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be random what is now when is then where is email who i am how it is why it is leave a note? share me, share you make me smile thank you other journals (of course I should be sleeping) (what's life got to do with it?) about me (too much to know at once) friend? (tic tic tic, toc) BE MY GUEST (BOOK) << MISSING �SOMETHING? >> the bottom line who can when i had the time the first of december (has another song) what i do < ? me # > < ? harrychapin # > < ? Random Acts of Journaling # > < ? Poetic Voices # > < ? The Write Club # > < ? Nights Awake # > < ? Fluid # > < ? Adopted # > < ? Childlike # > < ? Poets-Muse # > < ? Five Hundred # > < ? As You Wish # > temporary place holder ()))CRAYON-BOX)))> published blogmad! varb? �2015 CANDOR COMMUNICATIONS IF YOU WANT TO USE THE WORDS FOR ANY REASON TALK TO ME |
truly seriously Sometimes a feeling comes flying up from deep down that reminds me that I seldom (rarely, even) take anything truly seriously these days. It is most likely a defense mechanism, but even more just boredom. I mean, I take the beauty of a flower, the light in the eyes of a child, a baby's giggle, a dog's faithfulness, a sunset, a sunrise, a lot of things seriously... I just don't take intimacy, personal sharing, trust very seriously these days. Maybe if there was someone around, I mean close enough to look me in the eyes and attempt to carve through the hedges and find their way throught the maze and scale the walls and find the beauty behind the scars (and prove to me there still is some), I very well might take it most seriously... but such a person and event is not happening, so it is a moot point. and words are all I have... That's the simple truth, all I have for intimacy in this life these days are the words. Fantasies. Passions unshared. Dreams. Love unrequited. So often I return to the feeling of my past, my sense memories, and deeper and deeper the memories go. The wounds somehow heal, the hurts fade, and all that is left is the hunger and questions. As I was before I found my first lover, as a virgin again, my heart flutters at the thought of trusting someone to touch me, my body shivers at the thought of touching someone, my mind reels with wonder as if it never knew the experience before. So well I have blocked out the disasters of love past. So true to the core of my desire I remain. So I am a child, born anew, believing anything is possible because love could not possibly be the nightmarish experience that makes for bitter breakups, painful news reports, and traumatic movies. to dream the impossible dream... Yes I do. The hopelessly hopeful romantic, the pure innocent who believes in the infinite possibilities of the unconditional. Love, trust, sharing unconditionally - completely openly honestly truly madly deeply always all the way, that fool for love lives. I don't know how the heart survives all the cruelties and betrayals and abuses, but it does. My heart goes on. Walks on. With hope. Still, in the daily life, alone, the actualization of the love is fleeting and rather superficial. In my work, in random kindnesses, in trying to be a little good to my friends. Not in the deepest ways. It remains fantasy to fall in love, to make love, to explore the possibilities. I know. I dream. I love.
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I love you all for coming... for reading all these words for every click feels like more love (I know that sounds absurd) if I could only tell you... one thing more tonight I'd say I wish you could come home with me and be my friends for life |