Think more and think again

Saying Goodbye to Mike// Realizing Friendship

2005-08-20T00:45:00.000-04:00

I said goodbye to him tonight. Told him I loved him too, that I would miss him, that there would be a hole within that could never be filled.. I wish that I could keep him, take him with me.

He.

He loves me in spite of all my faults, in spite of all my imperfections. I should have loved him more. I should have shown him his own beauty instead of dwelling on my own problems. He listened, never giving me bullshit as a salve for my wounds. He nursed them the way they were meant to be nursed, he healed them with honesty kindness and a listening ear. I wish that I could do justice to what his friendship has meant to me, to what he meant to me.

I loved him. To say anything different would be a lie. I loved him and I should have told him more often. These words should not have only been uttered in goodbyes. Nor should my goodbyes have been tainted by tears, stained with the petty nostalgia that accompanies farewell.

‘Farewell’

These tears that fall from my eyes, that wet my face, and blur my vision, these tears are for him. They are for the laughs we have shared for, for the days that have passed between us.

He did not say “I love you”. Instead he chose to say “I will always love you”

He promised me forever in his goodbye. Giving me the kind of unconditional love that I have sought after all my life. The love that I think lies with the streets of New York. The love I think will be given to me by perfect strangers I have only dreamt of but have not met.

He said he loved me,

He was not the first person to tell me these words, He was not the first person to offer me what they viewed a demonstration of things mutually felt. But what was different was: he was the first person I actually believed.

So as he moves farther away from this place, our space of communion and solace: I am saddened because I realize this place will never be our own again.. It will never be ours. As he leaves in the stillness of tomorrow’s morning, he will forever be giving up ownership of these streets, these places, these buildings that we once haunted as our own.. And though we shall return, we shall walk among these things like ghosts. Realizing their familiarity, yet at the same time marveling at their oddity.
He leaves me here, and for five days I will stay. Waiting my turn to called by what can only be named as tomorrow.

As she knew it

2005-06-15T15:04:00.000-04:00

She did not quite know where she was going. She knew simply that in doing so, she was leaving all she knew behind. She knew quietly, innately, that she would never see these things again. She had shared her feelings with her brother, but he had not understood. He never understood. But she did not mind. After all it was not for him to understand. Just as she would not get mad at fish for not flying, so too did she view her own isolation. It was what she was made for. She was never to know simplicity. She would never know the wonder of true innocence. She was born without it. While her siblings was excited – in that false sense of optimism that all children have kind of way - she felt the days close in on her. She could feel them getting shorter. She tried to take it all in, to remember it all, but the heaviness of her heart betrayed the futility of the endeavor.

So as the bus moved forward, she felt it leaving her. She felt herself changing, growing and shrinking at the same time. It was peculiar sensation. She wanted it to stop and yet she knew the feeling would be with her forever. She would be forty five in her car and she would feel that same feeling as she left what she thought would always be her home. She would cry then as she cried now, secretly and inwardly. She wanted to stop the tears.

Remember.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget movement of the bus and the commotion around her. She tried to go back. She could feel the grass beneath her feet, but she could not see. She could not see the trees. She could not even feel the wind. She could only feel the grass beneath her feet.

Remember.

She could feel it now. She could feel the wind. She felt it on her skin. Passing through her thin clothes. It was all around her now. But the sun. Where was the sun? She could not feel its inescapable heat.

Remember.

She tried to bring it back. She tried to command her eyes to squint from the brightness of the sun. She tried to command her skin to burn from its heat. She tried. She tried with all the strength she could muster. But all she felt was water. At first she thought it was rain, that in her pursuit of the sun she accidentally conjured rain.
But when she opened her eyes she knew they were tears, and as the bus moved forward she knew she was leaving behind her life, as she knew it.

Weightless

2005-05-18T22:42:00.000-04:00

This is part of a short story i wrote one day. I would write out the whole thing, but I'm tired.

She lived passionately and without regret. At least, she thought she did. She thought she was free. She believed that she was without the baggage that weighed every one else around her down. She still remembered what it was like to have it, like a leg that had been blown away in the war: its very absense reminded her of its former weight. She still remember the very moment she gave it up. The moment she no longer felt. It was so easy to do. Easy. Like blood from her veins.

The day was cold. The world seemed to be covered by a gray film. It was a dreary day, ambivalent in its intent. While it allowed her the freedom to go outside, it did not let her stay there long. The day left her anxious. She thought she should stay but she wanted to leave. She was called to leave. So with the intent to be free she left. Like the nightengale that flies to heaven with the knowledge that no matter how close it gets it will eventually how to fall back to earth, she left.

She had no particular place in mind as she left. She simply0 waLked down the street. She looked about her, at the rows of houses she passed. They were all the same. They same as they had always been. The result if an era of conformity that still lingered there, masquerading as individualism. She hated this neighborhood. She hated the community service projects, their block parties in the summer, their christmas parties in the winter, their mixers. They were all so....

A car passed her.

It was like all the cars parked on the block. Four Door Sedan. Fuel efficient, of course. They all cared about the environment. In a former life they were all once activists. Now they had traded in their idealism for a salary and bonus. But she didnt hate them for that. She accepted that, she understood that. She simply hated that they tried hold on to what they once had, what they once were. Couldn't they just accept that they were no longer who they once were? She had.

Why this exists

2005-04-27T00:32:00.000-04:00

I have created this blogspot to write. It will be my own. Something free of the judgment of others, free of, hopefully, the judgement of myself. These words shall - must- be my own. I want so badly to be a writer. I want to find this voice. The only way that can happen is if I write. So write I shall.