Traveling The World – # 3

This one I took rather hard. I remember the first day I dropped her off from a double date – not sure why we were doubling, I think it was because neither of us drove a car. Anyway, she had these jeans, there is something about a woman and well fitting jeans, and I remember walking her to her door, sort of following behind and imagining we could do something together, she turned to me, and I gave a quick kiss and said good night. She smiled, I was in love. I went back to my friend’s car and the two of them were giggling. They knew.

Our lives together transformed me. We traveled to Europe and though the trip was fascinating we were feeling the end of things, though we were still good friends, perhaps no longer in love, well she wasn’t. However that’s the end of the story, let’s go back.

We became that couple that finished each other’s sentences, we played memory games with lines from movies, we had an intimacy that was beyond anything I knew. I loved every aspect of her, and I told her that often. We decided to move in together, I remember her saying, ‘seems the right thing to do.’ In my own naivete I believed at that point we would likely marry. However, something occurred that would later set a precedent in the remainder of our time together.

I met her parents – we drove out to South Dakota, her dad was a professor of philosophy, this rather tiny charming man, in a leather coat and jeans met us outside his office and we went to dinner. Her mom struck as reserved, but a polite enough woman. It was our return from that travel that struck me. She told me she couldn’t stand her parents, and that because of the way she and her sister were raised, she would never have children. Of course, I wanted kids, so this became one of those not talked about elephants the remainder of our time together.

There was still this happiness though, this incredible passion with one another. We both went back to school to pursue teaching degrees, and we are both still with our respective profession decades later. One day while sitting near a lake’s edge, we got on the subject of loneliness. I said to her for the first time in my life, I feel completely happy, and there is nowhere in my heart where I feel any pangs to bring me anywhere else. I was consumed by my love for her. But then she quietly spoke and words tore a small slice in my heart. She said, ‘there will be a part of me I will never share with anyone, you just have to accept that.’ I laughed and disagreed, but she gave me a look that told me it was true.

We talked for hours then, the whole time she had this twig in her hand from which she gradually removed all the bark. Before we left that afternoon, she gave me the now naked twig. I held onto it for many years, in fact I believe it is still in a box somewhere in my memories of our travels, our time together. That naked twig inspired one of my first published poems. My heart and soul wrote the words.

Sadly, after traveling Europe we returned and something was different. In the coming months we split and my heart was broken. I swore to myself I would never ever give myself so completely to anyone ever again in my life. I held true to that feeling, that testament, even in my marriage, which has no irony, only truth.

With this love, I had discovered the true meaning in all of its highs and lows. I could never imagine again being so much in love with a person that I would give anything in my life to have her back in my arms again. I was committed to keeping my guard.

Turns out years later, many years, I would be mistaken.

A Refreshing Change

It is funny really, I’ve been writing here for many years now, and have gone through a lot of transitions, times where I realized I overstepped my boundaries and those when I found myself confused by the atmosphere of readers, followers, the blogger’s mindset. Only until recently had I been writing completely for myself. Oh, there are inferences, and there always be, that is the natural course of the human condition. We have to connect our lives, otherwise our loneliness will certainly drive us over the edge.

I was close to the edge, I still am; however, in a manner of speaking, I’m standing on solid ground again. I’ve never wanted to be a person thought of as one who would use someone else to their benefit, but I think sometimes when we get caught up in our perceived pain we become helpless. For everyone and anyone whom I have ever bothered, hurt, surprised, I give you my apology. For now, I will continue to soul-search openly through words that maybe someday will become chapters of an essay with interlaced poetry to keep the reader engaged.

What is refreshing is that I feel comfortable simply writing from the heart. I appreciate your audience. I wish you all a wonderful weekend.

A Year Ago

I need to be clear. This blog will gradually become my place to heal. Those readers that follow, well I appreciate your eyes, your read, your compassion, and your patience with who I am and who I become … I am a person whom has become completely alone in one sense of the word. In many other aspects I am very connected with my colleagues, my children, my people that I interact with every day. In other words, I really haven’t anything to complain about if this was truly the life I did wish to live. The problem is it is not.

Today is Valentine’s Day – it is not a day I’ve ever relished. When I was younger and without someone on this day, I would spend the hours envious and morbidly sad. Over time I became one of the anti -V day contingent enjoying the sarcasm and cynicism that comes with the territory. Years later I did marry, and since we have celebrated a dinner for the past nearly three decades. This year we stayed home, and while she watches TV, I write in this blog, something that has become routine in recent years.

Up until around four years ago, I was convinced I would live out this life in the rather quiet manner I have, trying to be content and yet always aware that there might be so much more out there in my life. I spoke to someone once who said if you are going to be happy, you need to take action. I have reasons to not, it’s complicated. So today I continue to reflect. I looked back a year ago, and found a letter that said the same as anything I have written time and time again. I then went back two years earlier, and discovered the reason I am still here.

Happy Valentine.

Always here.

Writing Love Stories

I’m a romantic. I love a good story of passion between two people, from the scintillating nature of their sensuality, to the quiet elegance of touch in an intimate moment that reflects what eyes will search upon. I love the notion of heart and soul obsession with one another, a constant of the desire and wishful nature of finding one another imagining the beauty of whom they are, they might be,  together. I do so enjoy being able to create a wonderful love story in poetry, one that causes arousal in the reader, a sort of take me away fantasy that leaves them grateful for the adventure.

I have found myself struggling in recent months because I have this seemingly fraudulent experience with love, and so I began writing about first loves, long ago loves, times in my life where I recognized love to be something that took away all of my loneliness, so completely I couldn’t feel anything except the beauty of sweet delight inside the mystique of love. The word fraudulent is a powerful assessment I can only attribute to my being alone with my feelings. Oh that wasn’t always the case, but it is today. The reasons are not negative, they are more based upon preservation.

Personally, I’m willing to take risk for the love I feel; however, in order for it to be real, then both parties have to feel the same. One cannot outdo the other’s focus upon finding peace with themselves. One can only support the efforts of another. That to me is love. There exists the confusion of love as well, because one might still believe what the other has convinced themselves as otherwise.

There exists again my struggle, so now my love stories have trepidation. They contain unknowns because only I am writing them, and I haven’t clue their reception. I only know there continues to be in my heart the beauty of woman, the muse, the loveliness of a person whom holds my heart and soul, and gathers the energy that allows me on occasion to find the words necessary to continue the next chapter of my love story.

A Moment In Trepidation

I’m sitting in my home, and I am bored to tears. I suppose they call this love after 30 years, the problem is I’ve never felt so lonely in my life. I have tried to come to terms with who I am in this world, my marriage, my job, my purpose in life. I discovered almost twenty years ago I really did know love, but the society I was raised in did not give me license to openly explore my passions, so my life became discreet.

When one day I realized we couldn’t go forward, I walked away and returned to my family. My children obviously took precedent and I did everything I could to make sure they have a good life, and today I believe they do. I made mistakes along the way, but I do believe they know what love is in our lives. My spouse and I have had our struggles. If I attend one more support group that gives me a takeaway and tells me that marriage is a compromise I suppose I will go stir crazy.

I’ve tried for years to enhance my relationship ~ creating romantic events ~ exploring ways to enhance our communication, and yet, to no avail. To some, it may sound like I am feeling sorry for myself, and maybe I am but I cannot leave my marriage. If I do it will be perceived as selfish, not trying to find my happiness. I’m stuck, so I was easily flattered when a woman showed me attention 18 years ago. That initial attention turned to love which will be a story for another time.

Tonight, I’m reaching out, I don’t know where, only to let the reader know I have experienced the darkest of my days, and I am hopeful I am stepping out of the chasm as I like to refer to my environment. I need to find a way out or I will do something impulsive. I would devastate my children and I don’t want to do that. I’m so exhausted.

The reality is there is only one person that has the strength to keep me alive and I know everyone might believe it is me, but it is not. That person is responsible for the concept of love and what it means in a world that walks around in a fit of quiet desperation a world of confusion and trepidation. What is remarkable is I know I am not alone.

A Moment of Pause

In love stories, always there are moments of confusion. I woke to one today. I rely upon the communication of an email, a text to determine what is right or wrong in my life. Seldom do I have the advantage of a voice, eyes, a smile or expression to help me navigate my confusion. This moment I reacted with all of the fear of a lonely man, and tonight I am regretting it.

I know my vulnerability is at a high level right now. I believed I was alone with this and realized this morning I am not. I don’t have a solution, just an awareness and humility.

Love stories will continue on another day.

That First Time #1

When I was 15 I walked around with a lot of anxiety. I knew quite clearly I loved girls, there was something about their eyes, their walk, a smile that had me feeling nervous anytime I was around one. If conversation ever came around anything sexual, I turned red, and I was known to blush. I’m going to call her Emma Lee. She was 15 too, and I remember telling my friend Jeff I was going to ask her out. He laughed, said she’ll never go out with you. Now I was challenged but it didn’t matter because she was the cutest girl I’d ever seen. So I did, and she said yes.

We went out for two weeks. The first time I kissed her I fell in love. It didn’t matter what we did after that, just being with meant the world. We played around, went to a couple of movies, did the arm around shoulders thing, walked down the street hanging onto each other’s hips like we were holding one another up. A couple of weeks like this went by and we went to the local swimming hole. It was hot enough to be in swim suits, so here I was with Emma Lee, and she was in a bikini, and I could barely hide my 15 year old excitement. I was embarrassed, and whether she knew or not, she was right by my side and she wanted to kiss. We did, we were all alone, I could have gone wherever I wanted with my hands, my mouth, my legs, but I didn’t. I felt like I didn’t want to take advantage of her, or maybe I didn’t want her to feel like I was. So I held back, ready to explode in my swim suit. We laughed, and talked and the afternoon went by, and then I bicycled home with her. I felt something was off.

The next day she broke up with me, said she just wasn’t feeling it. I’ve always wondered if because I held back, she was bored. Shortly after that she started going out with a guy that was twice my size, and I don’t think he waited around. They spent the next couple of high school years together, while I pined every time I saw her in the halls. We ran in different circles the rest of high school, but I couldn’t forget her. She was my first love, my brother called it puppy love. That’s what it was.

That’s when I realized there was no question in my mind that I was in love with the beauty and elegance of woman.

Speaking To Pain

This is such a difficult topic. We seldom want to go here and the people that do, I admire because somehow they are able to tap into those demons, the ones that leave me in a constant of revealing my darkest terrors. I honestly don’t know if I will get there yet.

Everything I write about in here is about love, and there is pain in love, I get it, and I understand, but I don’t wish to comprehend it. I don’t want to face it, I don’t want to accept the pain that goes with love. I don’t want to be that guy that is just hurting, because if that is all I express, how can that person I love have any patience with any effort I put toward letting her know how I feel.

I don’t think that is a question in the mind of someone who has separated themselves from that person who they know holds onto a candle of hope. Their choice is to occupy their lives with priorities that no longer offer memories, and for me that is one of the most tragic parts of who we are, were, or ever could be. I am completely lost and I have these moments of pure defeat that leave me wondering what purpose I have for trying to move forward.

I got really sick a month ago, found myself in the hospital, and the one person I wanted to hear from wants nothing to do with me. This is preservation on her part, and I get it but this is also my lesson in love, and it is the hardest study I have ever endured.

I’m speaking from my heart, and I do not want sympathy, I just appreciate being able to tap into this when I can.

Losing My Muse

The truth is, years ago, I fell in love with a woman who one day decided her life was moving in a different direction and I was left behind. My recovery took many years, in fact a friend of mine, one time pointed out that for several days all I did was talk about the loss, and I needed to change my focus.

So I did, after some time, I knew I was still in love, but ironically, I found out she had been sleeping with my best friend for months, so suddenly everything made sense, and I started to get past my broken heart. The one thing I said to myself was that I would never fall in love to such a degree again.

Jump a few years later and I decided to settle down with a woman whom had similar goals as mine – we got married, but I knew going in – this is a sad reality – I would never love again the way I had. I would simply be content. We have beautiful children together and we made a life. Sadly though I’ve never been happy, and I cannot imagine she has been. Despite it all we stayed together.

Embedded within all of this common reality is an experience I discovered while in grad school. Many years ago, I met a woman whom carried a similar energy as my own. We began writing letters and discovered a love for words, something I had missed with a woman for many many years. we then took it a step further and became intimate, spreading years between those early days of romantic parchment to now an enticement with one another. One day, in the winter, very much like our present season, I felt I must tell her that I loved her, and I did, but she heard me wrong – and the timing unraveled our affections. We had been walking around with an ‘is this all there is’ and I was afraid to tell her that I loved her because I thought I would lose her. It back fired and we fell apart. I returned fully – as much as possible – to my marriage, a broken and confused man – struggling with my reality, while a woman I loved faded out of my life.

I looked for her over the years, knew where she was but let her go. I even deleted her phone number so I wouldn’t be tempted. It wasn’t until years later I discovered she would call my voice mail with certain music that touched my heart.

A few years ago, a decade after we had gone our ways we did encounter one another, and over the course of several months we realized we were both quite in love, and our courtship outside of our marriages began again. We expressed our desires at the same time knowing we could not maintain the level of passion we experienced together but we always assured ourselves we probably would never leave this in the same circumstances as years ago.

I had found my muse and the mystique of her beauty and elegance became again, as it was without her directly in my life, the drive for my sensual poetry. Now, I am in a place where I no longer have the inspiration and that aspect of my writing is impacted, so I struggle with my words.

The one true thing I will finish with is I’ve just written a fantasy that I hope you the readers might have enjoyed. Because, there seems no reality in my words.

So now my days are spent searching for my muse, knowing love once again played its harmony with great zeal and slapped my heart and soul with disparaging abandon.

Truth or Dare

In the movies, television, a good romantic novel, the writer might suggest whatever they like. The reader can live the fantasy without the consequence of experiencing the reality. If two people love one another, yet realize they cannot, then what happens to the game of truth or dare? Truth, I love you. Truth, I wonder about you 24/7. The reader is intrigued and drawn to the climax, wondering what will happen when the answer returns … could have been a dare, and then the game is over.