Posts Tagged feelings

I learned of his mother’s illness quite by accident, and while I knew nothing of her, I felt bad for him. I wasn’t sure what to say, for inasmuch as we were familiar acquaintances, we didn’t know each other well enough to be considered true friends; and so I kept my message short and simple.

Stay strong.

After the fact I thought about what I had done and wondered if saying nothing at all might have been more appropriate, for exactly what sort of message is “stay strong?”

Everyone deals with personal crisis in their own way, and to tell someone who may be falling to pieces to “stay strong” is just wrong in my opinion. Why must we stay strong? I don’t think we should; if that’s not what our emotions are telling us. We shouldn’t fight to stay strong for the sake of another; we should let our true emotions be seen and heard, otherwise we’re just projecting a lie.

So, have a breakdown if that’s where you feel yourself headed – cry your heart out – allow yourself to wallow in your pain, your anger, your sadness. Whatever you’re feeling, just stay true to you. For only then are we being true to others.

Something to think about…

There comes a certain “feel,” no matter where you happen to be, whenever his thoughts turn in your direction.

It starts at the basic level of the flesh; like the cool breeze on a crisp autumn night; tantalizing and chilling all at once.

Your blood pressure rises, heart rate increases, as he sends invisible waves of desire, cascading in your direction.

At the sound of his voice, a chemical reaction triggers, and suddenly you are seized; with a mix of exhilaration and excitement like none other you have ever known.

A connection is what he seeks; the ability to reach out and snatch you from reality; pulling you into his realm of illusion; with nothing more than his thoughts and voice.

Once he connects, the feeding begins; everything you want to hear, anyone you want him to be; larger than life, too good to be true; having searched for eternity and now loving only you.

Before you can blink, you are on a downward spiral; surrendered completely while careening out of control.

He drains you empty, while filling you up; taking every scrap offered, pillaging the rest while you dream.

Making his exit as quickly as he comes; a puddle of nothing, you remain on the floor. Left alone, to sift through the pain; cloaked in his filthy blanket of noir.

She was relaxing on the sofa, her mind slowly unwinding, from a week of insurmountable stress; nothing compared to what the following promised; still, trying hard not to think about it. Hoping for a reprieve; an escape perhaps. Two days with no alarms, no schedules to speak of, maybe if she was lucky, get a little time away. When he walked in the back door, she just sat there and stared. Wondering how long his mid-life motorcycle crisis was actually going to last.

“Who are you?” she heard the words escape her mouth; before her thoughts had a chance to register and stop her. His thick mane of hair, now silver like tinsel, fell casually over his shoulders. Stone wash jeans, slashed stylishly below the pockets; not purchased purposely, but naturally worn till the fabric frayed. Black tank top advertising the biker bar; obviously new, as she’d never before seen it; showing off his brown-as-a-biscuit tan, with that Native American tint of red. Her red man. Her Indian. A perfectly beautiful, unknown stranger.

“I’m your man,” he answered with certainty; swaggering confidently to where she sat on the sofa, “Come home to my baby.” She turned her head when he bent down to kiss her. Not sure why, not thinking about it twice. Uncertainty filling her mind, taking hold of her senses. Tears threatening to spill over, fighting hard to hold them back; disguise her true feelings, whatever the cost.

The gift of deception, wrapped in a pretty pink bow; always the one she gave unsuspectingly; coming back to haunt her, every bit of three-fold. Not what she asked for, but exactly what she deserves. That old bitch Karma, lingering in the wings…

It’s like an alternate universe
One that makes my skin crawl
Though I know it shouldn’t
Still I can’t help my self

Littered with the the dregs of society
And side show carnival freaks
Where the Twilight Zone meets the Dark Side
It’s the Boulevard of the Bizarre

Don’t know where they come from
Where they’re going
Where they’ve been
Diseased crack whores on every corner
Physically deformed driving wheelchairs like cars

Mentally disabled talking to street signs
Blind men hanging onto bus stop posts
Doctors behind the wheels of Mercedes’
Staring blindly straight ahead

Maneuvering to my destination
Trying desperately not to cringe
I know I shouldn’t feel this way
But somehow I can’t help my self

What if one of them were Jesus
Or all in the image of Him
Is this really someone I want to meet
Are these thoughts considered sin

A young boy on the cusp of manhood; completely enthralled with every word spoken. The feelings, thoughts and ideas shared; sitting alone in your room, above the din of the crowd below; drinking games, karaoke, hiding behind the façade; the only truth, yours and mine.

Elated you were; not only in the fact that I grasped your concepts of life, love, relationships and death, but expounded on them as well; giving your young, impressionable mind still more to ponder; the gleam in your eyes priceless; knowing my presence would have a lasting effect, even more so. And that is what fuels your anger. Your belief tainted, your perception shattered.

You recognized the change, as did all those close to him. You thanked me for coming into his life and being such a positive and creative influence; allowing you to finally see him for the first time; a side you never knew existed. The kind, spiritual, talented man, suddenly unafraid to reach inside and examine his soul; no longer a Marine, no more just a dad; but a man capable of embracing life and expressing love; in a way you could finally understand and respect.

You’re a man now; of that there is no doubt; the resemblance so striking that for a moment you took my breath. But that, I believe, is where the similarity dies. A man yes, but still carrying the pain experienced in your youth; consumed with hate and rage, that the mere sight of me ignites.

I will not insult your intelligence by trying to define the nature of our connection; as some things are beyond explanation. It was and is no more. I know that one day you’ll be able to separate yourself, step back and shift your perception; seeing the bigger picture, as well as the flip side of the coin.

If you were truly honest with yourself, you would see that our selfishness and greed had a positive and lasting affect; as they have clearly reconnected and renewed that vow made so very long ago; and if you look really close, you’d see that they’re happier now than perhaps you’ve ever known them to be.

Everything happens for a reason. Hate begets hate. Forgiveness is forgiveness. And I am not the monster as being portrayed. Somewhere deep inside, you know this to be truth. It’s up to you whether or not you choose to accept it.

The house was empty, but for the child sleeping peacefully down the hall; and so night fell softly at her feet, and she was able at last to settle and find rest within peaceful sleep. Until the witching hour rolled round and brought with it his footfall on the stairs.

He climbed in bed and immediately reached for her; she jumped with a start as if scared half to death. “I want to have sex,” he boldly announced; to which she looked at him and laughed; leaving his question, “what the hell was that” hanging between them. She rolled over without a word, hugging her pillow tight, as he kissed the back of her neck and vowed to get her in the morning.

And so he did, the minute the first alarm sounded; reaching over and pulling her to him; hands desperately groping her still warm flesh; the weight of his body suddenly pressing down, taking what he believed to rightfully be his. His arousal spurred by selfish greed, as she twisted and writhed beneath him; the words of her friend suddenly ringing in her ears, “numb, baby, numb…” and so she became; still and motionless, barely breathing; watching his face as he hovered above, disdain filling her heart, as each penetrating thrust bruised her already wounded soul.

As a smile of satisfaction and accomplishment splayed across his face, she closed her eyes, turned her head to the side, and burned the image forever in her mind. The image of the man who promised to love and cherish, so blinded by his own unrelenting need and skewed vision of the truth that even though she lay beneath him, he had no realization that she’d already left the room.

She was no longer viewed as a person; with feelings, wants and needs of her own, but simply a possession, a plaything, a caretaker, a maid; and as she lay alone, bathed in dawns light, not wanting to be any of those things, a single tear fell from her eye, as she made a silent vow.

They had the afterglow of morning sex written all over them – reflected on their faces and in the way he touched the small of her back as he held the door and led her through. What better way to luxuriate than throwing on some clothes and heading to Starbucks for an espresso fix – enjoying the beginning of what promised to be a beautiful day. They’d come so far in the past two years – putting an end to each others fears – bonding, reconnecting, stabilizing the foundation on which their marriage was built. He stood faithfully by her side – venti bold in hand, with extra room for ice – waiting patiently for her order to be up – then SHE walked in the door – and the mere sight of her brought it all flooding back.

He quickly took her in – all five feet seven inches – face framed with a wild mane of untamed curls that he’d buried his face and hands in on countless occasions – as she held him between her thighs and begged him for more. He could tell by looking she was straight from her bed – could feel her warmth – smell her scent – if he closed his eyes and allowed himself – the oversized peasant shirt and bellbottom jeans giving nothing away – but he knew – knew all too well what hidden treasure lie beneath.

She kept her sunglasses on, but looked him square in the eye – phone in hand – deep in conversation with her man – a million miles away, but right by her side. For the first time since he left, the sight of him didn’t cause her heart to leap from her chest – she felt nothing for him – all that remained was a tinge of regret. He turned and walked out the door – she couldn’t help but smile – remembering what being in her presence did to him once upon a time – wondering if perhaps she still had that affect. Probably not, but it makes no difference these days – in fact, it never really did.

She desperately needed to know the why of it all – contemplated for days and nights on end – reaching inside, re-examining everything she knew of her true self, the life she’d lived to this point, and what little she knew of him. The process exhausting, as she traveled the outer limits, pushing herself farther than she’d ever gone – searching for reason, but finding only one truth; a truth whose acceptance could quite possibly lead to insurmountable consequences; a truth she could no more deny than the stars in the southern sky; a truth she’d been seeking the whole of her life; a truth that renewed her faith in God; a truth that made every moment of suffering worthwhile; a truth so enigmatic that a lifetime of anguish and shattered dreams suddenly made absolute and perfect sense – as the road leading to such ethereal bliss, could be lined with nothing less.

She stood among
The classics
Looking
But not seeing

Although Dracula
Caught her eye
Recognition was
Fleeting

She touched the
Spines
Of various sizes
Scent of mocha
Latte
Assaulting her
Senses

Suddenly he was there…

Asking what she
Wouldn’t
Let her self
Wonder
But the flip side
Of the silver
Coin

From her perspective
Holding this
Connection
Having absolutely
Nothing
To do with
Books

Then again he
Asked softly
Snatching this one
From within

Have you ever
Fallen
Helplessly in
Love
With someone
That you
Have never before
Met –

Quad shot latte – table for two – southern breeze softly caressing – the only ingredient missing of perfection…you. Eight years, way too long – but merely a drop in the endless bucket of life – a single grain in the sands of time – of what brought us to this moment – where misplaced hearts again unite – take flight and soar into eternity; refusing to let go – stand still or be broken.