I know most, if not all, who read my blogs regularly are expecting a vitrolic monlogue about the treachery of love and the heart for the holiday. In an effort though to deal with my own thoughts, some of them deeply private. I thought perhaps I would first present my honest thoughts of the evening.
I promise though that during my show, and perhaps even in a blog (no promises though) I will reward those of you who take the time to follow my words with a vitriolic demonstration.
For now, enjoy a deeply personal look into my heart and mind.
InduKitty
A single bell tolls and my ears perk up.
No note as expected, but rather simply an arrival.
The time flies. Without ryhme or reason I find myself without words. I find myself without action. Desires that were once so easy to express are caught back, unable to be expressed.
Even with all that the world that so often vexes me has, for a time at least, faded away and I find rest.
Too soon my restless spirit bids me to rise and I sit alone in the psychic quiet time wishing that my own thoughts would match the world. That they would be quiet.
As I pour myself into activites to drive myself to calm that desire too seems to escape me.
I begin to wonder, "How close is ever close enough?" Though I may write, what power do words really have? I laugh bitterly, for I know all too well just what power they possess. I know too well what it is to take in each movement of the lips as breath passes over them. I too know what it is like to watch and listen for words so desperately desired. Even more, I know what it is like to have so much inside that wishes to come out, so much in fact that my heart and mind near scream to be released. And yet, there is no release to be found.
How I long for nights so chill. Chill in that time seems to freeze. In the air of midnight as I lay with nothing to do. As I strain to pull it closer I realize that there are few words that stand as worthy. Without ever wanting it I again begin to feel, is close, close enough! GOD! I scream it out in my head. How badly I wish to pour out all that I feel. To hold, to express, to say those things which I had planned to say but in the moment the courage left me.
Oh the torture! To be one that uses words as a foundation of her life to be stricken like this. To sit in that perfect moment where all cries for release and yet to find it choked within. To think on it only brings more confusion, for I can make sense of it not.
Here I go again. I'm right back where we began. I beg that you would not act surprised. That you would not pretend that you can't understand what it is I am going on about.
You know that I'm always going to be me. Passionate, firery, dedicated. Wondering, curious, stupid little me. Asking the questions that I can never keep at bay.
I have to wonder if happiness is eluding me because of some flaw within myself.
I like to think that patience is indeed a virtue. I like to think that my patience is noticed and appreciated. But there is always there that fear. That again I am but a crutch. That I serve as a patch for some wound. A wound that needs healing truly, that I cannot deny. But oh, to be the salve once more only to be discarded! I long for the day when I stand as something of more worth.
Am I deluding myself? Drinking deep of the liquor of infatuation and selfish pride am I?
Perhaps friendship is just another shortcut through life. Are we just too lazy to pack our stuff and move away? Maybe, just too scared to try for more? And if it is not fear, then is there something which I am not giving? Perhaps something I cannot give? Something that would make this "ok" in your eyes? Too well do I know the cost and the time a wound requires of us. But oh the fear and dread of waiting for old wounds to once again fester on and or in those I care for! Truly what torture that is!
Whenever the questions disappear I see you smiling back at me. You've never once gotten mad at me. Nor the least bit bitter for what I've said. You've just calmly held my hand. And told me that you understand, even if I know it's only in your own way.
You know, perhaps I question purely for the sake of questioning
Or perhaps it's my messed up human nature, leading me to consider the other side. The other side, of everything.
Even in my darkest hour I try not to question how you feel.
It's all too obvious that you .. I dare not speak it. Less I be cruely proven wrong.
Even though I'll never know why I wish to act so gently. Why have I come to feel this gently? Why do the words and desires within me become repressed?
I know now that I care again. And even though sometimes, I want to hate you for that. All I can do is feel for you as I do.
To find someone as special as you, someone who doesn't even realize the way they have made someone happy.is a rare and beautiful thing.
I come to a thought that seems almost to be a final one.
I am but one person. I can not travel two trails at once. I can no more do all I desire than split myself in twain and hurl myself down all paths before me.
I can not sleep in a bed and hope to keep it made. I can not read a book, while keeping my eyes turned to total darkness. Nor can I hold the candle of desire while facing the winds of destiny.
Is it to be that what fills the heart must also numb the mind? That which binds us together is feared to hold one back?
There can be no easy word that I can swear. There is no simple gesture to be given. Truly, all I have to give is my honesty. All I can offer is sublime patience.
Something deep within says that it is worth waiting for. And, should it come to naught. Still, something deep within the recesses of my being says that shall be acceptable too. Would I mourn for yet another desire of my own that came to naught? But of course! But I do not think that one would realize just how sincere my care truly is. My words are not vacant of sincerety. They are not offered to colour any opinion. Nor are they offered to influence any course of events. Instead, they are offered as but a sacrifice to myself. To that which I believe in. For if I can not be honest with my words, one of the few things I have been trusted with, what then should I be trusted with?
But alas, all of these are but choices. Choices that I will live with in the end. But I dare not pretend that choices are something only I must face. Nay, to be sure.
Choices are made everyday:
To play or to work -
To dream or to wake -
To love or to hate -
To breathe or to die -
We have no choice but to cast our die. But know now, no matter what. Should destiny call me away you would indeed be a great sacrifice.
