Earlier today I wrote in my Peer Tutoring class and two shorts resulted from it. The first, beautiful, hopeful, bold (and apparently completely inaccurate from what the setting should be, but nevertheless it's there and its what I want). The second is a more cynical approach to life and what's going on in mine especially. Again, expect emotional unburial.
A closed door stood before me; the music swelled from the chapel within. I stood quietly, nervously, and tightened my grip. I took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet perfume of baby's breath and roses. My eyes opened to the doors swinging wide; all of the church stood before me watching as I blushed, pink as the roses I held in my shaking hands. The crowd beamed at me. My mother dabbed at her eyes; my best friend held back a quiver. I slowly proceeded down the petal strewn aisle and saw the sea of red and white on either side of me. To my left, men straightened their kilts while the women patted their eyes. I looked straight down the aisle of this little church, and saw my love, my husband-to-be. He stood with a smile on his face and my son in front of him. They both stood radiating with happiness as Adam gave a small wave. He ran to stand by Grandma as I came to the alter. I smiled and held the hand of my love as the ceremony began....
And the second...
Now my body's on the floor and I am calling, well I'm calling out to you Can You Hear Me Now? (Hear Me Now-Framing Hanley)
My life has become an emotional tell-all. I let the bodies of the heart, soul, and mind lay open for all to see. You may observe the pain, the hurt, the regret. You may gaze at my love, my hatred. Stare down my beliefs and turn through my every thought and lie. It's chronicled perfectly for you choosing and selection. Analyze me. Observe me. I lay as open as the Bible on the nightstand of that sleazy motel you visited last weekend. The pathetic doctor unlocked the floodgate. She instigated the flooding, the neverending floodwaters of emotion and regret. Allow me to talk just for one second and you'll soon discover my life story. Bottles in my mind led to implosion and combustion. Stories and openness brings relief. Relief but vulnerability. Every thought of mine is yours to muse, to ponder. It's dominating, the way you insist to know my every thought. Its demeaning that I tell you, rather than you be mad or upset with me. In all reality, this hidden rant should stay on paper, in a journal far away from the outside intrusion. Yet it'll end up on a blog or email or other avenue I know you'll stumble upon. Why? That's what I wish to know. Why do I open everything to you? Keep it all public and pervert my own privacy and secrets? They say there's a relief in talking to strangers; a magical relief that coats your mind and soul to know you don't have to carry it around anymore. But when your stranger becomes a friend or your new interest, are you interested in them for truly them--their personality, companionship, etc etc--or do you simply enjoy that constantly open drain? Is it that person that you love or the relief they provide? How can you even tell? How do you know when you truly love and it's not just make-believe?
I've been struggling with this one for awhile. Remember these two posts were written back to back in about an hour, and the song listed at the beginning of the second is what I believe helped to inspire the latter writing. The problem is that when stream of consciousness appears as it just does, it leaves you feeling numb. Numb and unable to explain what's going on. Because of my past relationship (to any person who stumble across this and notices the three year gap between posts it's simply because of the hurtful relationship I was in), it's hard to come to grips with what love is, especially when it's a love like mine (see previous posts for more information). I'm hoping that when/if he reads this he'll understand. Thank you (to any of those random readers) for allowing the unburials and I hope to post soon.
Forever yours,
Kayy
