I will tell you how it was won...

but I will also tell you how it was lost.

What seems like a maze to you, is simply a matter of paying attention.
The ebb and flow responding to the moon.
There is no mystery here; you just had to find the rythm.
You didn't have to ask the questions to see the answers.

It was won because she was read without asking.
No expectations were wanted, and none were given.
The silence was more inviting than the drive to know how to fill it.
The cup empty... was not a pessimistic attitude.
He understood her; accepted her.... and they went about their days just knowing.

It was lost because she had to speak to be noticed.
Her expectations grew as the silence became deafening.
He needed someone to worship him, and she was not religious.
The boredom became a living thing. Pacing back and forth, looking for a reason to strike!
In time they found more hes and shes to dissect and discard.
But they were always hungry. Always needing to feed.

This is not a complication. It embodies neither love nor hate.
It is simply that matter of human nature come to past, that has been mutated from an old world of simple things.
There is too much food. There are too many toys to play with.
The best you can do now... is to grow inside of it... but never let it grow inside of you.
Learn to get everything you need from just yourself, and you'll never have to need.

I will tell you how it was lost...

But I will also tell you how it was won again...

I Trust You

A deep and penetrating trust. The kind alive in an unreachable part of the mind.
You can not know the affect you have on me. It is cast and lurking in the midnight corners of my soul.
You have stirred in me, something I can not place.
Something I dare not touch.
A growing seed of desire...
You are awake inside me. A luminous demon.
A quiet vampire.

It's lonely at the top...

...and it will probably get more so.
I knew I was headed this way, before I knew.
I wrote about it, but didn't understand what I was writing.
Like a blind child scribbling out pictures of the shadows that haunt his inner vision...
but I didn't want to really believe it.

I screamed it out, and sounded so passionate about my knowledge of things.
It took more than knowing. It was hidden behind feeling.
There is a glass wall between me, and "them"; and I know not the language to speak to make them understand.

I was told I would feel connected to everything once I completed the course...
I must have missed a step.

"Wendy? It's only make-believe, isn't it? That you and I are..." Peter Pan

And so it is. What is the harm in pretending?
Fantasy.
So many are afraid to know what is yours, and even more; for you to know what is theirs.
There is a secret kingdom in us all...
it is where we truly live.
It is where all of our fragments come together, and are made whole again.

It's only make-belief Peter Pan...
it's only in my mind.

It means nothing

I've heard the story so many times. I almost wonder if it's on automatic re-play.

The two children torn from a most beloved mother.
Moved across state, far from their birth... and the torture of distance and time.
I can't bear to watch. It seems so real to her. She believes this lie now... prtending that I don't know the truth.
Always the one who was betrayed; the one who got played.
Such a cross to bear.

And here is the real story.
Mother of four, takes up with only one in the middle of the night.
She leaves her babies crying.
She leaves them to the wolf.

Two weeks she is gone.
The eldest left to care for the younger ones... but what does she care? She has with her, the only child she wanted.
The wolf takes the eldest into his bed.
Makes her wear the mothers clothes... treats her like his new wife.
The only relief she finds, is the babies crying in their beds... fear of the darkness.

When mother returns, the wolf decides he wishes to leave... taking the babies with him.
She knows that he is the wolf.
She can see his wolf eyes, and smell his wolf breath.
But she lets him take her babies anyway.

When they are gone; the eldest tells the mother... this is what the wolf did.
So she gathers the eldest and her only child... and drives across the states, to force the eldest to beg for forgiveness, for letting him be the wolf.

This is the story...
hers
and what is.
and it means nothing.

It changes nothing.

I just say it..

Maybe I shouldn't... but I do.

and it doesn't even occur to me to be bothered by that anymore.
Everything I've been practicing, is working.
That stupid nagging voice telling me what a bad girl I am...
gone.
And most people have always been surprised by me...
but this is different.
I'm not trying to justify myself,... not even to me.
But what will it do, if I keep going in this direction?
Will I lose empathy?
Have I already lost remorse?
It really makes no difference if I'm understood by you...
even if you knew what this feels like;
you would never have the courage to be me.

Fear

Afraid of yourself.

Knowing that you could be that kind of person.
The kind that makes people fear.
Your face is like a mirror to them... it may reflect an image of themselves, they don't want to know.

Everything is intimate. Every line has been drawn so thin.

Afraid of the thoughts you shouldn't be thinking.
Hell, is going against yourself.
Hell is hating yourself for being who you are.

But I am no longer afraid.
I will make my heaven here.
Nothing will be too intimate, and there will be no lines.

I will not deny myself, that which makes me happy... because the world is driven by fear.

Sleep

The the one thing I can fall in and out of, without feeling guilty.

driving nails into the 'ol nog'n

... it's her...
She never calls me.
It's late, so it must be an emergency!

"hello?"... her voice sounds like she's in a panic.
Is she dead? Did she finally die?

Lunch.
That's it?
All that panic in her voice over lunch...
Why can't we just talk like regular people?

What will she complain about this time...
rehab? maybe her dog has a cyst.
Hurry up. My stomach hurts every time you mention something from my childhood.
What could we possibly have to say if we eat a whole lunch together...
I hope there's lots of people and noise to distract us.

Wait... "who's getting married?"
Maybe she thought I just didn't hear her, instead of... she never listens to what I'm saying.
Again I have to tell her... "She never tells me anything!"

Is this the woman I longed to be close to?
The one who makes my stomach turn and my head hurt?
She used to make me laugh...
She used to be so funny.

It's been almost 2 years since I've seen her, and she only lives 45 minutes away.

Monday.
I will be happy to see her, no matter how much it hurts.

Like An Old book

Ever open an old book and the smell of the paper triggers something so deeply familiar to you, but you just can't place a memory to it.
You turn the pages slowly, taking in the scent... hoping a mental image will come; but nothing.
You run your fingers across its weathered pages gingerly, as if it were made of thin tissue... and something new occurs to you. You never really felt this book before. You read it so many times, and you loved all the words... you loved the story within it, but the book?
Now that there is history written in its smell, and the pages have worn thin; you suddenly feel it. It becomes a treasure to you.

Ever look at a face you've looked at your whole life... and realize you haven't been paying attention?
Something has changed, but you just can't place it. You study the new creases, but that's not it.
Is it the faint bluish circles that have formed under weary, restless eyes?
You touch it. Examine its illusion of youth... but nothing comes.
Maybe you wash away the mask you apply daily with little thought or care. Maybe you smile and try to remember a time when the only way you understood beautiful, was by the definition of others.

It's not the same; is it?
The older face.
The older book.

But somehow.... it is.