The Hours Spent

For that really is what it comes down to when we imagine our time, and how we prioritize our lives. I might spend hours thinking about someone, seldom just something, more aptly someone, and everything else in my life becomes, or remains secondary. I do love to imagine life as being an easy transition from one learning experience to another. Though I have to say, my current state of … mind, is by far the most challenging I have endured for quite some time.To realize perspective it is the fear of every aspect of my life being simply defined by some might call an irrational decision. Though then there are others whom could certainly suggest instinct plays a huge role in deciding how and why we preoccupy our lives with the notions we do in the first place.

I walked into a world I didn’t belong. I wanted to be there, without question. There is something rather enticing about being able to feel something you once believed no longer existed, and that was my reality. I was suddenly drawn to a compassion that excited me, brought me to a place I wouldn’t trade for the world. I discovered truth, a setting in which a part of me became gradually unveiled, peeling away years of doubt and disbelief and disappointment. And yet, the real truth is that as easily as I could let myself fall, the ground no longer soft became a shattering of glass, shards of which that held a certain pale upon my heart.

I’m presently in a coffee shop, a place I love to find inspiration. The beautiful people, the unique personality of life, the observer of human nature that never fails to fascinate. At the same time, I am always sitting here waiting and hoping. In fact I’ve even been confronted on such, told that I would leave myself with certain expectations that could not possibly ever reach fruition. Yet I still show up.

There have been different periods of my life where I believed I could define the ultimate meaning of the term soul-mate. Oh, wonderful relationships where we might finish each other’s sentences, where our touch appeared so symbiotic we would suddenly catch ourselves and cry with genuine laughter. Then there are those moments when it is clear there is something askew about how our lives are meant to travel. In recent months I find I am at war with myself, and more recently, it is evident I am losing the battle.

I have spent hours of my life trying to figure out who I am. Not just recent months as one might imagine, but years and years and decades of indecision. I am traveling rapidly toward my 6th one, and I am still wondering when there might be a consistent happiness in my life. I thought i had found it, in fact, the truth is I still believe I have, but that is where the truth comes into play. The truth is there are not enough hours in the day to come to terms with the realistic nature of how love works in my life and what is the true determining factor of knowing how the essence of a soul-mate works its mystique.

I am sadly convinced I am not a model of the social standard. Rather instead I have found my heart is torn and ripped and left asunder in the magic of a passion far and away beyond the norm of my existence as a human being in our society. Yes, such a wordy and perhaps confusing explanation, but fitting with the cryptic nature of an explanation for what it means to live out so many hours of my life wondering.

I wonder, I wander, I trip upon aimless struggle to find consistency in the eye of love.

‘You’ve Married an Icarus, He’s Flown Too Close to the Sun’

I listen to the lyrics more often then

anyone might imagine,

anybody can cry on cue if they choose

the correct motivation.

 

The rains have returned

both inside and out

and the feeling is strong,

the quiet damage of love is a ruin.

 

“You’ve married an Icarus,

he’s flown to close to the Sun”

when the words roll off her tongue

the emotional tragedy is visceral.

 

I did, do, I will, want, wish, would

cannot find the right phrase, the words

there is a quiet inside the silence of a

spring storm denying a heart its freedom.

 

I wrote you letters, over and over again,

they were meant to touch your heart, again.


Title is a lyric from Hamilton soundtrack – ‘Burn’

composer – Phillipa Soo

A Love Story, Perhaps

This one would probably be best described as the things I miss, when in love. It is the little things after all, that seem to come back into our mind when we wish to remember. When we haven’t actively put memory out of our mind, it can be quite pleasant to recall the beauty of engagement.

Walking in the rain one night, we circled around a city block, occasionally finding shelter, not to hold one another, only to find some sort of refuge from the rain, both like teenagers, hesitating to bring ourselves any closer to one another, just fleeting imagination we both were afraid to share. It wasn’t until minutes before we got into our cars to depart, she told me she wished I would have just grabbed her and kissed her. Of course, I drove home in tears not knowing how to deal with the sudden confusion I felt in my heart, knowing our spontaneity was beginning to wane. Or perhaps it had already.

Another walk after having coffee together, we found ourselves in a square, less romantic really just a parking lot in early winter, but there were windows everywhere – we could have imagined it to be some European plaza if we allowed our sense of imagery run away with our hearts. We found an open passage in an alley that would eventually take us back to our cars. Walking into this little hovel, we noticed dark, perhaps abandoned windows all around us, and a high picket fence, where then I did press myself again her in a moment of passion and we both fantasized living in the stucco shelter nearby where we might make love well into the night, the morning, the life we could lead together.

Then there is the simple gesture of being together, sharing a coffee with one another and the smile she would have in her expression every time I would take a pen, a pin, an object and punch a bigger hole in the breather of my coffee lid, it became an endearment that I liked to do – the reason so the coffee would flow better of course – but really just being able to put a smile on her face.

Finally, standing in a sort of mock tower in a park one early evening in winter, imagining just how sensual our illusions could be, alone, wilderness, in love.

Just the little things I guess perhaps make up real love stories.

On a Pattern of Dismissal

Select words,

chosen interpretation,

 

Moments in a sunrise,

the songs of a night sky

melodic in nature,

we could perhaps design

a medley of fortune

in listening to what it is we believe,

 

What is a wish

would scream

some shallow serenade

if when watching a moon

fade into distant clouds,

interferes upon the serenity

of a silent love story.

 

Select words,

chosen interpretation

 

When last we spoke

a heavy burden,

the tears would flow

creating puddles on a pavement

no longer welcome

to the notion of an embrace,

rather quiet repose.

 

When whilst

lives will continue

seems quite a stir

in the mind

who once in a glorious afternoon,

knew love beyond

sweet sensuality,

and instead,

spoke to the beauty

inherent in hers …

a wonder in elegance.

 

Select words,

chosen interpretations.

The Muse

She might live in disbelief

to be imagined so unique

her life is ordinary by name

yet only he can comprehend

 

the beauty in her Grace

his yearning  he must face

alone now forever a wander

for always her love wonder

 

Though the skies will shine

as spring begins its reckoning

the sweet fragrance of memory

will hold his cheek in silence.

 

She speaks of a distant love

where when glancing far away

he will notice the song of a dove

forever reminders, yes, this love.