the leaves fall softly outside in the brisk breeze. I huddle in my blanket, stretched out on the sofa. I can see out the window from here; I can watch the browning grass as the last remaining birds attempt to find sustenance from the hard, dry earth.
I shiver and pull my blanket higher, resting my head on my pillow.
Moving my arms causes the pain to spike from wrist to shoulder and I try not to wince. Outward shows of pain are not encouraged here after all.
The pain in my shoulders radiates to my back and I wish wish wish for a comforting touch, a gentle massage or just a warm hand between my shoulderblades. Anything to take the white throb away for a while.
How I long to be up and out. How I wish I could just get up, go somewhere.
But the cold is in my muscles, bones, blood.
My legs are leaden, and hips creak when I try to move them.
And don’t you dare touch them, else I will cry out.
The front door opens, colder air blows in with the arrival of the young ones home from their day.
Breathing deep, I pull off the blanket and stand up.
Hiding, always hiding, the sharp stabbing spikes
up the legs, down the back around the neck
I smile and push back the wince again
hiding always hiding
I begin my day.
You told me before you left that it had to be this way.
That we had to stop it now, before we both were consumed with it.
You believed me when I said I agreed….
And when I heard your car start and watched from the window as you executed the
perfect K-turn in the street below…
that’s when I realized just how much I love you, and how much
I truly need you.
Consumed, you said.
You just don’t get it, do you?
Being consumed in the heat of your love
Wrapping myself in your arms, your legs, your touch, your kiss..
Consumed doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Happy consumption, joyful pyre.
Your heat lit my world and brought the smile to my lips…
Yet you left me.
I think it scared you, this intensity.
This indescribable, multi-sensate,
hot/cold passion.
The way that one look could start me to melting
and one word
could bring me to my knees…
You said you enjoyed it when I was on my knees…..
I wiped away a couple tears after your car was long gone.
It seemed like it should be raining but the sun was out and the
birds were singing.
Not fair, when you think about it.
Not fair at all.
iI am walking down another corridor. It is cold here, and my hands hurt with it. The walls are hard stone, slightly damp. The floor is smooth stone, or maybe marble. In the dark it’s hard to tell. This may be a dank corridor, it may be an old ballroom. There is no light to know.
The blackness wraps around me, and I am scared. I don’t remember where the door is. I grope along the cold, damp walls, hoping to find something, someone, to get me out of this place.
When I suddenly encounter a hand, I jump and gasp.
Ssh I hear. You are safe. I am here.
The hand grasps mine tighter and then disappears.
Tears threaten. You are here and gone in the space of a heartbeat.
I heard your voice. I know I didn’t imagine it. How could you come and go like that? How could you leave me alone in this unknown place?
I wish for a savior, a saint or a sinner. Someone to show me the way.
Yet all that I have now is the shallow echo of my own breath, and one hand slightly warmer than the other.
I continue to edge around this corridor. Somehow I must find my way.
somewhere along the way, I must have done something right.
The boy that is now a man
came home with a huge boquet of flowers for me.
And I cried again, but this time with happiness.
there is something to be said about crying in the shower
–you dont have to worry about your makeup running,
–no one can hear you
and
–when you get out, you can say your eyes are swollen because you got soap in them.
I find myself walking a long hallway. The stones beneath my feet are cold and the walls are rough and dry.
I hear an echo…is it behind or in front of me? I stop, my heart clenches. A footstep? A cough? A shout?
I look over my shoulder once and continue on. My candle flickers and goes out.
I stand in the darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The faint hint of moonlight lights my way. Somewhere there must be a window.
I move with less confidence now. Imagined whispers float by me and I shiver.
I am lost.
Another sound, this one definitely from ahead of me. I stop. Should I go, should I turn back?
I hear the footsteps behind me and this settles my mind. I continue forward.
I am walking away from the known and into the unknown and I can only hope to find safety.
The footsteps behind me are quickening and another glance over my forehead and I see the flicker of candleight far down the hallway.
I begin to run, blindly in the dark. My hands out to either side to keep me from falling, I am running down the dark hallway, fear in my throat and a scream just a whisper away.
With a sudden thud I run into someone and the scream erupts. Strong arms around me, a hand over my mouth.
“Shhh” I hear. “You’re safe.”
My legs buckle. I found you. Your arms around me, Your strength to protect me. I am safe here with you. I sag against you and your arms tighten, holding me up.
“Come, ” you say. “Let’s go from here.”
I follow you willingly into the dark night. As long as I have your arms to catch me, I know I am safe.
I heard somewhere recently
that
Peter Pan left Neverland
and took a job on Wall Street
as a stock broker.
And that Wendy, his
ever-faithful gal Friday,
found herself a job in LA
doing set makeup on B-list
actresses.
Tinkerbell,
however,
remained with the Lost Boys.
Although now,
the only pixie dust they have
is sold on the corner of First and Main,
and comes like white powder
in a rolled up baggie.
Richard Bach is a prophet. These are his words:
The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.
Can miles truly separate you from friends… If you want to be with someone you love, aren’t you already there?
Don’t be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.
The opposite of loneliness, it’s not togetherness. It is intimacy
We’re the bridge across forever, arching above the sea, adventuring for our pleasure, living mysteries for the fun of it, choosing disasters triumphs challenges impossible odds, testing ourselves over and again, learning love and love and LOVE!
a place where I find harbor
grace
solitude
alone but not lonely.
A hidden place, a special place
Found only where I put it.
Here I find my peace,
a place of my own construct, with
rooms to fill as I desire.
Perhaps a sun room, to meditate
Or a room that gathers moonlight when
I need to commune with my Goddess.
Perhaps a comfy couch with a bay window, for
watching the passing rainstorms.
Perhaps a kitchen, with an ever-ready pot of coffee
and
Perhaps a bedroom
for secret things.
Thoughts to think
Dreams to dream
Wishes to hang
on the stars in my
self-made universe.
Its safe here, in my spot.
I can be who I really am
or
I can choose to be someone else.
Either way
I can be me.
No one comes in
without an invite
And only those whom I trust
will cross this threshold.
And for now, I am happy here
in this place of serenity
Basking in the candlelight
letting my thoughts come as they may.
Experiencing each idea as if it
were happening right now.
trying on different ‘what ifs’
to see which is the best fit.
Here I need not censor my feelings
nor rewrite history.
here I need not worry about what is
good or bad
wrong or right
all i need to remember
is that things are what they are
and I can examine such
thoughts
with a pure eye and
pure heart.
No fears in the corners here, and
no darkness in the basement.
I shine in my special spot and
If you are nice
and true and
honest
I will share my light with you.
He couldn’t believe his eyes when he opened the door.
The first time he told me he loved me, he had a gun to his head; the second time, he held the gun to my head.
“Grandmother,” the small one asked, “tell me how the world began.”
It wasn’t just that the body had disappeared, it was more just that no one remembered seeing it in the first place.
He told me once, long ago, that the darkness was like that for him; it would well up and overflow out his eyes, leaving a trail of tears and blood that he could never wipe dry.
Try not to think she told me, gently wiping my sweaty brow with a rag soaked in the fresh cold water of the nearby river.
I’m not sure how exactly it started—probably with some stupid comment or dumb-ass remark–but I know exactly how it ended.
Sing me the songs of your heart, man, and know that I listen with my own.
It is said that long ago and far away, there lived a race of people unlike any that walk the earth today and if you listen very carefully on warm summer nights, you can still hear their laughter.
What price love and what cost a heart?
He told me once that the only difference between laughter and tears was about fifteen muscles in your face; I didn’t believe him at first but now, after all this, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I stopped running and leaned against a tree, the rough bark cutting into my back and my heart beating as if it were about to wrench itself out of my chest.
The doorbell rang and I threw my pillow at it.
His voice whisptered across my dream that first night, like oil on water or silk on skin, causing shivers of fear and desire to run up my spine; his exact words were not comprehensible but the images left to my now waking mind spoke of passion and greed.
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