The day when it dawns

I woke up nestled in my lover's white sheets. Woke up looking into eyes the color of a cloudless sky; long honey colored lashes. Remembering the strength I felt the night before and the night a few days before that.

He kisses me and runs his long fingers down my back. He gets up, puts on the clothes thrown on the floor and makes me the coffee he had started 12 hours ago.

I always love looking around the floor surrounding the bed at the scattered remains. He asks if I would like a cup, handing me a small serving in a dainty floral tea cup that has been in this borrowed apartment forever. We snuggle and I read the New York Times together, miles away from anything going on there. He gets out his laptop to check the baseball score. Charmingly explaining each score, illuminating me on the extreme difference between the Mets and Red Socks. I drink my coffee like an english rose, smiling to myself. I won't tell him my Grandfather had been taking me to games since I was in diapers. I point out the picture of the Somalian Refugee on the front page. Eyes glazed in tragedy, beautifully shot by a photographer who went home to a meal after taking it.

He tells me about how he has a hard day ahead of him. I put the paper aside, "Oh please tell me about the hard life you lead." I laugh. "Well, I get up at 2 in the afternoon," he kisses the inner part of my elbow, "I wake up with a beautiful woman in my bed," he kisses my mouth, "And I have to get my haircut at 3."

Missing pieces

I'm feeling slightly broody tonight. Things came up and now I am left with these thoughts that I am chewing over. I won't think on them too long though, they seem like puzzles that were purposely made with missing pieces.

I don't understand people who reminisce so fondly that they desperately were back in that time at that moment. Sometimes when I look back at people who are on the same path as when I left they look stuck; sad. Their face and body look older. Their eyes look sadder. And I feel as though I am looking at them across a chasm, I have to turn away.

I don't understand why people keep up false relationships for appearances (mainly I am talking about women here.) I will never hurt a friend but I refuse to maintain smiles when someone is abusive.

In the darkest corner of my mind I secretly hate it when men show their weakness so openly to me it's like seeing a car crash full of clowns. Especially so when I am not supposed to show any sign of complaint or weakness. It's one thing digging and talking it's another to walk up and puke all over my shoe, so to speak. I wish that baggage was saved for therapy.

It's so crazy, that the time came when I realized I had nothing to prove and I didn't have to ask anyone's permission to live. Then when I looked around the people I loved most were desperately trying to prove themselves to a nameless world while totally depreciating their own well being.

Changing through loving memory

My Grandfather died at 6pm on August 3rd. At 3 We were told over the phone he was dying. We got to the hospital at 4. I was holding his wrist along with his entire family holding him as he flickered away. It was cancer, he never told anyone. It was a shock to all of our systems. Everyone is still in agreement that we expected him to live so much longer.

In the days that followed his death I placed a picture of him as a child on my bed then next to it one of his high school graduation, then his wedding photo, one of he and I when I was 2 then, one of my own graduation, lastly the image a had of his death bed. The common thread was in each photo his bright smile was beaming with pride and his eyes were full of joy. Then I thought, not too eloquently, "my God, this is one man's life." I thought "this is it. It's what you make of it."

With this realization my life broke in half. One half of my life was thrown forward as I watched the old me fall and drift out into oblivion. My mind told me to catch it before I lost it but my heart told me to let go. The people that I thought I mattered to me most were suddenly no where to be found and new people began to step into their place and still do such. It didn't bother me though; this happened when my Grandmother died as well. The only real difference is that when she passed I was lucky enough to have been in school where there was a plethora of people in one single environment. Now I have to force myself to go out into the world and seek the good experiences and good people for myself by myself. A tough tough thing to do for someone with an avoidant personality.

I have always been queen of "I was here first but you go ahead." I realize that I only take my fair share and that that share usually consists of an average slice. Nearly all of the time I know I deserve more and I know I deserve better than what I am left with. I don't know where I got that from but I can no longer stand this part of my personality. All I know is looking into my Grandfather's eyes (the brown had faded into navy from all the pain and drugs he was on) he recognized me. The pride that he held for me all his life was still there and he tried to lift himself up to hug me. Unfortunately he was wracked with too much pain to do so. I still feel in awe that this man loved me that much when I don't even think I love myself that much yet. And yes, I do think there is something wrong with that last sentence. I didn't recognize myself reflected in his eyes. I am forever proud of my Grandfather and grateful to him and proud to be his Granddaughter. I know now my dedication will be to capture once and for all, all of the potential and love he saw in me.