Battle scars

I remember waking up one morning, a long time ago, and finding a fallen eye-lash on my pillow. So black against the baby blue flowers. I remember smiling as I picked it up because I held a wish in my hand, and that's always something special. And I remember wishing...for you. With my eyes closed, before gently sending it on its way to wherever it is they go to make our dreams come true. You were going to come by that evening and take me out, so we could hang out with your friends at the local pub. I wanted to go dancing but no matter. You always made me feel like I was spinning. And the music never seemed to stop. But that was then....
And this is now. Now when I'm left with that sick feeling in my stomach like the one you get when you finally stop spinning. Now is when the music has faded into a dim memory and all I hear are faint echoes. Now is when we explain to people that we are 'just good friends'. Now is when I lean outside my window not because I think I'm going to see you waiting below as of old, not really...but because I'm wondering. Wondering about that eye-lash from a long time ago. Did it lose it's way? Did it stop at a wayside pool of dreams and forget that somewhere, someone was waiting? That somewhere someone was slowly losing faith in shooting stars and fallen eye-lashes and lucky pennies?
And yes, now is my new room where my sheets and covers are black. So I never forget...that all songs end. And a girl is unwise to buy only dancing shoes.

Story-telling

A boy and a girl sit on the porch late at night, the only light coming from the tip of his cigarette. She hates that he smokes. It hurts that he won't stop for her. She won't say anything though, as always. It's one hurt in many.
He's trying to break it off with her. He's trying to let her down easy. She knows it. So she waits, a tight pressure in the region of her chest that just won't ease. She hopes he won't take too long. Already her hands are shaking in the dark and she's not too sure she can summon speech.
She remembers when there was laughter. She remembers when there were soft touches and stolen kisses. The abyss lay before her and she remembers thinking 'oh, this looks like fun.' She remembers the dizzy joy of the fall. The glory of it all. And for a while, it was. But now the fall is almost over and there's nothing below to break it. She tenses in anticipation of the shattering of flesh and bones. Heart.
Some day in the future she'll hear from friends about 'the one'. She'll feel her heart rip once more into little pieces. The knowledge that she wasn't enough...not for him. She'll spend days and nights praying there won't be chance meetings. She'll practice smiling before the mirror so everyone else won't see how much it matters.
For now, she sits waiting. Wondering if she can let him go without begging. Hoping the tears will wait until he's gone. Because he hates scenes and even now, on the eve of goodbye, she will do what he likes. Then she will go inside and write of her pain.

Coffee

The other day my friend and I stepped into a coffee shop while we were out for a walk. Half-way in I froze in my tracks. 'We have to leave,' I hissed at her. 'Why?' she said, scanning the room for potential reasons. Finally she spied cute b in the corner. With a girl. A girl he had his arm around. 'Oh please,' she said in disgust. 'We're not leaving.' I glared at her. 'We have to. My heart is breaking.' She rolled her eyes. And walked right in. Since I didn't have a choice I followed, trying to make myself invisible while she ordered our coffee. I couldn't bear it if I had to talk to him. And what if he then introduced me? Horrors.
Tall. Mocha latte. Whipped cream on top. How prosaic. 'My heart,' I repeated, 'is breaking.' She gave me a look she reserves for the times I'm being a bona-fide drama queen. Her words, not mine. 'It is not,' she said, thrusting the coffee into my hands. 'You don't even know him. Not really.' I had never felt so indignant in my life. 'I so do! He's funny, smart and ......in my class,' I finished. Ok, so maybe I didn't really know him. 'And,' she said, over my words, 'he doesn't even know you exist.' I felt smug as I corrected her. 'Remember that day when he asked me what he'd missed from the previous class?' 'Ok, so he knows you as the nerd.'
My feelings were really hurt so I maintained a frigid silence. For five minutes. And you don't know how much self-control that took. 'And,' I looked up, 'for your information..' She grinned at me over her steaming mug. And I knew we were okay. The coffee was wonderful, warming me all the way to my toes, a welcome change from the winter cold that lay just outside the walls. We sipped in silence, each buzy with our thoughts and this time it wasn't frigid.
Every now and then we are reminded of the miracle of having someone like us for who we are, warts and all. That there are people who choose to stand by us when we flounder in this journey through life. That it doesn't matter if we don't know where we are going or that we dream impossible dreams. That we only eat the inside of a lemon tart or watch scary movies with a blanket over our head. And it's like the warmth of the coffee is all around you.
I threw a wistful glance over my shoulder as we left. 'Oh, common on,' she said, hooking an arm through mine. 'His socks are probably smelly.' I looked at her solemnly. 'Thanks for being my cup of coffee.' She stared at me. 'Sometimes I have no idea what you're thinking.'
And that's okay too.

Letting go

I need a beach. A quiet beach...sand between my toes....the murmur of the sea. Eyes on the distant horizon, while the wind plays with my hair. Birds flying home...the sinking sun. Stretching my arms out because it must feel so free. To be flying home.

I need a hand. Fingers to hold on to, while I sink. Sink then come up for air. Dragging in a breath, though my chest is so tight. To gently unclasp my hand, keep my eyes open all the while. It must be so free...to go under and never come up.

I need the world to disappear. Everything gone in the time it takes to wish. So when I scream that's all there is. Echoing back to me from every side...bouncing off rocks and walls..returning to me. It must feel so free...to scream. And never stop.

I need to pray. Find a moment for silent communication....while I look up at the sky. Down on my knees...being listened to. For once...It must feel so free..to be listened to, really listened to..to know He cares.

While I scream.

Words

The buzz of bees are in my head. Random thoughts crashing against each-other, all clamoring for voice. And I'm stuck thinking of defense mechanisms...psychology 101....my own mind fails me. Repression, Schizoid, SAD.....Does it help to have names?
I listen to the conversations around me. Everyone sounds so important. Everyone playing at grown-up. Big words. Long words. Important ones? Or more buzzing?
Looking at the girl with the lil' white pills....the brown eyes so blank...I realize I'm leaning forward, almost as if I'm trying to peek inside. Is it really all silence? And is it scary? I think of Alice.....so tempted by the cakes that said 'eat me'.....the bottles that said 'drink me'. And Wonderland takes on a whole new meaning. Around me, the conversations go on.
So easy to fake attention. Fake meaning. I toss some of my own big words in, like pebbles. Wait for a reaction. And like pebbles, they sink quietly out of sight...down, down. The murmur of agreement is deflating. And somehow funny. I carefully stifle my giggles. I look around at the faces I see....eager, earnest. And I want to shout, 'Show me the voices. I know you've got them. I can't be the only one who has an inside of a head that talks back...' But I don't because...because the big words are confusing me. It's such a good act. So I quietly play the audience instead.
Later, as we leave, the pill-girl grabs my arm, demanding 'did you have fun? Is something wrong? You look....'
I wait for the word...she's going to tell me how I feel...anxious, depressed, crazy.....spot diagnosis. It doesn't come. I smile at her, searching for words to hide behind. 'Just a diremption of mind and body'. She laughs, because it sounds like a joke and I'm let off the hook. I walk away, feeling more kindly towards big words. I like when they serve my purpose.

A day in Oz

You know those days when something surprising and out-of-the-ordinary happens to you and you can't stop smiling? Nothing like winning the lottery or falling in love special...just a spontaneous hug from someone who couldn't possibly have an angle. A compliment from a complete stranger on the street whom I'm never going to see again and won't recognize if I do, but whose words will stay with me and get me through days I don't meet with a single smile. Feeling like a child again because you walked into a room and found it unexpectedly decorated with X'mas trees and tinsel and lots of happy things. And because you're alone and no-one can see you, you can take the time to touch and peek and laugh out loud.
That happened to me today....the universe decided to take the time to make me magic....
Strange how little it takes to feel so much...

One day at a time

I sometimes wonder when people are truly themselves. I ask that because of the myraid roles we take on in life. The different things we are to different people. And surely some of them are not us. While some of it...why, some of it is so much us that it leaves you feeling stripped. And slightly afraid.

Even as I start this I think, can I commit? Can I give this project enough of myself, day after day, time after time? After all, the fact remains that I have 'commitment issues'...(psycho babble....because people expect it). And here...this here is the real reason I hesitate. Because already it has become about others. And I'm so tired of that. All that role-playing that you can't turn off. Everytime I write I know I'll be bleeding a little bit of myself over these pages and this only means the fear will be worse. Love me! Don't stop! Sometimes I cringe at what I see in the dark mirrors of my soul. And sometimes I think..well, you've gotten this far..just a little bit more...one day at a time...