Open Letter

timid yet hopeful Heart,

Love's wings first begin to flutter,

and with each beat, the past, present, and future changes.

hints of iloveyou's first uttered--

butterfly effects and Heart's exchanges.

when shall I hear You yell out loud what my lips,

closed tightly by ghosts of the past, feign not to notice?

the words that bypass my fanciful tongue and slip

in to the back of my throat, so snugly hidden in that crevice.

and when You ask me what was that I was about to say,

"nay, nay--I must have lost my train of thought."

"how curious that I am so forgetful today."

but how much longer until I get caught?

oh, Heart...

.... you're much too clever to ever fall for this, I know.

Afternoon delight

Pfft! Who needs caffeine where there are words formulated and positioned in such an exhilarating way?!

'She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died. Shame, which is fear: the deep organic shame, the old, old physical fear which crouches in the bodily roots of us, and can only be chased away by the sensual fire, at last it was roused up and routed by the phallic hunt of the man, and she came to the very heart of the jungle of herself. She felt, now, she had come to the real bed-rock of her nature, and was essentially shameless. She was her sensual self, naked and unashamed. She felt a triumph, almost a vainglory. So! That was how it was! That was life! That was how oneself really was!' - Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence

"Letting go of the brakes," he said

How refreshed I am to have unadulterated and innocent pleasure for what it feels like too long.

The beginning is such a wonderfully dizzying time.

.letitlinger.

Everything is a mystery, yet there is some off chemical reaction (attraction/satisfaction/passion) which convinces me that I have known you in a past life.

.whoareyoureally.

Devil may care.
Ready to ride, wind in my hair.
Sun in my face, you right there.
Truth or dare?

.openroadhereicome.

Magic

I don't believe in magic. I never have. I'm a scientist; magic deals with the mystical and the unseen. How could I have been so swayed by reports of a magic that I have never seen or held in my hands? Where were the reports of such sightings of magical events that were to have occurred? Who ran these studies? Whose accounts were they based upon?

Not mine.

Nonetheless, the scientist in me was stifled by my overwhelming curiosity and naive trust that people have good intentions, and so, I embarked on this study with much reluctance at the goading of this man who believed in magic.

For the past two months, I have witnessed first hand, said magic and was full of wonder and excitement. It took a slow start. In the beginning, I wasn't able to see all the things my research partner told me were right in front of our eyes. I kept asking him where to look and if he was sure it was there. He was persistent, and told me I needed to loosen up. It was so great, and he was sure that if he could get me to see it, I'd be a believer forever.

Finally, it happened! I never would have believed that I would be sitting in a magical forest, recording the slow migration patterns of unicorns, recounting the various magical abilities the different berries in the forest gave a stubborn scientist like me, or sitting at the dinner table (and rather awkwardly) with a family of gnomes. It was great, it was spectacular, I was caught completely off guard. I was so excited by my findings that I abandoned all scientific inquiry and began to just enjoy my time there: my notebooks were left untouched and left to the tiny corner in my hut that was never visited, I began to forget to record the different rituals of the creatures and inhabitants of the forest, all moderation was tossed to the side when sampling the delicious mushrooms found just about everywhere you went!

And it's exactly at that moment of blind bliss and content magical gorging that my research partner confessed that it was not real. I bargained with him, asking him how that could be--what about these phoenix feathers I made into a cute little barrette? What about the long talks with the overgrown toad that lived in the pond near the hut, who actually had a weird thing about musicals? What about the magic beans that grew into gigantic stalks when given a little tender love and care? What about all of these things? What about all of these THINGS?!?! Weren't you the one who kept saying they existed? Weren't you the one who had fought for me to come out on this expedition in the first place? Didn't you promise me that I would see magic?

Apparently, he had been pouring LSD into my water canteen for the past two months.

What a fuckhead.

Let's play pretend--call it fiction!

"Sorry for the mess I left," he tells me referring to the mud his boots dragged in the night before, as he is eying me for some indication of how I feel about last night's overdrawn conversation.

"Oh, what a loaded apology," I think to myself, laughing at the irony that he'll never see, but instead I give him a look he's seen a million times and simply say, "bye."

It had been a while since I've had to look in the mirror the next day, disgusted at my puffy tear-stained face, trying to recollect every exchange between us in the hopes that there'd be some kind of answer I can come up with... one thought dominates, echoing in my mind... this is not my safe place--he is not your security blanket.

It always comes down to the same thing, really. There's a general lack of mutuality that should exist between people who have been through what we have--"oh, excuse my naivety in believing that I was anything special and that by now you should give me the slightest bit of trust,"--shoots through my head: remnants of last night's conversation.

Last thing you said to me last night was that you didn't understand what I meant when I told you that everything was a choice and I just kept making the wrong one. This was my response to being told that I was young; I don't disagree, I am hugely disadvantaged in this way, but I never used that as an excuse.

So what is the excuse anyway? Do I have to have one?

I don't like this game.
Why can't it just be soft as an easy chair?
No need for late-night conversation that requires more thought than,
"Hey baby, come here."