Waiting on the Impossible

"Waiting?... Well now THIS is unusual. Quite unexpected," Mademoiselle mused aloud, her right hand stroking her chin as she leaned forward and furrowed her brows. "What do you think?" She looked at me. 

"Nothing surprises me anymore. Frankly after the year we've had, nothing surprises me anymore," I threw my hands up in abandon. 

And it is true. The last year had been an eye opening roller coaster ride of a year. We had laughed and cried, actually mostly cried and things, trust and faith, beliefs have been broken down and rebuilt tentatively and shorn down and stacked up again in a repeated cycle, leaving almost no room for recovery or complete and proper introspection. Not that proper introspection might make much sense of the mess it's left behind in it's wake. We have all grown up, we have matured. Saddened and beaten perhaps but grown somehow and we can only hope it would be for the better. Only the young and foolish make rash judgements and concede to their passions in their convictions. And perhaps we may be not so young anymore, at least in our minds and our hearts. 

"I know we never put any stock in it before. I don't know why either," Missy said with slight bewilderment. 

"Too much has changed," I sighed. "That's the way it is now apparently." I looked at Mademoiselle to gauge her reaction. There was a time when she would have exploded in Missy's face for her stupidity and hopelessness. Pining was not for Mademoiselle. 

But she just gazed expressionlessly at Missy, her right hand still cupping her chin as she sat with her leg crossed one over the other. A thin wispy tendril curling up from the stick in her left hand. Still the same but different. There was no snide remark or derisive expression. No scorn no discerning frown nor vitriol. Just an even expression. She understood now. Or has learned to reconcile the fact that there are two elements to a person and accept the other half of being human. Hurt and feelings. She regarded Missy with less contempt now. And more reserved understanding. 

Missy was sobbing less now. She would use to blubber away into her tissues, heartbroken and shattered from whatever issue was at hand. And of course she would already have, crying is normal and healthy. Perfectly understandable. But she was not doing it now. An air of sadness and despair permeated from her, those dark brown eyes dull from the absence of cheer, sad and downcast. A heavy weariness emanated from her but she had changed a lot as well. And waiting, was a big decision for her. Something completely unexpected and perhaps stands as true testament to just how much she had changed. 

The King of Cups

He's here to teach me all the bitter lessons in life. 

A Story.

I sat on the train today next to a man in uniform. Those suited to firemen or rescue workers. Bright neon yellow with reflective strips. He was by no means refined or genteel in any specific way. He was travelling from Newcastle to York and as I sat beside him the sour smell of his cheese crackers wafted over as he ate them. Unrushed, unhurried, but not particularly slowly either. It occurred to me then, like an awakening of some sort. I not only saw him and acknowledged his presence beside me, I SAW him and I could very potently feel the presence of another living, breathing human being beside me. The coincidence of the conscious and the subconscious, the careless and the meticulous, all in one. I truly appreciated this human next to me. And I thought then. Perhaps he is going home to his family. Perhaps he is taking this train back to those who care for him and patiently await his return. And I realized. Everyone has a story. Be it a good or a bad story, everyone has a story. And we may want to know them, we may not want to know those stories, but each individual has one and thus is how we connect and make sense of this world. 

The Shattering

So that was his purpose in my life. Not to teach me to live alone, but to shatter me so completely that my walls crumble and come down.

The Heart

The heart is a dangerous thing to wield,
And a dangerous thing to have. 
And every once in a while,
On dark and quiet nights, 
I take it out and let it beat. 
But before the night is over,
I turn it cold and dead,
And keep it hid.

Making Love Out of Nothing at All

It would seem that I have not been forthcoming with myself lately. I have told lies and lies again to myself, one piling on top of the other just so that I could save myself the pain of dealing with the truth. But the truth is never going to go away, no matter how hard I look away from it. It will always stay there, a gentle reminder that one cannot run from oneself for too long. Eventually it will turn to you and it will force you to acknowledge it. For the truth is a part of you and will not allow itself to die. For your own good. 

And so I have been confronted with the truth. It was a bitter pill to swallow but I had to at the end. There was no way around it. Where I always have the tendency to fall for the wrong men, and so I did again. It is true that I felt for him. There is no point hiding it now. Why is it this thing in the universe that we will always want what we cannot have? Where does this all lead to and what does it perpetuate? This endless circling. Or are we all meant to learn something at the end of it. That life is fleeting and wanting is for nothing. 

I have been shattered so completely by this betrayal, it was like a knife to my very soft, tender heart. Already bruised and beaten, sliced through with a sharp, senseless blade mid-beat; sending it into a flurry of stutters and stops. And while it is just a sorrow of the heart, we are made with hearts and thus we must acknowledge this. The very real pain of its existence. 

And now I feel a weakening of all my forces. All that I held true and dear to myself, all that I thought was real about myself, maybe it was all a lie. Maybe I was the villain in this story after all. I was just too blind in my heart to see it. And maybe this shattering is what I need for my walls to finally come down. To give up this endless and futile battle against the perceived evil of the senses, my feelings and my thoughts. I was born with an inclination towards the heart and soul and it is pointless to deny it any longer. I feel not the strength to carry on this farce. 

My journey is no one else's but my own. And while I have been adamantly refusing to believe that it is my fault and I could have anything to do with it, the fact is my journey is mine and mine alone. And it has nothing to do with anybody. What they do on their journey is none of my business. I will run my race because it is mine to run. And I will not let myself blame others or anything else for my failures or successes. My life is mine to lead and I shall lead it with blinders on. True to my cause and come what may, some may latch on and other will fall away. But we all have our paths to follow and for however long our paths may cross with each other's, maybe we shall all learn something from one another. Even from the most unlikely of places. 

I want to help because I care. I want our lives to connect because I care. But of it won't then it won't. And I cannot do anything about it neither should I. His path is his own. And where we may connect and for how long in each other's lives, God only knows. And in Him I put my trust.