These roads go on forever

People grow tired of things that are effortlessly achieved.
But they also grow tired of trying.

Favours favour a response.
Withheld answers cause withdrawn intentions.
Knocking doors should be answered – locked or openned – not ignored.

Slender threads and things to treasure

It had been 15 minutes since the movie started, when his hand met mine. His smooth fingers tracing the outline of my hand, lingering at my finger tips. He traced circles and squares and hearts on to my palm. We played this silent game until his fingers found the courage to interlock with mine. I looked up at him, his eyes were on the TV, but I could see a smile in the corner of his lips. Then, he slowly curved his free arm around my waist, securing me into his warmth. I shifted a little, finding the perfect niche between his arms and his chest. No one seemed to notice our change of position.

He let my hand go, and gently swept my hair off my shoulders, placing them behind my ears. He whispered, Are you comfortable? I smiled. He nodded, as he leaned his head closer. I could feel his inhales and exhales on my cheek.

He continued to whisper in my ear. I bit my lip, as his continued to get closer and closer. They moved from my ear, to my jaw, and then stopped. Neither of us were watching the movie anymore. He placed his hand on my face; his thumb stroked my cheek lightly. I looked up at him, as he inched closer. He smiled and slowly tilted my chin upwards.

I never got there

Gnarls Barkley - Who's Gonna Save My Soul?


He will bring me flowers. He will buy me chocolates. He will compliment me and sing me praises. He will promise to love me.

He will provide me with warmth from his arms. He will give me his shoulder and chest to rest, cry, or sleep on. He will place his heart on a silver platter and serve it to me.

He will reassure me and hold me. He will whisper certainty and conviction in my ears. He will kiss me and he will love me. He will put me on a pedestal and boast about me.

He is good enough – more than good enough. But it probably won’t work out.

It’s not you . . . it’s me.

I’ve woken up and recognized that the above cliché has become the reality of my life. It really is me and not you.

There are a lot of things I cannot do. There are even more things that I am not willing to try – and therefore my capabilities of pursuit and attainment for it is foreign to me. I’ve had it before – lived and breathed it. But I am no veteran. It isn’t like riding a bike – it hasn’t become natural to me.

These hurdles I’ve set up – however many – will never really gauge how well the race will end. They are higher and far more challenging even for myself. How then can I expect someone to leap over one – let alone, the multitudes that I’ve set up?

The finish line will not be as impressive as you’ve imagined it to be. But the chase for this uncommon prize has pushed you forward, probably blinded. At the end of it, you will stand there alone. You will look back and realize that I’ve given up – that I’ve barely made it halfway. You’re angry and hurt, and all I could do is look at you and mouth the words, I’m so sorry.

I never got there. I never get there.

Afternoon Bike Rides

It’s 4:00 on a Friday afternoon and the sun is blazing. Thirty one degrees outside and I’ve got nothing but time. No homework and my parents aren’t home. The ice cream truck is about to round the corner. A loonie and four quarters – I am loaded.

My hands are sticky, my shirt is stained, but my attention is elsewhere. I stare at the bright red stop sign standing at the end of my street. It’s calling me. How fast can I bike to that stop sign and back? This is going to be grand. Time me.

I’m pedaling as fast as I can. My hair is whipping my face. I’m yelling at the top of my lungs. I’m flying. I swear I’ve got wings.

Fourty-five seconds. It must be some kind of record. I’m going to compete in the Olympics when I grow up. You try. I’ll time you. Ready. Go.

When the simple pleasures in life were exactly that – simple. What I’d give to be naïve again.

Unremarkable

I got in from a day
spent with someone who was not you –

Almond-covered chocolates,
Creamed-ice on a cone,
Flowers of bouquet,
Love cards on letters,
- or something, rather.

It seemed like it was going to rain,
I got sand in my sandals.
My eyelashes began to uncurl.

The dock posts were rusting,
And the boardwalk was uneven.

You see, without you, I was attentive.
You and I, we were unremarkable.

The days I spent with you –
I can’t even remember.

Sunset or sunrise,
Raining or snowing?
Were we in the city or at the park?
Candle-lit or daylight?

You talked too much,
laughed too much.
You sang too much.

I came in from a day
Spent with someone who is not you.

Training for Goodbyes.

No man can attest to never losing something. No one will ever ceaselessly sustain any of their possessions without hard work. It is more than reasonable to simply say that loss is inevitable. And, granted, to some extent, everyone has a sort of presentiment of an approaching loss.

Often, you will try to elude the impending sentence – force yourself to shut your eyes to the screaming truth. Perhaps, it is the short-lived euphoria that you desire. Take what you can, while you can. Consuming and absorbing every aspect of your disappearing resource. Selfish? Maybe. It is subjected to the consequences of your self-centered elation – who or what will hurt because of your rigid grasp on this limited fixation.

It is conceivable to attribute your unawareness to a forthcoming loss to your blithe existence. Your current is the only moment of substance. Do recognize that you only have yourself to reproach for your upcoming, and definite, sting. Leaping into the inexplicable – agonizing later. Ignorant? Possibly. If at any moment, your world is taken away, you have managed to soak in the all the pleasures your life had to offer. But, if and when you find yourself living in close proximity to forever, you will subsist in the consequences of your deficiencies in anticipation.

Maybe logic overrules all insinuations of submerging the truth. You want to execute beforehand, rather than delaying until afterward. Going cold-turkey – even before your supply runs out. Train yourself to expect the worst, in hopes to ease your way into its extinction. Make yourself numb before your heart allows you to ache. Self-depracating? Probably. Denying yourself of what you’re afraid to get attached to. Discarding what you may not lose. Or, possibly, sheltering your heart from an inoperable damage.

I say, jump. I prefer to be selfish or ignorant – or be cursed with both, than to deprive myself of an opportunity to feel. To feel anything. Good or bad; whether it be the joy of ecstasy or the deadening of heartbreak.

I said, jump. Though, not too high - because it is easier said than done. In the depths of despair, passion and emotions dictate your actions, despite restraints from reason. But, moments of clarity do exist. They can surive doubt, just before despair slithers in. It is in those moments, where the depth of my jump will be gauged. While sagacity is on my side – before any strings are tied and all ends are loose.