For some reason I see sadness in his eyes. Of course this may be the reflection of my own feelings in his eyes. I feel like I must know his past history – I feel like he needs that person to listen. This just sounds like crazy talk. He knows what he needs. A stranger can’t tell you what you need or how you feel – can they? Even if they could, who would? Fear accompanies knowledge, especially knowledge of something each individual tries desperately to hide.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Sweet Home, Alone
There is a fear within me that continues to claim victory over my rising happiness. This feeling can only be described as imprisonment. Applied to all avenues of life, it seems to me that my material self has been taken hostage. Imagine this:
a girl, young and beautiful. She has golden blonde hair that has grown beyond the small of her back. She is porcelain-like – the smooth, pale skin untainted by the demons of puberty. She wears a flowing sun dress, with small delicate flowers embroidered on the fabric. She lives her young life like every other young girl and boy but she lives a less desirable life beyond the ‘things’ that define our world. She is the same young girl, but in her mind she is kept within four invisible walls. She can see kilometers ahead – the fallen birch trees and the hills elevated in the sky – but she doesn’t dare walk past the four walls she has designated for herself. Some may say this is her comfort zone but it is not. To create a comfort zone she must know what makes her uncomfortable but she has never made this contrast. Maybe, she has established these walls to ensure she will never feel anything unknown. She has imagined what love is, what commitment is, what responsibility is – but she would rather keep separate the imagination from reality. For what if she does fall in love or if she commits and invites responsibility? Who then will she become?
These invisible walls have been her knights – standing tall, coated in silver armour, holding with confidence spears that ward off any intangible feelings. She has decided to fight with nothing but her mind.
In my reality, I sit legs crossed on the misty grass and let the sun shine through my invisible home – the safest place I know – a home of nothing.
a girl, young and beautiful. She has golden blonde hair that has grown beyond the small of her back. She is porcelain-like – the smooth, pale skin untainted by the demons of puberty. She wears a flowing sun dress, with small delicate flowers embroidered on the fabric. She lives her young life like every other young girl and boy but she lives a less desirable life beyond the ‘things’ that define our world. She is the same young girl, but in her mind she is kept within four invisible walls. She can see kilometers ahead – the fallen birch trees and the hills elevated in the sky – but she doesn’t dare walk past the four walls she has designated for herself. Some may say this is her comfort zone but it is not. To create a comfort zone she must know what makes her uncomfortable but she has never made this contrast. Maybe, she has established these walls to ensure she will never feel anything unknown. She has imagined what love is, what commitment is, what responsibility is – but she would rather keep separate the imagination from reality. For what if she does fall in love or if she commits and invites responsibility? Who then will she become?
These invisible walls have been her knights – standing tall, coated in silver armour, holding with confidence spears that ward off any intangible feelings. She has decided to fight with nothing but her mind.
In my reality, I sit legs crossed on the misty grass and let the sun shine through my invisible home – the safest place I know – a home of nothing.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Holding Hands
She can't help but picture what it would be like to run her smooth, gentle hand along his sculpted arm. As soon as the thought occurred he hastily grab her hand from between her tense thighs. She leans in and rests her head on his strong broad shoulder and hopes that it will allow him to relax and enjoy the moment. She knows that he is shy because he uses it to define the boundaries of his relationships. She also knows that as she was thinking how it would be like to touch him, he was nervously concentrating on the perfect moment to do so. He must have repeated the scenario over and over in his mind - when he should do it, how he should do - carefully imagining the movement his hand is to take, where it is destined to go and what it will do when it arrives at the inviting destination.
She smiles to herself while all the eyes in the theater - few and far between - are intently watching the flickering lights cast on the gigantic screen straight ahead. Her eyes are watching the screen but her mind wanders. She is convinced she has fallen... She has fallen into the welcoming arms of temptation, she is unable to grasp hold of anything stable or sturdy, she is loose, light and likely to break a sweat. He is strong, tall and muscular - the ingredients to the universal representation of a man. She runs her free hand up and down his arm, lightly brushing the soft and vulnerable area on the underside of the elbow. At this place the veins run wild, hidden beneath the pale porous skin. Here she realizes is where the drugs are injected, where people seek refuge through artificial means. The scars left behind serve now merely as scars of addiction but of evidence that self infliction is the only way to heighten all senses - evidence of Temptation's victory.
She runs her rounded nail tips down the front of his arm where the hair is coarse and uneven. She slides her fingers between his knuckles and feels the dryness and roughness of them. She is able to feel each groove of his chapped skin - the hands of a working man. His free arm begins to slowly caress her thigh nearest to him. She looks down and senses the urge of reasoning surrendering itself as temptation and sexual tension make her stomach cringe. He could take her now, she would not fight but the movie isn't over just yet.
As soon as she has become comfortable and settled with his fingers on her thigh she lays back against and enjoys the night for what it is.
A night that allowed for clumsy movements, reassuring looks and comfort. Its was him knocking at her window late in the evening and her replying with a swift welcoming hand signal. It was him asking to be given a chance and her allowing it. It was him and it was her innocently holding hands at the movie theater - but it felt like so much more.
She smiles to herself while all the eyes in the theater - few and far between - are intently watching the flickering lights cast on the gigantic screen straight ahead. Her eyes are watching the screen but her mind wanders. She is convinced she has fallen... She has fallen into the welcoming arms of temptation, she is unable to grasp hold of anything stable or sturdy, she is loose, light and likely to break a sweat. He is strong, tall and muscular - the ingredients to the universal representation of a man. She runs her free hand up and down his arm, lightly brushing the soft and vulnerable area on the underside of the elbow. At this place the veins run wild, hidden beneath the pale porous skin. Here she realizes is where the drugs are injected, where people seek refuge through artificial means. The scars left behind serve now merely as scars of addiction but of evidence that self infliction is the only way to heighten all senses - evidence of Temptation's victory.
She runs her rounded nail tips down the front of his arm where the hair is coarse and uneven. She slides her fingers between his knuckles and feels the dryness and roughness of them. She is able to feel each groove of his chapped skin - the hands of a working man. His free arm begins to slowly caress her thigh nearest to him. She looks down and senses the urge of reasoning surrendering itself as temptation and sexual tension make her stomach cringe. He could take her now, she would not fight but the movie isn't over just yet.
As soon as she has become comfortable and settled with his fingers on her thigh she lays back against and enjoys the night for what it is.
A night that allowed for clumsy movements, reassuring looks and comfort. Its was him knocking at her window late in the evening and her replying with a swift welcoming hand signal. It was him asking to be given a chance and her allowing it. It was him and it was her innocently holding hands at the movie theater - but it felt like so much more.
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