I can’t wrap words around this.
I sit staring at my computer reading countless poems because I can’t find words for my own. This, you, certainly cannot be described adequately in prose. So the dilemma comes. For I am here with so many feelings and thoughts that can’t be put together to describe you, us. I can still feel the warmth from your arms around me, and the feel of your hands hasn’t left me yet. It still tingles.
Nothing is coming out because this emotion is not found within the realm of ink and paper. It is so much harder to describe things that much deeper than the head. I have to get it while its fresh. But could it leave me, could that really fade?? I don’t think it ever will. You said you went head over heels - that flip was fast for me too.
I caught you every time. Sometimes I was too shy to look back, but I knew when you weren’t watching the movie or the night. Your eyes were on me. You were unashamedly staring.
I like it that you are too shy to admit that you are romantic.
10.25.2004
10.18.2004
A one windowed room impairs vision
but what I see from here is clear enough
I see them pass
veneers of sincere laughter
with shallow sneers inside
souls like mirrors
feigning depth and clarity
frought with the void of ever-lacking
from wisdom unsought
ideas bought and sold for ego
and those thoughts worth a penny
are good enough for them
as long as that copper shines
--------------------------------
I am not really in a "disillusioned with humanity" sort of mood right now, I just wrote that a while back as an observation. It does sadden me that the above came not from a fit of anger or a bout of despair, but merely from stepping back, opening my eyes to truth, and watching people. A depressing observation it might be, but it creates within me a realization of whom I hold dear in my life and why. The people I find who are real to me shine like gold. They stand out so brilliantly that I can't help but love them entirely. These are the people I am drawn to, and that is the commonality found in those whom I hold close to my heart- whether they know I hold them close or not.
but what I see from here is clear enough
I see them pass
veneers of sincere laughter
with shallow sneers inside
souls like mirrors
feigning depth and clarity
frought with the void of ever-lacking
from wisdom unsought
ideas bought and sold for ego
and those thoughts worth a penny
are good enough for them
as long as that copper shines
--------------------------------
I am not really in a "disillusioned with humanity" sort of mood right now, I just wrote that a while back as an observation. It does sadden me that the above came not from a fit of anger or a bout of despair, but merely from stepping back, opening my eyes to truth, and watching people. A depressing observation it might be, but it creates within me a realization of whom I hold dear in my life and why. The people I find who are real to me shine like gold. They stand out so brilliantly that I can't help but love them entirely. These are the people I am drawn to, and that is the commonality found in those whom I hold close to my heart- whether they know I hold them close or not.
10.06.2004
This post should have been written a while back...
Weekends have been splendid lately. More so than normal I would say. I spontaneously drove down to San Antonio the weekend before last for two very worthy reasons. I was only there for 24 hours, but I needed it desperately. The 6 hours of driving was surely part of the vacation time as well, since driving for me is much the same as letting a washcloth unwind after wringing out any remnants of water. Me being the washcloth of course.
On the way home I called my roomate to wish her a happy birthday, and after a short chat she asked if it was pouring rain (seeing as the hurricane was supposed to have hit the area by then). My mom had warned me of the same hurricane and even suggested I not drive home, but I was pleasantly surprised that the sky was clear. After marveling at my luck, I hung up the phone and was promptly introduced to Ivan. We drove the rest of the way home together, and he was not pleasant company. I was actually driving 35 on a highway with my windsheild wipers set on "spastic" speed (you know the one where you are convinced that this swing around they will certainly fly off)- and I still couldn't see the lines on the road. He (Ivan) let up around Caldwell, which was convenient seeing as I needed to drop off my defensive driving certificate at the courthouse.
I figured the certificate was due dangerously soon for it to save the speeding ticket from being on my record, so before I left San Antonio I wrote down the address of the courthouse on a slip of paper. This was in case the courthouse wasn't open and I needed to mail it through the post office in Caldwell in order to have it reach its destination as soon as possible. I even had the foresight to put a stamp on an envelope. So I proudly reached Caldwell, found the post office (courthouse wasn't open), and slid the certificate in the blue steel box with a sigh of relief. I was thrilled to have it taken care of. As I lightheartedly drove away, every fiber in my being suddenly cringed in peripeteia as the utter horror and shock of a realization fell swiftly and forcefully...
I never addressed the envelope.
Blank. Nothing on it. Just a stamp.
My first instinct was to try to force my arm down the curved slot of the post office box and desperately sob NOOOO in a fit of sorrow. I withheld that urge knowing it would be fruitless. So my certificate was gone. I could not, however, have it gone. My future flashed before me as I saw my speeding ticket being marked in large red letters across my record, and my insurance company throwing back their heads and sneering those powerful executive sneers as they jacked up my rates. I could not let this happen. So the next day I called the post office in Caldwell. I explained my situation. After what were assuredly inward giggles disguised as incredulous silences, Bruce promised he would try to find the blank envelope. That he did, and he even addressed it for me. To him I owe many thanks. What would I have done without Bruce? I would perhaps be in a much worse situation after finding some intense metalworking tools and driving back down to Caldwell to tear apart the mail drop-off box myself, and would consequentially be charged with some sort of felony. That surely would have gone on my record.
Me, dramatic? absolutely.
Weekends have been splendid lately. More so than normal I would say. I spontaneously drove down to San Antonio the weekend before last for two very worthy reasons. I was only there for 24 hours, but I needed it desperately. The 6 hours of driving was surely part of the vacation time as well, since driving for me is much the same as letting a washcloth unwind after wringing out any remnants of water. Me being the washcloth of course.
On the way home I called my roomate to wish her a happy birthday, and after a short chat she asked if it was pouring rain (seeing as the hurricane was supposed to have hit the area by then). My mom had warned me of the same hurricane and even suggested I not drive home, but I was pleasantly surprised that the sky was clear. After marveling at my luck, I hung up the phone and was promptly introduced to Ivan. We drove the rest of the way home together, and he was not pleasant company. I was actually driving 35 on a highway with my windsheild wipers set on "spastic" speed (you know the one where you are convinced that this swing around they will certainly fly off)- and I still couldn't see the lines on the road. He (Ivan) let up around Caldwell, which was convenient seeing as I needed to drop off my defensive driving certificate at the courthouse.
I figured the certificate was due dangerously soon for it to save the speeding ticket from being on my record, so before I left San Antonio I wrote down the address of the courthouse on a slip of paper. This was in case the courthouse wasn't open and I needed to mail it through the post office in Caldwell in order to have it reach its destination as soon as possible. I even had the foresight to put a stamp on an envelope. So I proudly reached Caldwell, found the post office (courthouse wasn't open), and slid the certificate in the blue steel box with a sigh of relief. I was thrilled to have it taken care of. As I lightheartedly drove away, every fiber in my being suddenly cringed in peripeteia as the utter horror and shock of a realization fell swiftly and forcefully...
I never addressed the envelope.
Blank. Nothing on it. Just a stamp.
My first instinct was to try to force my arm down the curved slot of the post office box and desperately sob NOOOO in a fit of sorrow. I withheld that urge knowing it would be fruitless. So my certificate was gone. I could not, however, have it gone. My future flashed before me as I saw my speeding ticket being marked in large red letters across my record, and my insurance company throwing back their heads and sneering those powerful executive sneers as they jacked up my rates. I could not let this happen. So the next day I called the post office in Caldwell. I explained my situation. After what were assuredly inward giggles disguised as incredulous silences, Bruce promised he would try to find the blank envelope. That he did, and he even addressed it for me. To him I owe many thanks. What would I have done without Bruce? I would perhaps be in a much worse situation after finding some intense metalworking tools and driving back down to Caldwell to tear apart the mail drop-off box myself, and would consequentially be charged with some sort of felony. That surely would have gone on my record.
Me, dramatic? absolutely.
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