Commonality

She wanted it to seem like it was nothing. Moving in her seat, fixing her skirt to draw attention away from the tension in her face.

 “Do you understand where I’m coming from?” he asked.

She didn’t, she didn’t understand but lied anyway. Lying was the easy part. It came easy to her and she did it often. Her demeanor switched just as quickly as the tension came.

 “Yeah! This actually works better for me anyway..I don’t really have time for anything serious.”

He smiled, relieved that he didn’t have to explain himself any further. He couldn’t quite figure out his own behavior, let alone try to decipher hers. 

The conversation seemed effortless after that, like their chemistry grew from the rejection. Was that possible? They both knew it was a lie. Their bodies softened as they spoke with ease, anyone watching would think they were naturals together. 

She thought to herself how easy this was becoming, the mockery that was her life. She felt open all the time but nobody genuinely saw what was there. Maybe that was the problem. Realizing that she created this place of distaste on her own.

In that same instance he thought to himself how his commitment to no commitment was his own doing as well. He gave of himself so freely, he wasn’t sure if that was even true. Maybe that was the problem. Realizing that he created this place of distaste on his own.

They sat in silence, a chuckle from him…giggle from her. Looking up at each other with simultaneous surprise by the combined sounds,

 “Did they hear me?” 

Silence can be deafening after you realize someone else is still in your space. When the formed scenarios and random thoughts wear away and your left still sitting across from somebody that you’d rather have soon forgotten.

They sat there.

Not knowing where the end really was or if this was still possibly a beginning. 

 

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Blog thoughts

I find it hard at times.. to get started. I am constantly thinking of what to write, when to write, how much to write….what to share.

How do people survive that never find their truth? What they love to do and what helps them get through the mundane? I’m not sure if I feel a sadness for them or me sometimes. Knowing that I should be doing something else other than what I’m doing can be more depressing than not knowing, ya know? Then I smile. I have the words. Beautiful words to form and see grow. I’m lucky. I’ve found my peace, what other truth do I need?

I just want this blog to be everything I picture in my head. To maintain a flow, keep writing what I know and feel and not be afraid to share. I’m gonna….

Pages

“Who do people open up to, if not on paper?”

I don’t think there’s anyone in my world

ready to hear my thoughts.

Sometimes..

I want a response that I can’t get from pages.

Shock reaction.

It’s the crazy, I think.

I knew that some would be affected.

I’ve been told my words can be knife like.

I choose my words carefully.

So the knives they feel are intentional.

I’ve been told my words are life like,

Changing.

These are my intentions as well.

I take joy in knowing I have a way with words.

In my mind, anyway..

I’m changing everyone’s life.

Nevermind

I hope you don’t mind

I don’t really have much to say but

so much to say

Don’t want to cloud your clearing mind

I can’t help but send you things

that move me

that I know will move you too

I hope you don’t mind

Not tangible things, things you can hold

but you can feel them inside.

I hope you don’t mind 

That I take the time

to let you know that I still

think of you

not tangible

but I can feel them inside

I keep them

take them out when I need them

Place them lightly in their place

and leave them

until I need them

I hope you don’t mind.

The Painter

All Black everything.
He didn’t want color in his world
He didn’t want to see
The beauty
of the Yellow sun
Red leaves
Blue water from the ocean

All Black everything.
His mind turned Black
Like the black bag that holds the bottle
Nobody can see what’s inside
But they all know
What he’s carrying

All Black everything
His world turned Black
He couldn’t find his way
Through the darkness created
By the black bag
We all knew he carried

Walking through a sea of color and light
Not realizing
His Blues are his own color of Red.
His love was the color Purple
Green
Orange
The hues of the blues
in clouds
that she was carried on
to him and his world of Black.

Now he sees
The trees
honey on the wings of bees
He sees
The white
dust that flows through the light
Painting his world
the colors he creates.