I could never forget this moment and I don't need this picture. I could never forget what coming home each day to this man felt like, how we could occupy such a small space and fill it with such passion; tears and rest and laughter and food, and deaths and rebirths, and smoking and drinking, and pasts and presents and futures all commingling in space and time, and friends and sex: loud and unapologetic, and love, oh my God, love.
Sometimes I feel physically ill from the memory of what I left behind and the way that I left it. I am not capable of the acts I committed, the desperation I induced. I am that woman now, capable of such things. How long am I allowed to toil in heartache for the woman I can never again claim to be? Sometimes I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I wake up often that way. Feels like every unbearable tension, climbing every root of every molar battling for dominance.
How often do you do something that absolutely terrifies you? I've done 2 such things in the last week. I believed in myself enough to go after something I never would have throughout past versions of me, something that scared me but something I knew with every beating fiber of my heart that I could do and was more than qualified to do. I'm much more confident now, more comfortable with who I am and what I'm capable of, more ready for challenges and opportunities to lead.
You mentioned thinking life could always get better. I think I suffer with that as well. It used to be on both a personal and professional level and now it's only on a professional level (which is good) but seriously, I feel like I actively avoid success sometimes. Does that make sense? I just can't seem to get on the internet anymore without stumbling on someone's fantastic body of work and seeing that they're somehow doing that for a living (no 9-5 bullshit). How did they do that? How did that happen?You mentioned thinking life could always get better. I think I suffer with that as well. It used to be on both a personal and professional level and now it's only on a professional level (which is good) but seriously, I feel like I actively avoid success sometimes. Does that make sense? I just can't seem to get on the internet anymore without stumbling on someone's fantastic body of work and seeing that they're somehow doing that for a living (no 9-5 bullshit). How did they do that? How did that happen?
It really is true what they say, isn't it? You think you'll never change from the person you are when you're 15, 18, 21, 25, 30... but you DO, friends. You really do. I think I've finally reached an age in which I understand the older generation's contempt for youth. Kids really don't know a damn thing.
Hopefully I'm still young enough to be humbled by that realization.
Sometimes you spend so much time and energy beating your fists against the walls around you wanting to escape that you don't realize that where you are is exactly where you need to be at the moment, otherwise you'd be somewhere else.
Sometimes, some lessons in life need to be relearned and it's true what they say: You can't go home again. It'll never be the same.
I'm not a prude by any means. You don't have to know me long or well to know that about me. I love fine art nudity, sloppy and amateur porn, the many crazy kinks and fetishes that abound, sex, sex, and more sex. I love exercised dominance on both sides of the gender field and so long as animals or children aren't involved, I can appreciate any and all preferences, no matter how strange, in the bedroom. I especially love that women are beginning to feel less ashamed and more empowered in this realm and that we're slowly moving into a world where it's just as acceptable for a woman to embrace her sexuality as men have been doing without consequence for eons.
You know where to find your happiness. It's in your heart. Follow it. Fear and logic may lead you down the path of least resistance because it's easier and far less terrifying, but you'll never be able to silence the aching whine emanating from your chest. Listen to it.
At 2013’s end, like a raging forest fire I burned everything in my life down and started over in 2014 as something new. I spent this year fostering new growth, and becoming reacquainted with myself. And it’s been one beautifully eye-opening experience.
Could I say it's been 16 years and I hardly think of you anymore? Could I say I've forgotten so many of the sad details of your life that helped to paint my own in such vividly dark colors? Could I say I've forgiven you for robbing me of a life without a father, the opportunity to open my heart to you and spill 16 years of pain, now doubled, the sudden way you changed and redefined my life, or the way you didn't say goodbye?
What can you tell me now that you couldn’t one year ago? Could you tell me how your reflection in the mirror has changed with such fervent subtlety that you hardly recognize the person you once were? Could you describe to me the palpable feeling of the shattering of such long-held presumptions of yourself? Could you tell me how fucking beautiful the silencing of such familiar doubts in your head can be? Could you tell me how your smile is an accessory you rarely leave home without?
"I realized recently, that I've been steadily re-falling in love with him over the last six months that he's been here. That's a weird feeling: thinking you know and love someone so unconditionally and wholly but realizing there's so much more to this person that you couldn't possibly fall in love with before he was able to stand half a foot in front of you and put his arms around you while whispering "God, you're beautiful and shit, do I love you so much." I've been fortunate enough to fall in love with him twice. Did you know that was possible? I sure as shit didn't. It's an unearthly and dreamlike experience."
Blanket me with the soft shroud of the setting sun's fiery mantle of clouds before I get too lost in the cold dark of the universe, before the moon soothes me to sleep with its stories of brave explorers who long ago hovered sweetly above its lonely ground, before my fingers become raw with lucid memories of the earth's thorny skin.
You would be 54 today, Dad. And I can hardly fathom it. Sometimes, it feels like the only language I know is time and we commune in years. I can still remember when we'd speak in days and hours and minutes, but it's been a while now, for both of us.
It's rare that a day goes by that I'm not reminded of my hearing loss. There are so many things said to me or around me that I miss. I constantly feel like I'm on the outside of inside jokes or simply a quiet observer to a world I don't completely understand.
Do you remember the first time I told you I loved you, sweetpea? I meant every word of that sentence. I meant it with every force within me that propels me forward. I meant it with the self same honesty and intention I feel when I hold your jaw in the palm of my hand, when I get my fingers tangled in yours and when I touch my lips to your earlobe.
The city swallowed you whole, but you climbed its walls to spite its fervor, digging your fragile claws into the merciless concrete, yearning to escape and inflate your lungs with the unstained air. Run like wildfire, baby, before they gauge your eyes from their sockets, before the hollowed savages press their sawlike teeth into your penetrable flesh and tear, tear, tear.
It devours me until my heart aches in longing and grief. You were like a mesa too vertical to climb. You were the smell of desert rain I couldn't inhale enough of, elusive and solemn and captivating in your intangibility.