the pariah and the butterfly

Marked by a look of sadness and loss, her dead eyes always seem to be staring into nothing. The thin veneer of optimism and sensitivity for others wears thin and the anger bubbling below becomes visible. Anger for the void she feels all of the time, waiting for something, someone to spark the flint that she believes is dead. Angry that nobody seems to want to or try to love her the way she needs---and angry that she needs this, that it eats at her and wears down the paint. The gloss is gone and the color is fading and it won’t be long until she fades into the background or burns to the ground.

Approach with caution, the pariah is volatile. One extreme to the other, she can’t seem to find her bearings, her emotions taking her further and further from herself.

In stark opposition: The butterfly. A beautiful creature, nothing seems to scar her, mark her as affected. She flits over the world, in reality, but it doesn’t seem to weigh on her as heavily as it does on the pariah. Memories last forever in the vault that the pariah has created in her head. The butterfly has the ability to forget, move on. The green monster grows as the pariah wishes to fly, but the vault weighs her down. She turns red, angry and wants to crush the beauty, the assuredness, the pure freedom that seems to bless the butterfly. And when she does; shows the butterfly her ugly face; scares her away for good, she instantly regrets it. Living without beauty, she no longer has any reprieve from the joy that the butterfly gave her. Just to watch her, so sure of herself, so free—should have been enough. But for the pariah, as much as she tries to avoid it, the void engulfs her, and nothing is ever enough.

scheduling spontaneity

"I'd do anything for you"
"I'm there for you, whatever, whenever"

Romantic statements. I believe my loved ones when they say this to me.

But what about those other times? You know, when you're sitting around and you just want someone to sit next to you, even if it's to comment on the ludicrousness of some reality TV show. Or to sit outside of a coffee shop with you and people watch, imagining the back story of every couple and family who passes by. Or to ramble around the city on a nice day, no destination in mind, stopping for a drink on a nice patio.

Our world is so scheduled and organized. We have to allot time for people, pencil them in. It leaves no room for that sunny day when you realize you just want your friend to hang out with you, or someone to just sit with you when you feel the world encroaching and you want someone to share it with.

Because the days are long, but the years are short. And looking back at some of my favorite moments, they were never penciled in my calendar.

mistaken heart

no longer young and naive, I try to keep it tucked in tight. inherently honest and trusting, I give a lot away. i mistook your words for the truth. i gave more than i should have.

we were there, in that place where everything looks like it fits just right. i imagined you fit right in, and projected the same was true for me in your life.

i feel foolish, like i was dancing around in my underwear, not a care in the world. sudden pain, bleeding feet, i hobble back. i see the scene with fresh eyes, and I still can't understand how the glass got there.

mistaken heart?

not on my part.

pause.

i work my leg around your torso and rest my arm over your shoulder. pause. i feel you around me. pause. i nuzzle your ear with my nose, licking it with my tongue. happiness doesn't feel like this. dreams do. slowly it's right. pause. your jaw line presents the path, i follow. slowly making your way to your mouth, I wonder if I'll get there, but it doesn't really matter. pause. i'm too happy to make up my mind about the next move. i'm intoxicated by the path. pause. your lips feel like i was never gone and never there at the same time. new but so comfortable. pause. if only the pause could last forever. but time slips. slowly but not. i pause. and know.

trying my patience

they say the body is made up of 70% water. I swear today mine seems to be made up of 99.9% and I can keep the water from welling from behind my eyes, threatening to spill out. I want to scream, to cry; but I know, the harder way, the calm way might just get me through it. I'm trying to be patient, trying to stay calm, but living with this sudden uncertainty is making me wonder if sanity is the vacation and insanity is life.

no more kid gloves

I believe there are two reasons people fight in a relationship (and conversely, two reasons they don't).

One is because they really, really care about the other person and want to make their relationship stronger and better, and that only happens with open and honest dialogue that can sometimes verge into the disagreement field. I often avoided fights in my last relationship because it wasn't worth the effort; I was ambiguous about the caring factor. Perhaps I secretly knew we weren't meant to be together.

The other is a sense of self-worth. You know that you're worth him calling back/making time for you/treating you right, and you're willing to tell him that when it's not happening. Conversely, I never started a fight in my last relationship for this reason, I let my self-worth be overriden by fear because I was terrified he'd break up with me and then what would I do, who would I be without him wah wah etc....

So I've got to say, the gloves are off this time, and I'm not scared. I'm also selective. As my good friend pointed out---it's not always about me, it could be something going on with him when he acts all, well, wierd. But I'm willing to ask for what I want and say what I need this time, and sometimes it feels bad. But most of the time it feels good. Because I know, that in the end, I worked for it, whatever it turns out to be. Because fairytales aren't really true. You can't just sit around and it will happen. You have to make it happen for you.

Look what happens with 'fairytale endings':

Probably should've eaten the apple in this case.

I guess this is better than sweeping floors for the wicked stepsisters?

L.A.L.A. land

like waking up to the sun peeking through your window. knowing. you have nothing you have to do today. we strolled leisurely up to the diner. americana blaring back at me, but the edges so softened by the heat and the laid back 70's vibe. two pancakes, pieces of turkey bacon, eggs and toast later, I'm floating on your hand as you guide me back to the car. the silence is comfortable and the salsa music softly fills the background, adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. the sand is surprisingly hot on my feet; the breeze softens what could be opressive heat. the azure and turquoise and gold stretches for what seems forever. lay back. listen to the sounds of people living in that minute. your hand on my back, I close my eyes.

strolling back to the car and the white white face startles me. two nuns. white as winter. full habits, navy blue headpieces framed with white. one leans over a rosary while the other just reclines, reaching her white face to heaven.

we stroll down the promenande, looking for a sunny spot and some libations. a french bistro, snuggled in the middle of tourists, shops, street performers and eventually; a crew of firemen, and paramedics. sounds frantic, but feels just right. we order some foie gras and wine. the wine augments the beach buzz we have going on; I feel warm and happy. wondering how I got here but not worrying about it in the least.