What's in a cup?

Pine cones crackled on the smouldering fire, as I curled up like a cat with you at my feet. You were looking sheepishly, desperately, desirably at the beautiful young woman just out of reach on the opposite high-back, while I savoured every song, every bite, every sip of your home-brewed beer. I had wanted to fall in love, and in that room in your house I wanted you to fall in love with me. Did you not recognise it? I cried, deeply saturated my heart in tears, for all the hope I lost in that one moment when you told me you met someone else, someone better than me. You are still searching. You never reverted back to me.

Candleholder, o Candleholder, I am grateful that You lit my wick Candleholder, o Candleholder, You hold me upside down Candleholder, o Candleholder, You are aiming the wax inside the candleholder, the candleholder that stands so stable on the ground the candleholder, the candleholder into which I’m placed, held and found the candleholder, the candleholder is where I’ll stand tall and proud. Candleholder, o Candleholder, I’ll stand secure and shine In your candleholder so divine I’ll stand without Your hand And let people admire Your flame While the wax runs down my frame. 

Sometimes you miss someone in your life that you do not know and did not get a chance to get to know even though you wish you had. I miss someone I hardly know because he did not let me know he was taking a chance. What does it look like to put yourself out there and still look unavailable? What does it feel like to make yourself vulnerable without feeling exposed? What if all the distance does nothing for the heart except to harden it? What if all the silence screams? I am all me. I can be all things to anyone. I enjoy my own company more than others' at times, not because I dislike others but because I understand myself better than others understand me. I believe in myself, and I know one day someone will believe in me as once one had. When now I come into myself, I can only pray that someone will be behind me, reading what I see and helping me with words that fall on my path and I need to decipher if I should pick them up and throw them aside or plant them on the way. Words ...

"Do you still think of me sometimes?", he asked. How can I answer that? I received balloons on my birthday from a friend. The balloons say Happy Birthday. A lot of time has elapsed since my birthday, but the balloons are still round. They are not as full as on my actual birthday, but I am amazed that they have lasted this long. Some days I come home and wonder if I should pop them and throw them away, but then I ask myself, is there anything wrong with holding onto something that made me happy, even for just a moment? So I leave them hanging in my room for another day. At what point should I say, it's been long enough, you can stop celebrating? Actually now they remind me how quickly time passes by, and yet they are like science experiments to me. How long does a blown-up balloon last? When will I stop having feelings for you? When will I stop thinking about you? Perhaps it is time to pop the balloons.

Kick out beauty and the brain kicks in. It is funny I say without laughing to explain how this feels. By this I mean my age. I no longer look the same. My beauty got swept away. Sure there are remnants, but it is not the same. Youth is leaving the building. Now I stand in an empty hallway and the door I assumed I'd enter one day is closing. I can almost hear the click. Then I will never enter that room of having a child and building a family and having a heritage, together with someone, no great legacy to look back on. If indeed that door should close, I will then either still experience love and commitment but in a dual mode or I will commit my life to some thing and not someone. For life. I never thought I would be in this hallway. I thought the doors would stay open forever. There are many rooms that can be entered and are worth exploring. I need to turn my face away from the expected norm and move toward the unknown, where perhaps I will be alone, but ...

Already I am suffering with broken bones. Already I am dealing with my broken heart. Leave my mind alone! Let me have strength in one part of me. Brokenness has left me open with many cracks people can see. The Japanese cover their broken pottery with gold that beautifies their creativity. As for me, please preserve a part of me from fate of bad luck and inadequacy. Please protect me from further loss of everything I hold deep inside of me that seeks expression yet fears oppression. Already I am broken but not crushed. Already I am standing up for what I feel, think and believe. Already I am fixing what can be fixed and accepting all the other dirt that comes upon my beaten track. I will not remain broken. My bones are gaining in strength. My heart is healing and will be restored. My mind is developing and reconnecting. My spirit soars high into the heavens. Who knew humanity would be so hard?

The heart cannot feast on the love it does not meet, so it turns to what it knows, to the familiar abode. Every heart has a default setting, a place it once called home, and to this home it shall return. Some hearts find comfort in the freedom of a hard run on tarred and winding roads, amd yet another in drugs, sex and rock n roll, and a third in the healthy confines of a safe and loving family home. Who knows where you were when at first you experienced love? We cannot choose whether we are born in Winter or in Spring, and we do not all believe in God, but we all experience life, and to some it is pleasurable and to others it means pain. He whose heart was born in Spring sees life in everything. He whose heart was born in Winter sees the end of everything. What joy for some, what doom for yet another? It is pure torture to belong to a group of darkened hearts whose bitterness drenches through every open pore, and for the hearts born in Spring life...

I heard the click in my heart, only your switch did not move. You took a chance on me, then left me in the dark until I needed to ask.  You pressed the buttons that read: Reject. So I went back to my heart's switch.  Click. Reset.      

What do I mean? What do I mean to someone? What is meant to be will be. What I mean is, you were mean to me. I mean, I am someone too, someone who could have meant something to you. I have searched for meaning and found that meaning something to someone counts more than assigning meaning to work or things in life. It means so much to me to be treated right, like I count. You meant to tell me that you found the meaning of your life. I meant to tell you, I am looking for the love of my life. Isn't that meant to be the meaning of life?

I dreamt I was sitting on a beach with someone last night And as I looked up, there it was, the big wave, the tsunami I wrote of. At first I was afraid because I was staring death in the face And I could not see a way out.   And then I thought about it, About escaping this world where my negative thoughts consume me And torture my mind to the point of disturbing my peace And stripping me of having healthy relationships.   So instead of being afraid of the oncoming wave of emotion, I embraced it. I was a bit worried that I would suffer, That I would slowly drown and gasp for air as the water filled my lungs But I thought it would be tranquil to escape my feelings And to enter heaven, where I knew I would be welcome.   So I let it come, having nothing to look forward to, No one in my life that I love and who loves me equally, And having no job that seems quite to fit my personality. It would be sweet relief to escape this world. ...

Pulling blankets over my eyes I lie in wait for the sunrise. The trickle of raindrops at my front door remind me of moments passing from one place to another and being absorbed. Pulling blankets from you, my love, I get lost in your love, your arms, your touch, and yet I fear motion in your heart from something I have done that will shift your feelings from plateau to ground. What if we never reach the summit? What if all of life winds up and down and we stand witness to sunsets and rain clouds that never burst open and create life on the ground? True happiness, true joy, like pulling blankets in each moment I share, I believe we can attract it, I believe it is real. Bringing winter moments into summer's stirs helps to highlight losses so we get to feel much more we are grateful for what we have and fight for more, pulling blankets for warmth.