A Haiku or Two…Maybe Three

As a part of the Errant Easel February Art Challenge (#19 for those playing along), we were asked to write a haiku.
I would like to say that this has been very therapeutic on what has been an “eh” kind of day.
Also, I hope the way I count syllables works for you people. Please don’t judge too harshly if they don’t.

Day
Cold winds blow even
With the winter sun shining
Burning, cutting, sharp.

Loss
Everyone leaves
Moving forward to better
Here I am alone.
.

When
One day it will stop
The flirting, wanting, waiting
And where will you be
?

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The Tiniest Cuts Tend To Bleed The Most

I didn’t even feel it nick my skin. It wasn’t until I saw the line of blood stretching from my heel to my calf that I realized I had even cut myself. To look at the amount of blood, you would have thought it a terrible gash, but it isn’t. Just a small slice…the faintest line…and all that blood poured from it. A piece of toilet paper stops the bleeding somewhat, and it clots quickly, but it still looks worse than it is.
I don’t want to clean it up yet, afraid that moving the dried seal will cause it to start again. It can wait. I remind myself it’s okay to let the stain sit for a moment, to let the wound heal itself some, before trying to wash it away.
All I can think about is how this small cut is a good representation of how I’ve felt lately.
It’s the smallest things that seem to cut the most. The sudden stop of communication. The off hand remark about not wanting to commit to something as small as a meeting at some time, in some central place. The rejection, how ever gentle…small slices from which sadness, anger, pain flows.
I am not innocent of giving these small cuts. Like those towards me, it’s not intentional, it’s in how it’s taken. Still, when you are already bleeding, it doesn’t take much to let the other pains shine through as well.
A nick on the heel. A bruise on the thigh. The never the same broken heart will re-break so easily. A wound that never truly heals right.
No matter how hard it seems that I try to follow my heart, it leads me to the same place over and over again. It’s a story we all know. It’s a story in which I have played the villain and the heroine, the witch and the loved. Currently, I feel as if I am the damned. The one cruelly cursed to help others find their heart’s desire while I can never find my own. People can argue that there have been chances, opportunities – like I said, I’ve been the villain as much as anything else.
Is this the punishment that a god or karma has put on me? Have I been so cruel in this life or another to deserve such loneliness? I can’t and won’t believe that. I’ve just not found the person that matches me, but, one day I will. Or I won’t.
I will keep trying, though. It’s all I can do.
At least I’ll have this to refer to when I need another pep talk.
Funny all that from a streak of blood from the heel to the calf.

Let’s See Where This Goes

An exercise in free writing and a needed outlet.

It’s so easy to give out the pieces
Of a heart worn on one’s sleeve
You can’t cover it up
The outline is too obvious
Generosity is confused for weakness
Trust mistaken for being naive

Still, I’d rather believe than be cynical
Fill missing pieces with patches
And have hope that there is something
Hopefully better
But something

33 Years

I am now embarking on my 33rd year on this great blue marble we call Earth. During that time, I have made friends, lost loved ones, traveled, worked on my education, entered adulthood, been engaged – became unengaged, failed, found success, made a small difference (more good than bad), randomly met Chris Hardwick – yes, he is amazing! and, overall, have had a pretty good run.

This last week celebrating the big 3-3, I have realized that while there are, as always, things I need to work on it is easier to acknowledge that I’m more like how I want to be than not.

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Memories….I Have Them

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how memory works. As I get older, I am intrigued by what I – and others – remember.  I want to hold on to those memories and keep them safe.
I am terrified of losing them.

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Classic Rock Thoughts

‘A love struck Romeo…”

This has been the first real winter some of the kiddos have ever had.  Snow falls in large, fluffy, flakes, covering the ground with the promise of adventure.

I am inside cleaning, fighting an internal battle between what makes sense (finishing projects, including laundry) and the absurd (running outside with a camera or driving out into the mess just to do it).  Through the cable box, the classic rock station plays.  Songs that I skip on my iPod because of the memories they encapsulate are allowed the freedom to be heard.  Why don’t I delete them from the playlists?  Well, it’s not like I dislike the song.  Its the memory that becomes the problem.

“Play your love songs all night long for me…”

It’s a haze of white outside.  The pull is stronger now.  I would love to call my friends and see who else wants to be ridiculous.  The voice in the back of my mind, the worried looks from loved ones, stops me.  You dislocate one kneecap….you almost dehydrate and have to be put in the hospital…. you are involved in a car accident….when you live too far for those loved ones to help, and their fear seeps into your thought process.  It’s not just their fear though.  It’s also the fear of the pain you felt, the worry of the possible result that you so narrowly missed, that keeps you in as you get older.

I just couldn’t bear providing any more pain to them. 

Still, you have to take a risk sometimes.  It gets to a point where the itch is too strong and a reaction is needed.  Newton had it down pat – you can only pull back for so long before it has to flip the other way.

The nice thing is, if you are lucky (and I am lucky) you have the support system that just wants you to be. 

“Gimme three steps…”

Here I am, being me….now, where are my boots?

The Ghosts Of Snow Days Past

I can see them walking in the pole lights.  A group of friends, laughing in the evening snow fall.  You wouldn’t know there is a girl walking with them.  It really doesn’t matter that she’s there.  She’s always there.  That’s why they had to get her.  This adventure wouldn’t be the same without their friend.

Those boys have no idea how much this night will resonate with her – how much they mean to her. 

They run and slide on the slush.  Snowballs fly through the air.  A car comes by, and they dive for cover.  Parents are looking for them.  They don’t want to be found. 

Not yet…not yet…the night is not yet over.  The snow day is not yet over.

Laughter floats, while the childish use of curse words are spoken in a poorly attempted whispers.  They keep going down the road, further and further away from the field.  It doesn’t matter that they should have been home hours ago, or that their clothes are wet from sledding.  Their breath heats the air around their bundled faces.  It’s as if nothing could touch them. 

Nothing will….they are infinite in that moment. 

Years from now, that small group of 13 year olds will grow up.  Marriages will occur, children will be born, and distance will pull this group apart.  Life will happen for each one of them and it will be amazing, terrifying, beautiful, tragic, and 1000s of better adjectives.  It will be the most fantastic adventure yet. 

But tonight….tonight, they are a group of hollow kids, hiding from their parents with the hope that the snow day doesn’t have to end.

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