Wednesday, June 14, 2006
He accused her of only writing sad things,
He was right.
She can think of a million and one happy thoughts, but few reach her soul.
It’s been months since her heart has genuinely smiled.
And even though she’s at peace, something remains broken…
Some things can’t be fixed.
Maybe it was never whole…
Maybe she’s just not good at fooling herself anymore.
But you couldn’t tell it from looking at her…
Her eyes still shine,
The warmth in her face will sooth you
Her touch will reach out to you
She’ll save you… but you can’t save her.
The book fair…
Once a year when some of my favourite things are put together in one big field:
Ice cream and even the dogs made it!
To be pulled it by the different titles, captivated by pages of timeless stories and imagination… she walked from stall to stall in absolute glee.
She smiled at the couples, winked at the kids and pet the dogs.
She was happy.
She’d write about that… about that moment, how wonderful her day had been, what it meant to her and how happy it had her feel.
But then the evening came… and with it the darkness
And in the moonlight, the sun didn’t shine.
She wants to believe.
That there are more like him, like the eyes that saw through to her inside a poor lit Fiat.
How many heartbreaks had he gone through to be given the gift of inner sight?
Those who look and see beyond the cover…
“Am I transparent?”
No… he can see because he wants to, because he can…
And even so… the barrier remains.
He mistakens the light for hope.
She knows better.
Where Ice makes love to Fire and self pity is a non existent state of mind, a stubborn Taurus contemplates the new age crisis: Ladies wearing the pants and men subduing to the once-thought-of as the weaker sex.
Men either turn gay or weeping housemaids… and women…
They’ve become the independent species that neither need nor wants a man for longer than it takes to satisfy their sexual appetites.
Reverse of roles?
For those who so choose…
I’m one of those…
Stubborn, independent, opinioned and self sufficient.
I don’t require a partner that isn’t able to push as far as I do…
I can’t see any that can.
I’m demanding and I’m worth it.
So I’m alone, hard to catch, impossible to keep…
I won’t change due to the fact that I like myself exactly the way I am.
She stares at him at a distance and lets her mind wander…
Is there a man inside that body that towers over her when he stands close?
Are those arms strong enough to hold a woman; protect her and keep her safe?
Can he listen as well as he talks?
Does he know when to push?
Or when to be quiet and still?
Can he say “I love you”?
Can he show it?
Would he know the moment that she placed her heart in his hands?
Could he find it there in her eyes?
She sighed before pulling in the reigns…
Because he couldn’t see through
He couldn’t see her in a skirt because she’d never worn one… she never would.
He’d never know her thoughts…
He’d have to want to…
That wasn’t going to happen.
The music is no longer romantic,
The romances replaces with fiction,
She avoids the daydreams and censures the imagination…
She can’t fix what is broken…
And the joy she pours in is never enough to fill the emptiness.
She keeps her mind busy
To be left alone with her thoughts is to open the door to sadness
And in her centre she finally finds the exhaustion that takes her to sleep at 4am dragging her through dreams she can’t escape and the slumber she doesn’t want to get up from.
Speak to her.
What will you tell her?
Nothing you say will make the difference.
She knows this.
And when you regret the cruelty of bittersweet irony
That shatters your faith and kills your hope…
Just as you’re about to given in to darkness and desolation...
She’ll smile at you knowingly… and you’ll feel better
You’ll remember that she can take care of herself
And you’ll smile back with relief.