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Thursday, 01 October 2009
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a new day
It was the dawn of a new sort of autumn
ripe time to savor the fruits of three whirlwind years
that felt more like a grueling six.
Yet there was a lingering sadness, a quiet tear
remembering the resilience of the first day
and now the bitterness on a darker side.
I could hear the laughter and the excitement
from the year we learned to grow up.
I remember starting to understand
the way people earn the right to move up.
I can still feel the wind in my face,
from a night cruise with the top down by Calhoun
feeling like nothing could change the lightness we felt.
In anger and in faith, it felt like a part of me
the house where I grew up
the house that I grew ready to leave.
With trepidation and fear
with excitement and new hope
braving a change and a new identity
forging towards the new road
as ready as I'll ever be.
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
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Bailey and Me
in this palpably lonely apartment
The clock read twelve seventeen.
there was Bailey and me.
you were the chooser, he said unsympathetically.
The minutes ticked emphatically
the hours seemed to slip away.
Soon we sat face to face with the midnight glare
unable to decide how we felt.
Bailey and I sat in silent celebration
hand in hand through the night.
He told me solemn stories
I nodded in consolation.
The echo of our choices run deep
in haunting stillness, quiet contemplation.
Bailey and I have had better days.
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
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It all started in August two years ago
with butterflies and sweaty palms
"ooh i hope my dress will impress him tonight."
Like any other year,
leaves fell, snowflakes dressed the world in white
but this time there was a hand to hold,
arms wrapped around me to keep warm.
Hot chocolate and city lights
were all I needed for these holidays.
Then summer came and went
as we laid together in the sand
then savored autumn's best harvest,
braved the ice with the comfort of your hands.
The beauty of each season seemed so clear to me
the sweetness of each breath magnified a thousand times.
At twenty-five who would've thought I could be a believer.
Who could've guessed that after a quarter century
of heartbreak and disappointment
I still had enough faith for a feeling like this.
I guess this is the love they write about
in fairy tales and romantic comedies.
It all started in August two years ago
with butterflies and sweaty palms
"ooh i hope my dress will impress him tonight."
Sunday, 04 January 2009
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The Gradual Farewell
The winter breeze was unabashedly harsh as it brushed past my skin. I was cold in my tank top, but I let the window stay open. I needed it to help my baffled body understand the pain the brain was feeling.
It was an ordinary Sunday and I was basking in solitude, letting the din of this cluttered mind get as loud as it wanted. There were haunting thoughts of what I will have to face and dread for the day I am no longer able to seal off the darkness. I thought of the faces I would see--- faces from whom after twenty-five years of closeness my tears will need to hide and will forever need to hide.
I played the video from a year ago in my mind. He stood up after a few beers and sang an old love song. His wife laughed, slightly embarrassed, remembering that he used to serenade her with the same song. He smiled when he was finished, with the same crinkle in his faces as my own father. I had always regarded him as my own.
It was unbearable that this video would be my last memory, that such a vibrancy will forever be committed to dust.
Dust.
Particles that sometimes get stuck in your nose and induce a sneeze.
Dust.
That will be all that remains after all was said and done. We will probably have a meal afterward. Then we will probably all go home. Life will have to go on. Dishes will be washed, laces will be tied, and we will all eventually sleep soundly again---even if against our will.
In the background, playing eternally will be a slow, deliberate song. I will hear it---I already do. I try not to dwell and I try not to let my own melancholy contaminate the innocence around me. But when I stare off into space, I hear that song clearly---every chord, every beat. And yet, I have trouble verbalizing my thoughts to any sort of written medium. Any professing of love or regret would be amateurish and unworthy. There were no words.
Besides, I had already blocked the feelings from pouring out in full to prepare for the day I will look into the eyes of those who had much more at stake. I already know the strength with which I will hold back my meager tears. I know that a moment of weakness will spell an irrepressible release of undue hysteria. I must stay strong.
Sometimes I try and pretend it didn't happen. The miles are helpful in that way. But that sad song always finds me.
The chilly breeze may not be enough. I may have to go for a run. The winter air chokes in my lungs and makes it difficult to breathe. That should help.
Monday, 19 May 2008
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We Become the Things We Do
It wasn't even whiskey inside the glass on my desk. It was Pepsi. Diet Pepsi.
It had been a hard day--one where the sirens of desertion were difficult to resist. I had deserved a nice, hard drink. In fact, I had deserved about a dozen hard drinks.
But alas, here I am with my caffeinated, calorie-free carbonated beverage. It offered me no condolences, gave me no detectable buzz. It was just necessary in order to have the energy to run a few miles and still make it to the shower afterwards. Plus, I couldn't afford the extra calories in liquor.
It was a bearable compromise, much like the past twelve hours. I would have much rather been on the other side of the world, using my time for something worth a damn. But in order to keep up with the payments on things I didn't really need in the first place, I had to sit at the end of a desk, amidst a pile of tangled cords, and word-smithing the latest CYA email.
It seems to be a traceable trend---bearing compromises. A few more years of this and I'll just be another misled fool, wandering pathlessly through the ring of perpetual need and temporary fulfillment.
It's so easy, slipping into the wonderland of obligations, mirrored in the sullen eyes of fading youth. Eventually, the mind will grow numb to feeling lost, accustomed to the greyness that colors only between the lines.
In fact, I may be a few years too late.
accidentalrealist
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- Member Since: 4/15/2008
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