365 Days of Writing: Day 4

Dancing

George

I don't know why life has to zoom on by like a runaway train.
You blink, and suddenly you're seventy-five years old at your fiftieth wedding anniversary, dancing cheek to cheek with an angel.

She's still as beautiful now as she was when I married her, my Sarah.  She'll complain from time to time, about her wrinkles and gray hair.  She'll joke quietly about the effects gravity had on her breasts.  A tear will even roll down her cheek as she goes through old pictures of how life was before.

"Look how beautiful I was."

She always says it like she can't believe it.  As if she aged into a completely different person.

"You're still beautiful my love." 

Her response is always the same.  She'll snort and wave my comment away.  She's done that since I met her, even when she was, "young and beautiful."  She never believed me.  Couldn't take a compliment for what it was.

Her blue eyes reminded me of the sky on a clear, sunny day.  So, when I went off to war, I never felt far away from her.  I'd keep my eyes to the sky and imagine she was there.  She's the only thing that got me through.  The only thing that pushed me forward. 

Her eyes still sparkle, and I can still get lost in them, even now. 

How did I get so lucky?

Sure we've had some hard times.  All marriages do I suppose, but we always made it through.  She stood by me even when I didn't deserve her.

How would I ever repay her for that?


Sarah

I always felt safe in his arms.  I drew strength from him, more than he realized.  He's like a great big bear, my George.

I can't believe we've been married for fifty years.  I can't believe that we made it.  I can't believe that he stood by me. I know how hard I am to live with. 

I made his life difficult.  I nagged him and fought with him about silly things that don't matter now.   I suffocated him because I never wanted to be without him.

When he was overseas, I couldn't function.  I felt lost without him. I prayed every moment of the day that he'd come back to me.  I cried constantly.  I never told him, though.  I always tried to make it seem that everything back home was ok.  I didn't want him to worry, not with everything that he had to face. 

We had a lot of ups and down the first few years after he came home.  I wish that I had more patience.  I wish that he would have opened up to me about everything instead of shutting me out.  But I guess, some things can't be understood unless you've experienced them for yourself.
It took me a long time to accept that I couldn't always help. 

I pushed him too hard, out of love, nothing else.  Thankfully, he understood and put up with it.

How would I ever repay him for that?

365 Days of Writing: Day 3

The Vessel

It would be a long journey to get to you by boat, but I know that you'd appreciate the effort.  Do I know that?  No, I only assume, because where you are, is where I want to be.

But, I'm afraid of the ocean; the vastness of it.  It's unpredictable and powerful.  I'd take the chance, though, to be far away from this place.

The desire to "run away" has always been within me.  Anywhere is better than here.  Too many "ghosts" surround me, and I'm not strong enough to ignore them. I'm withering away and losing myself the longer I stay.

My car could easily take me far from here, but I never think of it as a way out.  It's attached to this place, to reality.  I'm always thinking about getting away by boat, plane, even an R.V.  I tell myself that one day I will.  One day I'll just pack up and leave. I'll start somewhere new.
Oh, the possibilities that exist in that magical and mythical "one day."

I lack the courage to escape.  I'll never navigate the ocean to find you.  I'll never buy an R.V. and travel to places unknown.  I'll never hop a plane to some random destination and stay there.  So, I use my mind to travel.  I have journeyed far and through time.  It's the safest way to go in my opinion, much cheaper too. I can wander this metaphorical world with a clear head.  I don't have to worry about money, food, shelter.  I always have everything that I need and come across only the best kinds of people, or none at all, depending on my mood.

365 Days of Writing: Day 2

The Unrequited love poem
How do you feel when you love someone who does not love you back?

**This one took me a few minutes to consider.  One of the earliest lessons we learn in life is that not everyone we love feels the same about us.  It's common and happens frequent enough to me even now, that I'm indifferent towards it. It's not the worst thing that can happen to an individual.

Don't get me wrong, it does suck when someone doesn't feel the same.  Currently I'm crushing hardcore on a guy who's got a smile that'd knock you into next week, it's THAT lovely.  Does he like me? Does he know I exist apart from our brief interactions? I hightly doubt it. Does that thought bother me? Just a little. But it doesn't ruin my day. I don't spend my days thinking, "Woah is me, handsome smile guy doesn't know I exist. Life sucks. ::Sobs in a corner::"

To be able to love someone is a gift in and of itself.  Love, my friends, is beautiful on its own.  The idea of it. The feelings it brings into your heart and mind, the person it can change you into; it's all beneficial.  At least, I know this is true for me.

But, loving someone who you think feels the same, then finding out that they don't, well, that's another matter.
**End note.

You know when you wake up from a dream where you've had everything you ever wanted? You were happy, beautiful, and the sun always shined. Then, suddenly, reality smacks you hard across the face to wake you, proclaiming you've been sleeping too much. So, you reluctantly get out of bed to a cold, gray, room, to begin your day feeling like you got hit by a truck?

That's what it was like loving my Volpe.

I clung to every word;
Every lie you uttered was spun gold.
You were sunlight itself come to brighten my dark days.
Life felt magical.
It felt meaningful.
Anything felt possible when I was around you.
You were everything good in a world turned sour by death, loss, and oblivion.

Then the veil parted, and I saw you for what you were,
A shadow.
A ghost.
A wraith, come to pluck at my heartstrings and laugh at my foolishness.
I suffocated and choked on your once healing words,
Frantically gasping for air as you took it away.
Drowning in a sea of my own tears and confusion.
Deafened by my own screams of denial.
I lost the game I never knew we were playing.

Life is less bright now.
Less magical.
You turned what I knew of love into a lie.
You made me doubt the one thing I felt sure of.

Loving you, Volpe...feels like a thousand serrated knives piercing my heart each waking moment I think of you.

The problem with dreams.

I'm not talking "hopes and dreams here.  I'm talking about the ones that we have when we're sleeping.  I think I've talked about this before.  No, it was daydreaming I mentioned.

Apparently, there's a problem with anything that involves any type of dreaming.  *blasphemy*

I love my dreams 90% of the time.  I had an epic one the other night that should be turned into a book or a movie.  It was fabulous. 

Then there are those other dreams.  The depressing, haunting, annoying dreams that make you remember people that you'd rather not. The ones that force you to re-live painful times.

I hate those dreams.  They always manifest if I'm doing well.  When I start to forget people that have treated me badly for no reason. Or if I start accepting that some people will never be what they were, again.

Self-sabotage.  I think that my psyche can't function when I'm at ease.  It doesn't want me to be secure.  I often wonder, why?  The only thing I can figure is that something has been unresolved.  I mean, I know for a fact that it has. For unknown reasons, I never get to express my feelings to people.  They unload their troubles and feelings onto me and then walk away once they realize that I might have something to say.  So, it takes me longer to "forgive and forget." Why then, once I've done this, must I dream of these people and get worked up all over again?

Does this happen to anyone else?  I'm sure it does.  How do you cope with it?  How do you let go of it?

365 Days of Writing: Day 1

Outside the Window

 The sun is shining. You’d think it would be warm, but it’s not.  The autumn came and brought its coolness.  I can almost smell the spiced treats of the season.  It’s the perfect day to sip tea and cozy up next to the cats.    

Autumn is my favorite time of year.  Not just because it's my birth season, but because I'm better suited for the cooler weather.  I'm a sweater and boots type of lady.  Also, I love me some scarves.

It's also a time where I usually reflect a lot over my life.  Over life in general.  It's a time where memories can be felt in my blood, and people who are gone come back to the forefront of my thoughts.  It's a weighty season, but not in an oppressive way.

Days like today, I'm more at peace and more myself than I am at any other time of year.  The air is refreshingly crisp after the long, hot, suffocating, months of summer.

Days like today, I want to be in the woods.  I want to listen to the sounds of the Earth and be "present," in a simple, and primitive sort of way.

"Get back to your roots." 

That's what my soul says; what it longs for.

Today is a healing day.

The problem with Monday

Have I complained about my hatred of Monday before?  I'm sure I have.   Sometimes I feel like it's better to work the weekends, as I used to do.   It's not necessarily the work part that bothers me; it's the having to wake up so flippin' early that makes me mumble insults to the sun. Even the birds weren't feeling up to it this morning. 

Anyway, I feel the same about all weekday mornings. HA!

I'm annoyed with myself today.  Why? I hear you ask bewildered.  Let me tell you, dear friend.

I had all weekend to take pictures that I wanted to add to two pending blog posts.  They're both already written and ready to go, but I thought it would be a nice touch to have images attached, especially since the posts are a bit wordy.

In my defense, I've been sick. But there's always an, "In my defense."

I'm full of excuses.   

Granted, there probably isn't anyone reading this blog, but perhaps the addition of pictures would help?  I know I appreciate pictures.

You know what else I appreciate? I've got 40 posts on this blog so far.  (Including the pending ones.) This is the longest, and most I've blogged.  Used to be, I'd phase myself out after about 5-10 posts.  I'd delete everything and figuratively walk away. 

I'm having fun with this venture so far.  It's not where I want it to be yet, but I'm still figuring it all out.  Eventually, I may even be on a regular blogging schedule.  I'd be happy about that.

Way to go, me!  ::high five::

Yes, I just high fived myself. Don't judge.

Why am I awake?!

Ok, so it's not terribly late...or early, but it's still past my bedtime.  I'm sick as a dog and have been looking forward to bedtime since I woke up.  So, why the heck am I awake?

I'm thinking about this blog.  This isn't something that I need to concern myself with at this very second, and yet here I am.

I want to blog more.  To share my thoughts and all that other good stuff, but I haven't really invested enough time in the process.  I write half-heartedly.  I think that the problem is that I'm not sure exactly what I want to write about or where to focus my attentions.

There are tons of bloggers who have everything covered.  What could I offer to those who enjoy reading blogs? I think I had touched upon this in my first post. I have an array of topics that I'd like to write posts on, and yeah, this was something that I started to keep me writing, so it doesn't matter if I'm writing about what other people are writing about. However, it would be really nice if people enjoyed reading the stuff that I post.  It would be nice if there were people who looked forward to what I post.

I just want this blog to be more organized.  I know  that there is a way I could add drop down menus and the like, but I'm not familar with codes.  It's all very confusing and hurts my brain.  I suppose I'll need to do research and try to figure it out if I want to be happy with this outlet. It bothers me that there's no rhyme or reason to the entries.  I'd like everything to be categorized so that when I want to refer back to something, I won't have to scroll through the list of post titles.

I know I could go to some other blog hosting site and have an easier time of it, but the truth is, I'm not sure how long I'll be blogging for.  I don't mind spending the money if it's something that I can keep up with, but I'm a restless person and flit about from one thing to another. This may last a year, or I could quit it in a month.

I really need to figure out where I'm going with this.  I have ideas, but they'll amount to nothing if I can't sort thoughts as I want to.  Everything I do is always half-assed.  It's starting to irritate me.

Hopefully I'll feel well enough tomorrow to look into some things and maybe even plan out more posts.

Dreams and desires only manifest when we actively work towards them.  I'll never get anywhere if I just sit, and wait, and hope.