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.

Stalled

I’m not going back. I’m not going to keep hurting myself by finding an emptiness that overwhelms my already vacant heart. I drive to my part of town, and all I think about is one of those times when your silence led me nowhere, but than you revealed you had actually driven to my coffee shop. You had made a choice to come and find me, to surprise me, you said you needed me.

So if you do, you’ll have to find me on your own, because it hurts too much to hope.

A Quiet Melancholy

aging

Inside silence this seeming vacant stare

lays a mindful soul lost without a care.

Often would certain desire offer ware

when we wildly wise a silence is where.

Feel the breeze. The unnatural harsh air

will covet our loss wholly inside this snare.

It is a sound mind that does recover

inside the spiritual eye. His lover

would she might recall time is forever,

for it is need we recognize. Ever

a changing atmosphere, less reveler

more the quiet space of an outlier.

Oh to see the distant sun before gray

When inside sweet mystique treasure her way.

When A Cool Wind Struck

How often do we remember departures from love? Can we recall the time and place, the moment. Looking back over the years, all of these memories had a significant moment. The more I delve, the more they come flooding to me, and I have a certain fear of returning to these moments. I’m not really sure why I am choosing to go back, perhaps it is part of my desire to recall the whole aspect of love from the joys to the pain.

My first real love was in college, we spent all of days together, we thought about living together, but either the means or our own fears kept us from making that decision. Though we were inseparable, I recall the day we began to move away from each other. I had to make a stop somewhere and while she waited in the car, a song came on, that I had heard many times but never acknowledged with her. The song was her name, and when I got in the car, she was listening, and she turned to me and said this song is about me, and it was, a woman finding her way, and leaving.

Later in life I would meet my next love who would take me to Europe and somewhere on the travel it was clear we were in our final days. There was a night in particular, staying in a hovel in Ireland, my bags packed, I imagined waking up early and leaving, knowing there was no reason to stay. Later that morning as we were having breakfast I looked her in the eyes and I noticed there were tears. I suggested we make the last leg of our trip the best we could, and we did, knowing when we returned to the States it would be our final days.

My last story stems around a drive home. We began a conversation about the holidays, I guess it was me that broached the subject. We spoke of the blues, and how the time of year can be really tough on people, and probably more trying for the two of us. I remember a silence then I could never dissuade from that moment on. I could feel it and without going into detail, I can feel it today.

I suppose a cool wind is the only way I might attach a metaphor to the loss of love. The breeze is apparent and you can feel the chill as if there is no way to find shelter from that impending storm ahead. I suppose finding the beauty in the warm winds of love and the elegance we feel in reminding ourselves of the lasting memory does help stem the tide. I suppose appreciation is better than focusing on alternatives.

I suppose love holds reign on the cool breeze as much as it does a scorching sunset.

Quiet

Times

when alone

a fleeting desire

left dangling a distant shadow

always will

loom upon this our memory

defined by her distracted

by me

whatsoever I might recall

whilst she

forgets for freedom

settle in,

patience our tested virtue

will outlast

silent disputes.

 

Quiet reckoning

 

~ finding my way, a personal journey ~