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September 01, 2006 Waxing, not so much romantically. Strange, that thing called life.I am moving on, ever forward. That thing, that part of me that was alive and breathing and that had a voice when I was with her is either dead, asleep, or playing dead. My emotions, my memories rear up some times, unbidden and unwanted; especially after seeing US together, finding old pictures NOT symbolically burned or deleted off my computer, the both of us honestly and openly, happy and content. Strange. I did something I thought (contentedly so) that I was done with, something that I thought I would never have to do again, something I was more than glad never to do again. I went on a date. It was nice and it was good. The lady, in question was warm and open and sexy, and I am honored to have stood by her side, if only for a moment. But, I can't tell you why, it made me think of the other "her", the her that, for a time in my life, destroyed me; ostensibly with a glad heart and apparent relish. To echo my first statement, life is so goddamn strange. At one time, I thought I had things figured out. I thought I knew where I was going and what I was doing. I was wrong. When you put your trust in someone, do so with great caution. Live life, breathe, but reckless abandon begets tragedy, more often than not. I never thought the "woman" to whom I had devoted my life entire was capable of such unmitigated, and I might ad, premeditated deceit, and hatefulness. Again, I was wrong. She acted with such cold malice, hell, her entire family acted with nothing but scorn and disdain, so much so that father to mother, brother to sister, cousin to distant cousin ended up severing every single chord and bond that had been woven between us and my own family through the years; a pure, unadulterated, "Southern" shunning. It made me wonder, at the time, if there had been any love, any respect, and any honesty between her family, and us ever. It's hard to remember anything good, hard to recall if WE did anything right, or rather, if it was just one, big lie, the whole damn thing, that she told me to keep me quiet, unsuspicious, and unwary. I hate her for what she did. Maybe that's wrong, maybe that's too strong a word, and maybe I'll learn this in time. But for now, I will always hate her for taking something that felt so real and so right and slaughtering it, like the death of an innocent. And I will never, ever know why. I will never, ever have an ounce of clarity or closure, and this is something that I will have to live with. Somewhere, deep in the humid tangles of Tennessee, as she reads this (as I know she will) a dark-haired, "bell" is laughing. Nevertheless, unlike her, I do not fault myself for remembering or for feeling for that matter, even as I know in my heart and my mind that to remember is futile and will only reopen old wounds that are currently in the process of healing. With each passing day, the pain lessens. I was hoping for more from my life after a year spent in Portland, but it appears I am meant to continue my struggle for my independence, my career, and my happiness. What I yearn for, what I sincerely hope will happen, is that I can recall the wonderful times spent together (for those times far outweighed the not-so-wonderful). I had given everything I could give: my body, my mind, and my heart, all of me that I thought, and still think, to be worthy and capable of love. This may sound strange, but I have no regrets. How could I regret my own love? How could I possibly regret putting my trust in someone I thought deserved my trust and living my life the way I have always attempted to live my life: by playing BIG and making BIG mistakes, not playing small and making small mistakes? Things have changed, and to be even more redundant, life is, and probably will always be, strange. My goals remain the same, but my focus has veered towards a different path. I still wish to publish, and or, sell, more than ever. And I will die trying to do these things. Primarily in my mind, however, is the concept of happiness, not just with my career, but also with my life. If I am unpublished, and yet happy, then that is preferable to being published and miserable. On the same token, I would rather choose to be happy and alone, than to be with someone and be in deprivation. Living life can be difficult. At times, it is both ugly and messy. At times, life can be merciless; cleaving you through, leaving you barren and hollow inside, wondering if you'll ever breathe again, wondering if it is all worth it, and wondering if you're broken, permanently. But there are other aspects of life. With darkness, with cold, there is always, ALWAYS, light and warmth. You and I must seek these warm, well-lit places in our own lives, for they will not seek us out. We must gather our wits and our courage and plunge ahead, surging face-first into the formless void that is our future together. And there, when we find it, we must grasp hold of the goodness, of those things that make us happy, and hold on as tightly as we can. For there is one more facet of life that I think has a tendency to strike terror in the hearts of most. However, it is a facet that has never, nor will ever change. And that facet, in and of its self, is change. Life changes. "Things" do not remain the same. This is neither good nor bad, it just is. Embrace this facet as you would an old friend, or a dear family member, because it will be with us, always, until the end of our days. [Add Comment] [View Comment] |
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