Since when do we let other dictate who we love without reason and without discrimination? Since when do we watch ourselves oppress others who just want to embrace love and embrace the feeling of being loved in return? Since when do we get to choose who gets to live happily and who gets to suffer in silence.
Mackelmore, you’re amazing.
The vast nothingness into which I’ve whispered many “I love you”s swallows my sentences whole and promises that they will never be heard by you
No text or call accompanies my long ride home and I wonder if you are sound a sleep, not a single thought of me entering your slumber
It’s twenty five miles on the fifty five freeway that I have to think about how you turn in your sleep. How the muscles in your arms twitch under my resting head as we both fall into a world of our own, as we have done many times before.
But today is different
Today I walked away, thinking that the choice I made was for the best. My world falls apart like a doll made of straw and you’re blaming me for this heartache.
Soon I will conquer the world in my cap and gown and move far away from this place but when I look at you, I see our worlds remain untouched and unsullied by expectations of conventional love.
I am me because you are you and nothing has changed…except for the fact that I am a mountain and I stand between you and a happiness which far exceeds one that you can even see now. I am bend in the river. I am a fallen tree within your path, one that simply needs to be crossed over and left behind.
I’m grasping for your touch but it’s absence is my doing.
I’m waiting for the exhalation of your breath on my neck but it never comes and I know it’s because I made that choice.
But it was all for you, my sweet and I wish you knew that. I wish you knew that every breath I take now carries with it a sliver of my pain. A hopeful messenger that wishes to share it’s worries and aches with you.
I am a song without lyrics.
I am a wind without the chill.
I am a bed without warmth.
And it’s all because of you….but mostly because of me.
Why I Write is a wordpress entry written by a friend of mine named Gabe. He’s a wicked talented writer (he’s going to school for screenwriting so let’s hope he’s good) I thoroughly enjoyed this short entry about writing because I feel it is exactly how I identify with the art of writing…putting things on the paper (or on the internet…whatever) and because it hit home for me I thought I’d share it with you. Enjoy. Way to go Gabe.
Cassidy wrung her small, delicate hands in her lap as she sat, waiting in anticipation for the meeting to start. She had been dreading this Thursday for the past two weeks but now that it was here, she really had no option of escape. Jump out the window? No windows. Create a diversion and sneak out the back? She was by her self and didn’t have a decoy to distract the group. There was no way out of this.
She finally decided to stop fidgeting and rest her sweat soaked palms on her brand new BCBGMAXAZRIA dress. It had cost a pretty penny….but it was really really pretty. As she stared blankly at her hands, dreading the group leader’s opening words, her loose bun came out of place and blonde locks fell around her face, enveloping her in a curtain of hair. She felt safe here. Maybe if she just stayed behind this wall no one would notice her.
“Why, Cassidy! I haven’t seen you in, what, eight weeks?!” boomed a female voice from the other side of the circle. Cassidy peaked out of the curtain of hair to see a familiar face. Quickly realizing she most likely looked demonic, she brushed her hair aside to force a smile at woman. She heaved out of her chair (all two-hundred and fifty pounds of her) and made a bee-line toward Cassidy. She was draped in rich maroon silk and donned black slacks. (No doubt some “slim-fast” tip she had read in the latest issue of Teen Weekly though she was only shy of 45 years old.) She was dripping in costume jewelry a every heavy step she took across the circle blinded Cassidy as auditorium lights glared into her eyes. The woman (we’ll call her Jackie) quickly lumbered through the entire circle of 20 or so other individuals…all looking as distracted and not-willing-to-start-a-conversation as Cassidy was. No backing out once eye-contact was made though.
“Cassidy! Don’t I even get a hello?”
“Sorry, um..Jackie, I didn’t even recognize you.” Cassidy stuttered as she looked up at Jackie from her seated position.
“Oh heavens, you’re probably noticing my new blouse from Sax! Isn’t it just stunning?” gushed Jackie, touching herself and enjoying how she felt in the sheer carpet that hid her weight.
“Looks great Jackie” Cassidy forced with a smile.
“Allright ladies and gentlemen let’s get started with our meeting” boomed Mr.Liege from the center of the circle. Cassidy hadn’t even notice that he had made his entrance and had already planted himself in the center of the circle. His lanky figure was tightly formed within a tweed vest, complete with the antique gold pocket watch he wore, without fail, to every single meeting. He eyed Jackie and Cassidy above the bridge of his long, crooked nose and Jackie quickly got the hint, assuming her position on the other side of the circle and taking a seat in the cold, creaky metal chairs.
“Let’s begin the meeting as usual,” Mr.Liege announced, taking great care to make eye contact with each and every individual in the circle before taking his own seat within the circle. “Let’s start with a new face this time….” he spoke a little softer as his eyes clicked back and forth between the new-comers
“I’ve been here before,” Cassidy thought to herself “he wouldn’t pick me to start….I’ve been here before.” Her hands started to sweat again.
“Cassidy!” Mr.Liege said in such a matter-of-fact manner. “Why don’t you start us off? We haven’t seen you in a while and we would all just love to hear what you’ve been up to.”
Cassidy’s thoughts raced, “oh shit. that’s me.” She took a deep breath, wiped her hand once more against the soft fabric of her dress and stood up. She looked over the sea of people….all here for the same reason. Their faces said it all: They hadn’t made it though treatment and that’s why they were here. They had relapsed. They all had the same obsession as Cassidy.
“Hello,” Cassidy spoke, embarrassed by the inflection in her voice. She wasn’t vapid…she was nervous. “My name is Cassidy Reed, I’m 23 years old, and I’m a shopaholic.”
“Hi Cassidy” the entire group sang out in a muted chorus.
“It’s been about….3 hours since my last shopping fix….and before that I had been off of it for….2 and a half weeks.” Cassidy felt ashamed and quickly sat back in her seat. Sensing Cassidy’s discomfort, Mr.Liege spoke:
“Cassidy there’s no need to be ashamed. This is a safe place here and we are all so proud of the progress you’ve made. Isn’t that right?” Mr.Liege addressed the crowd at this point who all responded with heavy nods.
One man began to spoke “Well, I’m Mickey, I’m 58 years old and I’ve been off the strip malls for about 3 months now.” His thick Irish accent caught Cassidy’s attention and she looked up at the short, bearded man who was, of course, dressed impeccably. He to donned a vest but it seemed to be made of a much nicer quality of Mr.Liege’s. His slacks were perfectly ironed and his blazer was dazzling…but his shoes….his shoes were the definition of well-kept and classic.
“But it’s so focking hard these days…with the holidays comin’ up.” Mickey began again, almost slightly angered.
“I’d been goin’ steady and mah wife Marie, bless her soul, was doin’ everything she could to help me. We had sold….six…pairs of my best Cole Hanns.” At this comment Mickey looked down and bit his thumb. A fellow Shopaholic Annomyous attendee put their hand on his shoulder in empathy. He began again. “It’s just so focking hard seeing so many…beautiful shoes. I walk down the street and I see a man with brand new loafers and I wanna’…I just wanna take ’em and run, you know?” Mickey continued, almost breathless “The worst was when I went to the mall…..for mah’ blessed Marie, of course. I was jus’ minding my own business but then it happened. I walked past a Stride Rite…yah’ know, the store for little children and I found the most bEautiful pair of patten leather kicks…with tassels and all. I thought to myself ‘Mickey, get a hold of yourself man, they’re just for babies!’ but I couldn’t walk past. They seemed to beckon to me and maybe, I thought, that I would get home and wouldn’t ever get those goddam shoes outta mah head!” Mickey began to clearly perspire at this point. “So, I walked into the store..I just wanted to hold ’em”
“What happened next Mickey?” Mr.Liege asked calmly. Everyone else in the circle seemed to cling on his every word. Accent and all, he told a very compelling tale.
“Well…” Mickey shrunk lower in his chair “I….I bought them.” A quick intake of breath could be heard ’round the circle and even Cassidy cringed, knowing exactly how Mickey had felt at that point. She herself had once bought a dress from Anthropologie that was two sizes too large…but the collar was in style and she….she just had to get it. ‘What if I never see another one like it again?’ ‘What if this is the only kind they’ll ever make?’ These were only a few of the thoughts that comforted her and undoubtedly many other SA attendees and these were the thoughts that comforted her as she walked out of Anthropologie that day, purchase in hand.
By the end of her daydreaming Mickey had gained his composure and settled back into his chair. The comforting pats of other members surrounding him.
Suddenly, Cassidy had the strangest, and most out-of-the-ordinary urge to speak. Before the better side of her conscious stopped her, she stood up, unannounced and uncalled on.
“You know what? I think you’re a brave man Mickey! So what if we get ‘the urge’ once in a while? So what if we don’t always make the most rational decisions while shopping but we…..we are on the front lines people!” Cassidy’s fists clenched….she felt like Jean Valjean before the French Revolution. “Okay, so maybe we do slip up a couple times…a week…maybe a day…but…but shopping just makes the world a better place and I don’t think I would want to live in a world without stores. I couldn’t even imagine what I would do without those adorable little boutiques in cities you’ll never visit again, or department stores or strip malls or thrift shops or…or Goodwill. Our need to shop is more than just an obsession people….it’s a lifestyle.” The crowd nodded in agreement, some even muttered a charged “yah” or “that’s right”
Mr.Liege was beginning to feel the group becoming unhinged by Cassidy’s speech. “Thank you very much for that Cassidy, now if you can take yo-”
“And if we weren’t going out there and doing our good dead as American citizens, how much do you think our economy would suffer? How much longer do we have to kid ourselves. We need to shop. This isn’t a question of what’s right and wrong, this is simply our reaction to seeing beauty in art…art we can wear and live our lives in.”
The crowd stood to their feet and some started to cheer. Even Mickey got to his feet.
“You know what? I lied, I got this dress 20 minutes before this meeting started! And you know what else? It felt better than….better than an orgasm!”
…….oh shit, she lost the crowd. Perplexed looks.
“I mean, those are great too but…..we all love shopping, right?” Cassidy was back on track
“Yah!” The group shouted
“So why don’t we celebrate our purchases? I propose that we use these meeting to swap war stories about our time on the front lines…or more like, in the lines. At the stores, on the streets. Share out stories and our love of shopping!”
“Mr.Liege,” Mickey shouted, standing on a chair. Mr. Liege had stood on the outside of the crowd that had gathered in front of Cassidy, clearly trying to determine how to reign in the group.
“Mr.Liege I think your time is done here!”
“But I run this rehabilitation group for Christs’ sake! The only reason why any of you even know each other is because I brought you here!”
“Well…maybe we don’t need your guidance anymore. I think we can take care of each other.” This time Jackie piped up.
Cassidy (now standing on a chair herself at this point) looked at the chaos she had created. She realized how right this felt. How right it was to finally celebrate her little obsession with shopping and how many people she could share it with. She felt changed. Renewed, even. And as she once again glided her hands over the soft cotton of her newly purchased dress, she felt happy to be wearing it. She felt proud, even, to know that she had taken an active role into bringing about a sheer and untamed happiness that now was unleashed and released upon the group. She was a happy girl.
And that’s how Cassidy Reed ruined Shopaholic Anonymous meetings forever.
I wake up slowly to the aroma of coffee that wafts above my head and through the small gap in the open window. The sheets rustle as I turn to my side to look out the window, evaluating the time, of course. It’s mid-morning (about 8am judging by the heavy grey clouds that loom above my apartment) and the air is cool and crisp. Methodically, I stretch my legs and ballerina-point my toes to wake up my still-tired legs. Running my fingers though my hair, I lift my head from the pillow to see Katniss, my restless feline companion, fully awake and ready to pounce for her overdue affection. Curiosity is what caught my eye at the shelter when I first saw her and immediately (without any thought to what Randy, the landlord, might say) I swept her up in my arms and we’ve been pals ever since. I’ve jolted out of my sleepy fog and warm memories of that day back the shelter by Katniss, who is now audibly impatient. She circles the light-blue down comforter and wines…my cue that it’s time to for breakfast.
The automatic coffee pot is a blessing in so many ways. An alarm clock by osmosis, the day begins with an aroma that makes my nerves vibrate and foreshadows (what could be) another exhilarating day. And just like that I’m up, feet hitting the wood paneled floor and Katniss is already leaps and bounds ahead of me, cantering toward the small kitchenette in hopes of snagging some ‘people’ food before I serve up the Fancy Feast.
The metal panelling of the house has always made the place seem colder than it really is so I bundle up tighter in my soft ivory sweater. Though massively inconvenient as it was to be pulling sweaters out of the closet daily, I had insisted on an boho-chic motif for my new apartment in my new city…and thus, my new lifestyle.
The kitchenette is, again, small (the understatement of the century) but still has everything I need. I instinctively pull my hair out of my face and manage to put together the messy bun I’ve been perfecting over the past 25 years. I grab for more essentials: a pan, a kettle, a spatula, salt & pepper, eggs. It’s the first weekend after my new job in the city and I’m determined to make it my own…a brief moment in time I could really enjoy looking back on and thinking “I finally did it.” I turn to set the table as oil begins to sizzle in the pan. Table for…one apparently. Being new to a break up, I instinctively reach for two forks in the drawer and slowly put one back. I keep forgetting how to be a party of one.
Katniss, on the other hand, hasn’t forgotten her Fancy Feast that has yet to be prepped to her liking. Her soft purr turns turns back to a shrill cry for attention. Soft paws bat my feet and I remember my place: Fancy Feast first.
As soon as her food is spooned out onto a thrifted ceramic plate depicting a variety of colorful fish, I bring my record player to life, letting the sound of The Civil Wars fill the kitchen. I glide over to the eggs as Poison & Wine begins to play and I feel like humming. I couldn’t win a Grammy, but I do believe that my voice had the potential to soothe a fussy child in the right circumstances. I sway with the harmonies of the folk-singing duo and I am taken back to the time Kay and I used to dance together in our even-smaller L.A. apartment. He loved catching me off-guard with a swift dip and we would sway to the music together for what seemed like hours. His warm hands would reach for my neck, his stubble would brush against my warm cheek. He leaned in for a passionate kiss……when Katniss once again jolts me out of my hazy daydream. I had forgotten to refresh her water…thanks Katniss.
Daydreaming like this hasn’t lead to much good so I quickly draw a new bowl of water for her and get back to the task at hand: eggs-over-easy.
My heart is a caged bird tormented by the way I have it beat, its wing furiously tearing at my lungs, when I think of when you hurt me. My heart stays in a quiet confinement within my bony cage.
Say those words, any word at all, and unlock such a magnanimous and beautiful creature from its solitary confinement for the bird knows nothing of the brain.
I shout and scream that I will never hear those words but the bird is deaf to my cries, only wishing to be free.
With every quickening beat sweet air is stolen from my own lungs and tears I choke back seem to bathe my soft, burning cheeks. The heat seems to battle against my will to keep these tears chained…along with the bird.
With every furious beat I clench and tighten and take arms against the rebellious avion that only personifies the torment in my heart.
I feel them…a million pieces begin to separate inside me as the bird begins to break free of its chains and I collapse in a heap of them.
Me. Of skin and bone and everything else inside me leaves in a million different directions.
Please God give me the strength to tame the pet I once knew how to subdue with the slow intake of breath and his sweet kiss.
My own body, torn apart in defiance and, although I am mad of a million pieces (and no longer within one skin), I still think of your words.
Hopelessly.
Desperately.
A glance toward the heavens at the moment of that very last tear, a red winged creature is stunned into stillness in mid-air. Softly it falls from grace and I know it to be the end of my own, once passionate heart.
Running. Falling. Bending. Clutching its wing and feeling broken bones, shattered by it’s mighty struggle
To learn the art of repair will take until the closest sun…because we have done this every night. I have been broken. I have been mended. I have been tormented.
Again
and again
and again.
Rip It Up by Jet will make you remember what it’s like to want to kick ass and conquer everything today.
I know you don’t watch me walk away. I know you don’t press your forehead against the double glass to keep me in your sight. There is no straining for that one last look, no time suspended in the final unblinking stare. You don’t stay with me until I am just another city glow fading in to night.
Tonight I have said I don’t want to do this anymore. I have said it in the way a liar can tell a single truth, sudden and surprising. You are asleep, or nearly asleep when I whisper it across the back of your head.
I don’t want to do this anymore. This – laying in your arms in yet another bed of tangled sheets. This staccato relationship, our little parody where the only authentic act is how you fall asleep straight after we fuck. And I know what comes next. I can feel the separation as keenly as if you have already peeled your body from mine, already slid back in to that second skin, the crisp white shirt and pressed pants, so deftly shucked hours before. I feel you walking out the door even as your breath warms my breast and your hand remains heavy between my legs. And I decide that tonight I will be the one to go.
I have held on to you so long that my hands still clench around you. My fingertips try to press in to you one last time, to roll across your skin in a final and heroic effort to prove my identity. But you barely stir as one finger then the next has to release its grip.
I move to the edge of the bed and I tell you I am leaving. I say other things too, they tumble from a wine-thick tongue but in time to come I will only ever remember this. How I say I am leaving and you mumbleI’ll see you soon, and how with your eyes still closed you miss the way I shake my head, no.
I know you don’t get up after I close the door behind me. I know you don’t move to the window to watch me tremble into the night. You are not looking down to see me stumble through cracks of concrete in the heels you removed so carefully over dinner, and you don’t watch as I recede to a grey as cobbled as the street below. With no neon flash of text to say goodnight, no vibrating phone to accompany me home, I know you are already sound asleep.
It is my 35th birthday and I will not cry. One wobbly foot in front of the other on this midnight street, I walk away.
Reblogged: body,remember
Several Sunny Days 