I Prefer Erosion

November 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

Love again. On and off again. The pendulum swings. Is it possible? or not? Companion? or lover? Yes. After that, what? I fear fixation. How can I not show what I want? Why should I not? To preclude rejection. Rejection is a negative expectation and self-fulfilling. I don’t trust my skin; most of the callous has worn off. For all I know, I’m ready, but for the confidence. Want, hope, fear. Do I deserve it? My call. Am I not perfect yet? I’m short two things I know yet can’t admit: The brick and mortar of delusion would crumble. I prefer erosion.

Too Much Hope

April 10, 2012 § 2 Comments

Who my age can I possibly impress? and how? We’ve all been through the relationship wringer. We all have our laundry lists. We’ve heard the lines, seen the tricks. There’s nothing left but being yourself or giving up. I never had a line, never had a trick. My success, though meager, was, at least relatively, honest. Hardly the success I needed, though. Now, I’m tired of anything but honesty, which is hard to find, hard to deliver. I see the guards people put up, recognize many as my own, and I let them have them. What is it worth to try to penetrate where you’ve been sternly told not to go? Nothing, I’ve found out. And the jungle gets thicker as you behave and wait for the invitation that will never come. Who ventures from their own jungle? Who machetes a clear path from their heart to another? Who’s to trust with such a clear guide? By now we know what we don’t want, but what does that leave us? We exclude the faults, one by one, until we’ve distilled the perfect, and perfectly unattainable, person. And there you are: Alone as it gets. Perfection isn’t a goal, it’s a death sentence, a resignation to fantasy as the best reality you can muster. Go ahead–you live that. I still have too much hope.

Can I Ever Stop Wanting the Answers?

March 13, 2012 § Leave a comment

Speculation is a vanity of the imagination. There are many questions to ask, but do they need answered? What will be satisfied? Who’s truth will be told? If I were to run into Herself tomorrow I couldn’t ask one of those questions of her. Some things don’t matter if they only matter to you. Then you let go of them. Or you eventually only ask them rhetorically–and not snidely, either. They will always matter, really. I will answer them myself, but not with speculation. I only know my side. My truth will be incomplete. Accepting the impossibility of her corroboration and trusting my own understanding of it will be my letting go. I have to trust even what I’m not sure of–become sure of it–because it’s as sure as I will ever be. How true can that be? Can I ever believe it’s true enough? Can I ever stop wanting the answers?

Rare Is the Balance

March 6, 2012 § Leave a comment

Friends are hard to make and harder to keep. Especially if you define them as strictly as I do.  I have three friends. I can talk to them about anything. I can ask of them any favor and feel neither sheepish nor guilty about it. I trust they would do the same of me. I trust that they care for my well-being as I care for theirs. This might sound like family, but with family it is an obligation, whether willing or not. The bond is not of one’s choosing. I’m excited to find someone to whom I feel I can relate. It usually doesn’t last–the excitement or the relationship. Neither of us can accept all we need to accept of the other. We can relate to certain interests but cannot reserve critical judgement of the other. The last I heard of one such acquaintance was, “Don’t judge me,” after I couldn’t agree that some black people looked like apes. Some patrons I see and talk to quite often at the library, but where are they outside that world? I live far from where I work. It is not my community. Connection is about what we are willing to  receive.  We start with what we give, hoping another will receive it and reciprocate. Rare is the balance.

I’m Sure That’s Normal

February 10, 2012 § Leave a comment

There was much doubt. Little of it was mine. I knew I would write my way out of this. The concern was touching, but I was never going to talk to a professional about it. Only friends would do. I told Herself once that the blog was my best friend. It was a moment of glib pathos, but it was not far off the mark. Mine was the only advice or judgement I could accept in good conscience, too. I would still rather have talked to someone, but I didn’t know who to trust. So I trusted the world wide web to find me someone. I pled my case. I talked it out. I talked to one too many persons. Doesn’t matter. One thing I trusted was that I was doing the right thing. I still do trust that, but for different reasons. Then, it was the right to express myself. Now, it’s gratitude for the experience, the opportunity to grow. I am emotionally intact, if not satisfied. I’m sure that’s normal.

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