, side by side.
The Girl In Grey
A Death Cab For Cutie song?
Yes, welcome to my life.
I mean, death.
I mean, I think.
Except, you know, I never did go to Catholic school or anything like that...did I?
I couldn't remember. In fact, I didn't remember anything much from what I suppose was my life.
When I focused hard for a moment on my past, I was pushed back into that very moment when I appeared here. Oh, my head!
Was this some kind of working of God, that when I die, I can't remember the Earth he sent me to? What am I saying?
Ok, I don't really want to start on religion. Wasn't now the wrong moment to ponder on a God?
Neither do I want to begin by making you feel a little strange about the fact that in this moment I am dead. And that it's the only thing I am certain about with special clarity in my being.
The only other thing coming clearly to me in this moment is music. That Death Cab For Cutie Song about dying. Seriously, don't you think I could have a different song in my head in the line to the judging?
Judging? Well, I supposed that's what it was. Wasn't it that in most religions you die and then you have to wait to be exposed for all your dirty nasty sins? This was coming back to me.
Was I a sinner?
Throb, throb. My head was suffering an indescribably painful migraine.
How could anyone from where I came know that I'd stand here now? I glanced briefly to my surroundings. If this was Heaven, or something of the sort, it was one strange place. Where had I learned that Heaven would be white? This was not a white paradise.
The pain worsened more so as I pondered questions.
Analyze the present, I commanded myself...I needed all the sanity I could possibly possess in this moment.
And so I commenced...
In this vicinity there was a peculiar mix of colours. None of the colors I viewed stood out in particular, but rather there was a soft yellow orange glow to all of the other colours of...the people? Yes, it occurred to me then that there were other beings such as I around me. The most proximate to me was a young girl in a light pink dress. It reached to the ground. The ground, now what was that like? More orange glow. So that was where the horrendous colour was coming from. When I looked to the sky, the ceiling, I couldn't be sure, I saw only dark.
Best not to look to the dark, I told myself. Where had I heard that? A knife ripped through my brain.
Focus, again. I demanded of myself. I studied the little girl that stood motionlessly before me. Her distance from me was probably a half meter, and upon glancing forward of her, I noticed the rest of the beings here were the same distance from each other.
It was in that moment I realized that my surroundings were completely silent, still, but not stale. It was a feeling of waiting, but it was not one of tension. The line was not straight, but rather a wavy line, and for that, I could see at least half of each personage.
Each of these silent, unmoving figures was dressed in a shade of colour, from hues of red, to greens, to blues... The darkest I found was a royal purple, and I saw no colours that could have been labeled sad. The girls were all dressed in the same style of the youthful child in front on my eyes. The men in robes, and all of us without any sort of shoe.
I looked at what I could of myself. I scanned the peak of my toes from underneath my dress, and then it brushed through my mind that I was in grey. The only one? I had to find out. In consequence, and with almost a sort of fear, I took another glance at the varying sizes of people in front of me. I was the only sad colour among hundreds.
Was I a sad person? Was I a sinner? Who am I, and what am I of?
My temples experienced an overwhelming blast of pain and I squeezed my eyes shut.
The worst slam yet, I forced myself to sit on the glowing floor and yanked my knees upward. My head went in between them, and I pressed them tightly together, as if the pressure would relieve my whamping head. My blonde hair, stick straight, slid it's long length along the extent of my calves, and swept the floor.
My thoughts went blank, and the throbbing subsided. I have no way of knowing how long it took for the searing brand of my thoughts to dull to a subsided aching, but it could have been anywhere from one minute to a few eternities.
When I finally passed the point where I could release the tension of my legs against my temples, I lifted my head cautiously.
My eyes ever so slowly adjusted to the warm light that now contained more of a yellow tint. I viewed that the entire line of people had gone, but that I wasn't completely alone. In the distance, or at least I could judge he was nothing close to me, I saw a young man of maybe 19 youthful years dressed in a grey robe. Grey. Any breathe I had was gone.
I did not recognize him, just as I had not recognized the back side of the previous young girl who had stood before me.
But he knew my name. And I knew, for he called for me then. He called me out in what could have a been a shout, what could have been a whisper.
“Sher,” it was a tender call, I realized after the sounds left his lips.
I could not bring words to form, or any kind of sound to emit from my lungs. What could I say in this moment?
Was this situation, this youth, this young man here supposed to be some kind of test?
I threw away to the trash all my questions, my doubts, my endless contemplations, and decided to go along with it all. His eyes that I then looked directly into seemed trustworthy enough. He stepped three normal steps and he was in front of my curdled figure. I saw his eyes clearer then. It was the colour of the Mediterranean Sea on a clear late spring evening. A shimmering shade of blue. How did I know of a sea, and it's appearance? That came back to me then.
A Deathcab For Cute song and an image of the Mediterranean sea are all I have at this point.
So I took his now outstretched hand. He lifted me effortlessly. Perhaps we weighed nothing in this soft lighted circumstance. He didn't let my hand go, and I wasn't sure if I should pull away. I didn't know what it meant, nor was I sure I knew who he was. My only will in this moment was to exist. I was helpless, and felt like I could sink out of any existence if someone was not there with me. I was scared, frightened, frozen; helpless.
He was still silent, and in place of where my eyes had stayed with his, I looked down to our hands linked together by my fear and uncertainty.
That's when all of my rationality left.
I intertwined our fingers, he glanced at them for a moment, as if to be sure of something... And then he began to tug me forward, and I went with him.
The way in which our bodies glided along was, well, like we were gliding along!
My questions faded away, and I began to think over how his hand felt with mine...When he brushed his thumb over mine, a half smile broke my blank face.
I trusted him more with each of his re-grips when my hand started to slip.
We were headed towards the black darkness of the far off distance, I didn't know what awaited us, I only saw that his black hair matched that of the blackness, and our grey forms would fit just perfectly in the dark cloud should it decide to swallow us.
We were so close by then, and we slowed to a halt right before the, now that I could see up close, cloud of black.
He turned slightly backward to look me in the eyes. His whisper came again.
“Sher. This is where it begins.”
I paused my breathing and we then jumped into the dark, together.
Yes, welcome to my life.
I mean, death.
I mean, I think.
Except, you know, I never did go to Catholic school or anything like that...did I?
I couldn't remember. In fact, I didn't remember anything much from what I suppose was my life.
When I focused hard for a moment on my past, I was pushed back into that very moment when I appeared here. Oh, my head!
Was this some kind of working of God, that when I die, I can't remember the Earth he sent me to? What am I saying?
Ok, I don't really want to start on religion. Wasn't now the wrong moment to ponder on a God?
Neither do I want to begin by making you feel a little strange about the fact that in this moment I am dead. And that it's the only thing I am certain about with special clarity in my being.
The only other thing coming clearly to me in this moment is music. That Death Cab For Cutie Song about dying. Seriously, don't you think I could have a different song in my head in the line to the judging?
Judging? Well, I supposed that's what it was. Wasn't it that in most religions you die and then you have to wait to be exposed for all your dirty nasty sins? This was coming back to me.
Was I a sinner?
Throb, throb. My head was suffering an indescribably painful migraine.
How could anyone from where I came know that I'd stand here now? I glanced briefly to my surroundings. If this was Heaven, or something of the sort, it was one strange place. Where had I learned that Heaven would be white? This was not a white paradise.
The pain worsened more so as I pondered questions.
Analyze the present, I commanded myself...I needed all the sanity I could possibly possess in this moment.
And so I commenced...
In this vicinity there was a peculiar mix of colours. None of the colors I viewed stood out in particular, but rather there was a soft yellow orange glow to all of the other colours of...the people? Yes, it occurred to me then that there were other beings such as I around me. The most proximate to me was a young girl in a light pink dress. It reached to the ground. The ground, now what was that like? More orange glow. So that was where the horrendous colour was coming from. When I looked to the sky, the ceiling, I couldn't be sure, I saw only dark.
Best not to look to the dark, I told myself. Where had I heard that? A knife ripped through my brain.
Focus, again. I demanded of myself. I studied the little girl that stood motionlessly before me. Her distance from me was probably a half meter, and upon glancing forward of her, I noticed the rest of the beings here were the same distance from each other.
It was in that moment I realized that my surroundings were completely silent, still, but not stale. It was a feeling of waiting, but it was not one of tension. The line was not straight, but rather a wavy line, and for that, I could see at least half of each personage.
Each of these silent, unmoving figures was dressed in a shade of colour, from hues of red, to greens, to blues... The darkest I found was a royal purple, and I saw no colours that could have been labeled sad. The girls were all dressed in the same style of the youthful child in front on my eyes. The men in robes, and all of us without any sort of shoe.
I looked at what I could of myself. I scanned the peak of my toes from underneath my dress, and then it brushed through my mind that I was in grey. The only one? I had to find out. In consequence, and with almost a sort of fear, I took another glance at the varying sizes of people in front of me. I was the only sad colour among hundreds.
Was I a sad person? Was I a sinner? Who am I, and what am I of?
My temples experienced an overwhelming blast of pain and I squeezed my eyes shut.
The worst slam yet, I forced myself to sit on the glowing floor and yanked my knees upward. My head went in between them, and I pressed them tightly together, as if the pressure would relieve my whamping head. My blonde hair, stick straight, slid it's long length along the extent of my calves, and swept the floor.
My thoughts went blank, and the throbbing subsided. I have no way of knowing how long it took for the searing brand of my thoughts to dull to a subsided aching, but it could have been anywhere from one minute to a few eternities.
When I finally passed the point where I could release the tension of my legs against my temples, I lifted my head cautiously.
My eyes ever so slowly adjusted to the warm light that now contained more of a yellow tint. I viewed that the entire line of people had gone, but that I wasn't completely alone. In the distance, or at least I could judge he was nothing close to me, I saw a young man of maybe 19 youthful years dressed in a grey robe. Grey. Any breathe I had was gone.
I did not recognize him, just as I had not recognized the back side of the previous young girl who had stood before me.
But he knew my name. And I knew, for he called for me then. He called me out in what could have a been a shout, what could have been a whisper.
“Sher,” it was a tender call, I realized after the sounds left his lips.
I could not bring words to form, or any kind of sound to emit from my lungs. What could I say in this moment?
Was this situation, this youth, this young man here supposed to be some kind of test?
I threw away to the trash all my questions, my doubts, my endless contemplations, and decided to go along with it all. His eyes that I then looked directly into seemed trustworthy enough. He stepped three normal steps and he was in front of my curdled figure. I saw his eyes clearer then. It was the colour of the Mediterranean Sea on a clear late spring evening. A shimmering shade of blue. How did I know of a sea, and it's appearance? That came back to me then.
A Deathcab For Cute song and an image of the Mediterranean sea are all I have at this point.
So I took his now outstretched hand. He lifted me effortlessly. Perhaps we weighed nothing in this soft lighted circumstance. He didn't let my hand go, and I wasn't sure if I should pull away. I didn't know what it meant, nor was I sure I knew who he was. My only will in this moment was to exist. I was helpless, and felt like I could sink out of any existence if someone was not there with me. I was scared, frightened, frozen; helpless.
He was still silent, and in place of where my eyes had stayed with his, I looked down to our hands linked together by my fear and uncertainty.
That's when all of my rationality left.
I intertwined our fingers, he glanced at them for a moment, as if to be sure of something... And then he began to tug me forward, and I went with him.
The way in which our bodies glided along was, well, like we were gliding along!
My questions faded away, and I began to think over how his hand felt with mine...When he brushed his thumb over mine, a half smile broke my blank face.
I trusted him more with each of his re-grips when my hand started to slip.
We were headed towards the black darkness of the far off distance, I didn't know what awaited us, I only saw that his black hair matched that of the blackness, and our grey forms would fit just perfectly in the dark cloud should it decide to swallow us.
We were so close by then, and we slowed to a halt right before the, now that I could see up close, cloud of black.
He turned slightly backward to look me in the eyes. His whisper came again.
“Sher. This is where it begins.”
I paused my breathing and we then jumped into the dark, together.
7 Seconds
The More Precious Seven Seconds
I could literally feel the heat she emitted through the little space between us. She stood in front of me, inspecting her dress with an off gaze. She wasn't here in her homecoming dress. She was in some story she'd write at 3 AM, later on. I had approached her, and she needed not to see the reflection to know I had come behind her.
That was the first desire, come to her. If there was anything I could truly say was irresistible, it would be the way she smelled...the smell of perfume, strawberries, and something I could never put my fingers on.
She had chosen to leave her hair down, and the length of it embraced her in a most graceful way. The blonde color made her white skin glow slightly more than usual. Enough to drive a good man mad.
The material of her dress was a simple one, soft to the touch, and a dark green color. It modestly covered her, but the top of her shoulder remained exposed and I could see each of her freckles along them. The adorable freckles I dreamed about counting, if she would lay asleep with me.
She was gorgeous, just as any moment I saw her. She took in mind every detail to please me. She often did so.
In this moment she was quiet. She wasn't always so quiet, she was actually probably one of the loudest girls I had met, but most of what she said to me didn't come through words. It was the way she closed her eyes when she...laughed, when she cried over something that touched her, and when she fell asleep on my couch, or my bed. My heart just ached with how precious she looked, glowing with the innocence of a sleeping child.
She closed her eyes in the next moment in front of me, and I could have cried to my creator my gratitude that she'd almost read my mind and that she knew me, and I knew her. So well.
I wrapped my arms around her, I softly bit her neck and I felt her smile. Both our eyes were then closed. She whispered in return, “I adore you.”
She had quoted me, as if I was some kind of inspiration to her. But I knew when she turned to face me, it wasn't just that she liked to repeat things I'd said to her throughout love letters, stories, and handwritten songs.
Looking into my eyes, neither of us were left with any words. No words could surpass this moment that was passing between us. Between her and I, no. But between us.
She closed her eyes, right there, a few inches away from me. I wanted to, she wanted me to. This was my invitation, and it gave me the greatest joy knowing that it would make her happy, glowing, her brilliant self that shined it's greatest when presented before me.
Our lips met.
I could literally feel the heat she emitted through the little space between us. She stood in front of me, inspecting her dress with an off gaze. She wasn't here in her homecoming dress. She was in some story she'd write at 3 AM, later on. I had approached her, and she needed not to see the reflection to know I had come behind her.
That was the first desire, come to her. If there was anything I could truly say was irresistible, it would be the way she smelled...the smell of perfume, strawberries, and something I could never put my fingers on.
She had chosen to leave her hair down, and the length of it embraced her in a most graceful way. The blonde color made her white skin glow slightly more than usual. Enough to drive a good man mad.
The material of her dress was a simple one, soft to the touch, and a dark green color. It modestly covered her, but the top of her shoulder remained exposed and I could see each of her freckles along them. The adorable freckles I dreamed about counting, if she would lay asleep with me.
She was gorgeous, just as any moment I saw her. She took in mind every detail to please me. She often did so.
In this moment she was quiet. She wasn't always so quiet, she was actually probably one of the loudest girls I had met, but most of what she said to me didn't come through words. It was the way she closed her eyes when she...laughed, when she cried over something that touched her, and when she fell asleep on my couch, or my bed. My heart just ached with how precious she looked, glowing with the innocence of a sleeping child.
She closed her eyes in the next moment in front of me, and I could have cried to my creator my gratitude that she'd almost read my mind and that she knew me, and I knew her. So well.
I wrapped my arms around her, I softly bit her neck and I felt her smile. Both our eyes were then closed. She whispered in return, “I adore you.”
She had quoted me, as if I was some kind of inspiration to her. But I knew when she turned to face me, it wasn't just that she liked to repeat things I'd said to her throughout love letters, stories, and handwritten songs.
Looking into my eyes, neither of us were left with any words. No words could surpass this moment that was passing between us. Between her and I, no. But between us.
She closed her eyes, right there, a few inches away from me. I wanted to, she wanted me to. This was my invitation, and it gave me the greatest joy knowing that it would make her happy, glowing, her brilliant self that shined it's greatest when presented before me.
Our lips met.
Breaking Things
Sleep, sleep, sleep. God given sleep. I wanted it more than a dying man in a desert needed water.
How funny, how original, I thought to myself as the desert sun continued to rise. Coming from a desert dweller like myself.
If you asked a cartographer, he did live in a desert, here in the small Texas town. But if you tried to tell him three years ago that there was nothing in that desert state, he had a contradictory statement.
That same desert sunrise peaking through his dirty kitchen window was the last hope he had at falling asleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep.
I'll get there, I can't go on forever like this. I told myself repeatedly, as if beating it through my head would somehow will it into existence.
At the same time though, he feared this sleep he desired. He feared it because unlike in the day, he could not fight himself to return to her door. Fighting himself during the day was torture, but in the night... What could keep his body from sleepwalking to her window? That was the key problem to sleep, he couldn't manipulate his thoughts that way.
That was his nights...staying awake, the endless cups of cheap coffee, turning on the sofa.
The majority of his day consisted in justifying reasons to go to her, and telling himself how she could once again take over his life.
He got up from the sofa and went to get himself another coffee to survive through the working day.
He squeezed his eyes tightly for a moment. Getting away from her control...Wasn't she still doing that to him in this very moment? His thoughts still, if not more, consumed by her?
That was the reason he left. Though he could never tell her... Leaving because he loved her too much seemed to be a justified reason to him.
He would have married her...And so he left. He couldn't let someone take him like that.
He shuddered as he realized this was the thought he always avoided admitting to himself.
His mind just festered over the memory of her. Her golden hair with ribbons, it would hang in a small braid, an assortment of ponytails, whatever fitted her that day when she woke. Oh, her gray sweatpants, and her lips that would move as she listened to music. Her lips that....
No, he'd gone too far again. He took a sip of his now prepared dawn coffee.
Even black, it could not rid the taste of her left in his mouth.
She sighed. What was so hard about just getting back to the real world?
She was sick of these artists on the radio who sang of love healing in time. The songwriters obviously had never been 18 and completely in love. They knew nothing. They couldn't imagine the thrill of kissing in an old venue, to be laying with your best friend for hours, to debate of love, life, and inevitable death. It wasn't appealing to her though; death. Even in these moments. If she were to die, she couldn't have at least those memories of the night...The Night...
What was even worse, and often thought of it, was the "Why?". The reasons never added up. So, she left it there in her thoughts.
She figured that she probably no longer crossed his thoughts...So, why sicken herself with these of him?
Could it be possible for the autumn chill to have seeped through the skin and all the way to my veins? Because that's what I felt like in that moment. Autumn is her favorite season. It's when she likes to crunch the leaves under her pink soled converse shoes from 1989. I think she was the only person I knew the fact that converse were invented in 1917.
Every time I went into work, it was always the same. Always the same comments they gave me.
“You look like you need a cup of coffee, bro.”
“You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“I hate to say it man, but you did this to yourself.”
No, wait. That last comment was what I just told myself. The rest of them might as well have said it. It was carved into his very conscience.
Today's comment was more concerned, coming from one of my nicer co-workers.
“Look, we all just joke around 'cause we don't want to get too involved. It's your...er, business, but I have to ask you. Why can't you find a way to, well, move on?” His hand on my shoulder seemed warm enough, but my answer was ice cold...And true.
“Because I run out of things to break.”
I couldn't keep doing this, living without her. At least not in peace.
I stopped using my iPod app on my iPhone only to shower. But even then, my fender shook the walls of my bathroom. I find it easier to have the lyrics someone else has written to lead my thoughts. If I'm running the words through my mind, I can't physically think of him. Oh, but how I did. The play counts of his playlists grew, and I sang in my heart ever melody to him. I shut my eyes and plead to whoever controls life itself...I plead that he will hear these melodies...If not with his ears, with his heart. Maybe we lost that connection, and he will never hear my heartsong. At least no one could take music away. At least music doesn't pick up his bass guitar and leave without a face-to-face goodbye. The tears slunk down rapidly in the old drain...
God, she smelled amazing. It was from her lingerie shop, and it was completely her. Even the name: Pure Seduction. Printed in gold on the little glass bottle. It was the smell I tried to maintain in my jackets, in the den's couch cushions. It's true she was all pure seduction. She spoke it with every glance she gave me. Simply spoke, kissed me... Then she'd tell me to stop playing Edward and that she 'knew' she wasn't that attractive. I could never put words in her ears that satisfied her. So I shut my mouth and took her hand instead. But even that I avoided. Both of us tended to have naturally cold hands. Although when he held them together, for an extended period of time anyway, they'd begin to heat up. I was always worried she'd find my sweaty hands disgusting. The last thing I wanted to do was repel her away from me.
Fall classes were to start in two weeks. I was hoping the new university level of studies would help maybe tone down the misery I was suffering by it's distraction. I tried sometimes just to focus on my daily late summer to-do's. I had yet to recollect my apartment and find my school supplies. They were scattered I was sure, unlike the pieces of my heart. My heart hadn't been broken. It simply stopped when it lost reason to live. If I were to see his face...would it begin to beat again? She didn't know.
I woke completely shook and still trembling madly. My heart was racing a million miles a minute and my hand grasped for the sheets I had kicked onto the floor. But this was more than a nightmare. It was my life without her by my side. I had to see her. There was no sense, no need even, just that I had to hold her as I had to exist. I threw open the door of my bedroom and then I remember nothing more of the run down the street. The light was on, although it must have been 4 AM. The blinds of the window were shut, but the window must have been open because I heard her crying. My heart stopped it's rapid beating. I heard my name. She was crying, and I was the reason. I broke.
I had reached the lowest point. I had imagined this would never end. My body shook, and sobs shook my body itself. The first cry since he had left. I cried out his name, as if I possibly could have him hear all the way up the street. I wrapped my arms around myself there on the very floor. A crash lifted my head, and there he was. He had throw my blinds and we both slowly rose. He looked me in the eye, swept me into his arms.
“I couldn't do it,” he whispered in my ear.
“What?” I gasped in my sobs.
How funny, how original, I thought to myself as the desert sun continued to rise. Coming from a desert dweller like myself.
If you asked a cartographer, he did live in a desert, here in the small Texas town. But if you tried to tell him three years ago that there was nothing in that desert state, he had a contradictory statement.
That same desert sunrise peaking through his dirty kitchen window was the last hope he had at falling asleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep.
I'll get there, I can't go on forever like this. I told myself repeatedly, as if beating it through my head would somehow will it into existence.
At the same time though, he feared this sleep he desired. He feared it because unlike in the day, he could not fight himself to return to her door. Fighting himself during the day was torture, but in the night... What could keep his body from sleepwalking to her window? That was the key problem to sleep, he couldn't manipulate his thoughts that way.
That was his nights...staying awake, the endless cups of cheap coffee, turning on the sofa.
The majority of his day consisted in justifying reasons to go to her, and telling himself how she could once again take over his life.
He got up from the sofa and went to get himself another coffee to survive through the working day.
He squeezed his eyes tightly for a moment. Getting away from her control...Wasn't she still doing that to him in this very moment? His thoughts still, if not more, consumed by her?
That was the reason he left. Though he could never tell her... Leaving because he loved her too much seemed to be a justified reason to him.
He would have married her...And so he left. He couldn't let someone take him like that.
He shuddered as he realized this was the thought he always avoided admitting to himself.
His mind just festered over the memory of her. Her golden hair with ribbons, it would hang in a small braid, an assortment of ponytails, whatever fitted her that day when she woke. Oh, her gray sweatpants, and her lips that would move as she listened to music. Her lips that....
No, he'd gone too far again. He took a sip of his now prepared dawn coffee.
Even black, it could not rid the taste of her left in his mouth.
She sighed. What was so hard about just getting back to the real world?
She was sick of these artists on the radio who sang of love healing in time. The songwriters obviously had never been 18 and completely in love. They knew nothing. They couldn't imagine the thrill of kissing in an old venue, to be laying with your best friend for hours, to debate of love, life, and inevitable death. It wasn't appealing to her though; death. Even in these moments. If she were to die, she couldn't have at least those memories of the night...The Night...
What was even worse, and often thought of it, was the "Why?". The reasons never added up. So, she left it there in her thoughts.
She figured that she probably no longer crossed his thoughts...So, why sicken herself with these of him?
Could it be possible for the autumn chill to have seeped through the skin and all the way to my veins? Because that's what I felt like in that moment. Autumn is her favorite season. It's when she likes to crunch the leaves under her pink soled converse shoes from 1989. I think she was the only person I knew the fact that converse were invented in 1917.
Every time I went into work, it was always the same. Always the same comments they gave me.
“You look like you need a cup of coffee, bro.”
“You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“I hate to say it man, but you did this to yourself.”
No, wait. That last comment was what I just told myself. The rest of them might as well have said it. It was carved into his very conscience.
Today's comment was more concerned, coming from one of my nicer co-workers.
“Look, we all just joke around 'cause we don't want to get too involved. It's your...er, business, but I have to ask you. Why can't you find a way to, well, move on?” His hand on my shoulder seemed warm enough, but my answer was ice cold...And true.
“Because I run out of things to break.”
I couldn't keep doing this, living without her. At least not in peace.
I stopped using my iPod app on my iPhone only to shower. But even then, my fender shook the walls of my bathroom. I find it easier to have the lyrics someone else has written to lead my thoughts. If I'm running the words through my mind, I can't physically think of him. Oh, but how I did. The play counts of his playlists grew, and I sang in my heart ever melody to him. I shut my eyes and plead to whoever controls life itself...I plead that he will hear these melodies...If not with his ears, with his heart. Maybe we lost that connection, and he will never hear my heartsong. At least no one could take music away. At least music doesn't pick up his bass guitar and leave without a face-to-face goodbye. The tears slunk down rapidly in the old drain...
God, she smelled amazing. It was from her lingerie shop, and it was completely her. Even the name: Pure Seduction. Printed in gold on the little glass bottle. It was the smell I tried to maintain in my jackets, in the den's couch cushions. It's true she was all pure seduction. She spoke it with every glance she gave me. Simply spoke, kissed me... Then she'd tell me to stop playing Edward and that she 'knew' she wasn't that attractive. I could never put words in her ears that satisfied her. So I shut my mouth and took her hand instead. But even that I avoided. Both of us tended to have naturally cold hands. Although when he held them together, for an extended period of time anyway, they'd begin to heat up. I was always worried she'd find my sweaty hands disgusting. The last thing I wanted to do was repel her away from me.
Fall classes were to start in two weeks. I was hoping the new university level of studies would help maybe tone down the misery I was suffering by it's distraction. I tried sometimes just to focus on my daily late summer to-do's. I had yet to recollect my apartment and find my school supplies. They were scattered I was sure, unlike the pieces of my heart. My heart hadn't been broken. It simply stopped when it lost reason to live. If I were to see his face...would it begin to beat again? She didn't know.
I woke completely shook and still trembling madly. My heart was racing a million miles a minute and my hand grasped for the sheets I had kicked onto the floor. But this was more than a nightmare. It was my life without her by my side. I had to see her. There was no sense, no need even, just that I had to hold her as I had to exist. I threw open the door of my bedroom and then I remember nothing more of the run down the street. The light was on, although it must have been 4 AM. The blinds of the window were shut, but the window must have been open because I heard her crying. My heart stopped it's rapid beating. I heard my name. She was crying, and I was the reason. I broke.
I had reached the lowest point. I had imagined this would never end. My body shook, and sobs shook my body itself. The first cry since he had left. I cried out his name, as if I possibly could have him hear all the way up the street. I wrapped my arms around myself there on the very floor. A crash lifted my head, and there he was. He had throw my blinds and we both slowly rose. He looked me in the eye, swept me into his arms.
“I couldn't do it,” he whispered in my ear.
“What?” I gasped in my sobs.
Pink and Green Ribbons
Pink and Green Ribbons in the Jet Stream
“I'm trying to remember the name of that song,” she half mumbled as we started the walk down my driveway. “Maybe I'm all gone crazy now, but that was the best year yet!” She laughed so hard she nearly fell down as we sloped down to my front door. I wrapped my arm around her side to hold her steady and a pink blush came across her face, on top of the red she had from the festival...And her crazy running about as I went with her, catching her gaze each time she introduced me to her friends. She knew everyone, but furthermore, we each person, although they received her well or not, she had some story. She told me each story of each acquaintance we saw at the city festival, and by the end of the night, I felt I’d just began to taste her life again.
I realized all that as I opened my front door and we walked through.
“Where's sis?” was the first thing she asked after we walked in.
“I don't know, I think she might be with her friends. I'm going to go drop our stuff off in my room. Just one second.” And I received her purse and went into the hallway. I swung open the door and clicked on the familiar light switch. I set her purse down carefully on my desk. The green and pink ribbons floated softly and I reached out to touch them. I shut my eyes for a moment and then picked up a pencil from my desk. The eraser end had little bite marks on it. I looked to the desk and saw the collection of her works. Her doodles, her unique collages of lyrics, her Spanish love ballad. I chuckled. What a partner I had.
I placed my hand on the back of the seat. My jacket hung there. I remembered the way she looked in it, and I heard her laugh through the memory. I wanted to wrap her in it again, see her smile and hear her ask what I'm up to now. I chuckled again and went back out of my room.
I ducked into the bathroom and shook my hair in front of the mirror. When I ducked back out, I headed back to the front room.
At first, I was confused, because I didn't see her standing where I left her. I went a few steps forward and saw her on the couch, curled on the edge. She had pulled out her customary braid, the one she'd made sure I knew she did because she was 'Spanish' now. I resisted the chuckle and approached her. She couldn't have been asleep, so I sat next to her, and opened my mouth.
“Gabbi,” I started. “ I have to take you home in about two hours. What do you want to do? There's actually something I want to show you that I think you'll really like,” She stirred as I spoke and as I continued on, she turned. “You've been running around all night, and I can only imagine what a headache the Colombian dancers were for you. But maybe you're tired too and I could just take-” she stopped me by coming into me. Like a little girl, she snuggled into me. I kept silent now and pulled her in more comfortably. I kissed her hair, or rather pressed my lips to her hair and breathed in.
She gave me a giggle and a nudge. “That tickles,” she said out loud in a teasing voice. “You're also cute when you babble on at me.” She added.
I wanted for this moment to never end, I wish I could keep here here forever, just as happy as we felt now.
“I've got news.” She told me forwardly as she looked up into my face.
“Alright, tell me.” I told her, and we went for each others hands. Both our hands met and she interlocked our fingers together. “I can go away again.” She simply stated. “The university accepted me as a transfer student. Turning legal in Asia, that's not something every American girl can say, right?”
She was leaving?
“You're leaving again?” I asked her blankly, looking at her purple fingernails.
“My mom's sure that I'll have any job I want with the Chinese. And the government will kill for my Russian. I could be a spy, just like my aunt!”
I just got her back, her welcome back party felt like yesterday, not seven months ago. She'd seen Europe, now she was going for Asia? She could be victimized there...How could she put herself in that danger?
“You're not saying anything.” She told me after my mess of a mental race. What COULD I say to her?
“It's okay,” she said in a finalized voice.
She ran away from me, running down the hall, she flew into my room. And I stood up. In shock.
She had her purse in her arms within moments and continued her flight out my front door. Just as she got halfway up the driveway, I reached the door and I saw my parents headlights coming in front of the house. She raised a hand to them and then full sprinted away from my house.
She was going away. I think I lost all coherent thought.
She had been the only girl I had found that loved, and loved with her whole heart...Loved ME with her whole heart, but still couldn't be destroyed. She was strong, beautiful in a fierce way, but with the most tender heart. One piece of sad news could bring her to tears.
Why would she do this to me? No, that wasn't the thought I should have.
WHY is she doing THIS?
She obviously wanted to grow, wants to appease her mother. Or escape her. I knew something in her was of her mother, but she was also her own person.
So what was making her suggest leaving?
Leaving? She couldn't. She just couldn't. Not when she had me counting days before. I had to breathe now.
My arms needed her so much in that moment. She'd left.
And she may get cold! It's a little brisk, how could I have let her go, and without a jacket?!
Was I just going to stand here in my shirt and jeans, here in my doorway, looking at the ground?
“What'd you do?” my sister's voice broke my thoughts.
“I don't know. She left. I mean, she's leaving.” The confusion in my sister's face made it clear that she didn't understand.
I needed to see her, but she ran away. She didn't want to see me.
“Uh, why don't you go to bed? I'll call her tomorrow.”
Gabbi would pick up my phone number, of course. Should I call her? I think she made it clear that she wanted to be apart from me right now. But how long until she came back around? A day? Two? A week?
The horror of the thought of her flying out this week could've killed me.
No, it wouldn't.
What was going on? I hit my bed with a generous sound.
'I love you,' I crooned in my head. 'I hope you don't leave too long. Then I won't have to miss ya' so much. Won't you just stay? For me?'
My thoughts blanked out and fatigue let the most restless nap of my life overtake me. I dreamed of pink and green ribbons in a hurricane.
7.1.11
¡TOMA! bwahaha.
You know how in the schools back in America, you cannot access anything on the computers? Well, I write to you from a computer inside the school library of Historiador Chabas, my Spanish high school. I just think this is marvelous enough to blog about.
Hey, some people write entire blogs about cats, or knitting, or even worse...SCRAPBOOKING! Seriously, who wants to read a blog about scrapbooking? Do not even say your great grandma Anne would love to read it. We both know she does not know the first thing about blogs, computers, she cannot read and she knows she has better things to do!!!
I better sign off, but hey...I just wrote a blog about nothing. And you just wasted 3 minutes reading it.
:)
Hey, some people write entire blogs about cats, or knitting, or even worse...SCRAPBOOKING! Seriously, who wants to read a blog about scrapbooking? Do not even say your great grandma Anne would love to read it. We both know she does not know the first thing about blogs, computers, she cannot read and she knows she has better things to do!!!
I better sign off, but hey...I just wrote a blog about nothing. And you just wasted 3 minutes reading it.
:)
4.1.11
You're Just Jealous of My Doll!!!
 |
| My doll is sexy. You know it! |
Día de los inocentes.
madre mia.
¡¡¡qué día!!!
28th of December in Spain is just like the 1st of April in America.
Of course, no one told me this. I learned it, just like I learn EVERYTHING. Like, the family dog bites, the difference between tit and aunt in Spanish, (which in reality, is only an accent,) and all those things. Those are things I LEARN.
We're sitting down for lunch, since we have a huge lunch together as a family every day. Like dinner, for American families. Everyone except Paco, my host father, is in the kitchen. I'm sitting down, anxious to get to my salad. (Did I just said Anxious and Salad in the same sentence? Exchanges work magic.) Finally, Paco comes in, sits down on the little stool, and looks straight at me.
>>I was talking to Rotary. They called.<<He said.
I'm thinking, "Maldita! [[Don't open Google translate, PLEASE.]] What did I do now???"
>>You have to change host families. This very afternoon.<< He goes on gravely.
>You're going to Nora's house.< My host mother adds, grimly. (Those are the host parents that don't let her out unless she has perfect grades.)
I replied calmly, diplomatically and logically:
-Well, it IS an international rule of Rotary. Ok.-
I then jump out of my skin as my family starts chanting,
"I-NO-CEN-TE! I-NO-CEN-TE!" repeatedly.
My little brother brought out a paper doll and my mom taped it to my hoodie. She explained that because I fell for the joke, I had to wear the doll. She said I needed to save it for memories, and that we needed a photo. I went to get my camera, and made a very...beautiful face for the photo.
I-NO-CEN-TE!!!
XOXOXO!
Doce, once, diez, nueve, ocho, siete, seis, cinco, cuatro, tres, dos, uno, ZERO!
NOVENTA.....SEIS!I like to count grapes for fun.
NOT.
Spain has some traditions for New Years. As much as I love red thongs, (that's a JOKE, mom,) I passed on that tradition.
Instead, my host mom sat me down in the kitchen with the task of count sets of 12 grapes. Don't waste the time opening up the Calculater application from your Start menu. That's more grapes than I want to remember. (I'm having nightmare flash backs to counting 4,000 rubber ducks for the Seven Peaks Duck Derby.)
They start the countdown from 12, and eat a grape every second of the countdown. Twelve seconds before 2011 and it was silent except for the sound of the bells and those who were choking on the grapes.
Guess who ate all hers in the twelve seconds?!
GOOD LUCK FOR 2011!!!
Happy New Year!
Just some photos, since I haven't uploaded many.
alexandre antoni vento carrascosa |
| Me & Andreaaaa |
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| Kiko & Andrea |
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| Cris. Being...Cris. |
rotary meetings.
i was the only 1 asking questions. |
| 70 students in all of Spain. 95% American. |
look at us. we're so pretty! :)Accumulative-Of All The Words...
Nora (other exchange student) and I are sitting in English class.
The Spanish teacher kindly asks us if we could check over a student's essay for her. The girl had written it in Spanish, and the teacher had translated it to English.
The words on the English version were indeed English, but that was about the extent of what Nora and I could make of it. We went about correcting the English version. Nora found it easier to translate from the Spanish version.
15 minutes later, Nora and I reached the second paragraph. Feeling pretty proud of ourselves at this point, we came to a dead end. We had to describe something, but the word wasn't coming to mind. I might also add that we hadn't really been able to speak in full sentences in English with each other. That's because our brains were a bit more accustomed to Spanish. We had hit a new low of brain freezes. We were stuck trying to come up with an ENGLISH word. We became human Thesauruses for the word, but for the life of us we could not think of what this word was. We gave up, and went on to the next sentence.
I had fixed two more seconds when I finally shouted, (mind you, we're in class,)
ACCUMULATIVE!!!
Nora bounced excitedly. We loudly exclaimed, "That's it!"
The teacher turns around from the blackboard and says sharply in her cute British/Spanish accent:
"Who's making all that noise?"
Nora and I cracked up and covered our mouths.
Well, I guess you could say we're Accumatively losing our English.
;)
Again, we're sitting in English class. It's Thursday, and Nora and I are exhausted of the week. We're ready for Viernes! (Friday!!!) We're nearly asleep, reading our Spanish grammar books. The teacher, who I've begun to quite like, walks over and asks us if we could Please read these paragraphs Slowly and Clearly for the class.
The paragraphs were describing people who had changed since high school.
Nora read:
"Remember Amy?"
"The blonde one?"
"Yes, her."
"She was quite FAT, wasn't she?"
- Nora and I begin to laugh and laugh.
Nora continues reading and then I take my turn.
After, tears are almost rolling down are faces.
The teachers says, "I suppose you don't use the word Fat the same as they do in England, correct?"
Our smiles said it all.
These are the moments I enjoy that Spaniards learn British English.
XD
xoxoxoxoxoxo
The Spanish teacher kindly asks us if we could check over a student's essay for her. The girl had written it in Spanish, and the teacher had translated it to English.
The words on the English version were indeed English, but that was about the extent of what Nora and I could make of it. We went about correcting the English version. Nora found it easier to translate from the Spanish version.
15 minutes later, Nora and I reached the second paragraph. Feeling pretty proud of ourselves at this point, we came to a dead end. We had to describe something, but the word wasn't coming to mind. I might also add that we hadn't really been able to speak in full sentences in English with each other. That's because our brains were a bit more accustomed to Spanish. We had hit a new low of brain freezes. We were stuck trying to come up with an ENGLISH word. We became human Thesauruses for the word, but for the life of us we could not think of what this word was. We gave up, and went on to the next sentence.
I had fixed two more seconds when I finally shouted, (mind you, we're in class,)
ACCUMULATIVE!!!
Nora bounced excitedly. We loudly exclaimed, "That's it!"
The teacher turns around from the blackboard and says sharply in her cute British/Spanish accent:
"Who's making all that noise?"
Nora and I cracked up and covered our mouths.
Well, I guess you could say we're Accumatively losing our English.
;)
Again, we're sitting in English class. It's Thursday, and Nora and I are exhausted of the week. We're ready for Viernes! (Friday!!!) We're nearly asleep, reading our Spanish grammar books. The teacher, who I've begun to quite like, walks over and asks us if we could Please read these paragraphs Slowly and Clearly for the class.
The paragraphs were describing people who had changed since high school.
Nora read:
"Remember Amy?"
"The blonde one?"
"Yes, her."
"She was quite FAT, wasn't she?"
- Nora and I begin to laugh and laugh.
Nora continues reading and then I take my turn.
After, tears are almost rolling down are faces.
The teachers says, "I suppose you don't use the word Fat the same as they do in England, correct?"
Our smiles said it all.
These are the moments I enjoy that Spaniards learn British English.
XD
xoxoxoxoxoxo
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