nikki (1996 - 1999)

You were brash at first. It was probably your defense mechanism.

But we became friends, quickly. Lounging in Eaton’s on the recliners.

I wonder why you haven’t friended me on Facebook.

nicholas (1992 - 1996)

I teased you about your chin. It was a mean thing to do.

I think at this point in my life I realized that words really can hurt someone.

I’m sorry.

lost

I went to your mom’s house. Because that’s what people do. They make the effort to visit in times like these. She greeted me at the door with a smile and a hug. I knew she was smiling simply for the company. I’m sure she was lonely, despite the fact that you moved out a few years earlier. Her kind of lonely wasn’t something one gets used to.

We made small talk in the doorway, and that was when I noticed you at the top of the stairs. In a t-shirt and shorts; Umbros or Champions. You were lounging. Totally at home. And I was stunned to see you there. You ran down the carpeted stairs, smoothly, and when you got to me you enveloped me in an embrace.

At your request I followed you downstairs, to your room, just as your mom was heading out the door. She called out a goodbye, waved and closed the door. “So, how is your mom doing?” I asked you when she’d gone. “She’s fine,” you told me, “She’s just stressed because we are going on a vacation and she has so much to do before we leave.”

You seemed to know what was going on, yet I was still confused. You lead me to your room, where I sat on one of two twin beds. I didn’t get comfortable; instead I perched on the edge. “So… how are you?” You turned from your desk, what appeared to be too small for you, left over from Junior High/High School days, “Good. I just have a lot of studying and work to do with these exams coming up.” Something was wrong. It just didn’t make sense. You were finished with school years ago.

I stood up from the bed, just as two of our other friends came into the room. They jumped up and down on the beds like monkeys. One would go up as the other was coming down. I wasn’t watching them but could see them in the reflection of the mirror.

We had a conversation through the mirror, both of us not facing each other, but the wall.

I asked you, “Do you know, Steph, that you died two months ago?”

tiny dancer

She believes things come in threes. Namely deaths. She believes this as though it were a natural law. When one person dies, two more are sure to follow. It’s to be expected.

A celebrity dies, breaking news on CNN, followed by one of her acquaintances, she will announce, “They come in threes.” She thinks any one person can die and that will tie into the third. But they have to have relation to each other. Three celebrities. Three politicians. Three friends. Three family. Not a celebrity, a religious leader and a family member. We roll our eyes at her, but she continues to believe.

If it’s on the news, or written about, it must be true. She reads the obituaries every morning with her coffee. She’s far from graceful, but she always answers the phone with a smile on her face. She has a tendency to steal things from restaurants. Like salt & pepper shakers, ashtrays, or water jugs. Of course this means nothing in her kitchen matches, but they’re all treasured by her.

She repeats clichés so often that it becomes timed. “Lining their pockets” is a favourite of hers, said mostly in regards to politicians. She won’t say the word ‘fat’ instead she chooses to demonstrate what fat looks like as she circles her arms around her body in wide circles. She thinks this is less obvious than saying the word itself.

There are times that she looks old, older than she is, usually when she is worried. And there are times when she looks young, younger than she is, usually when she is tucked under his arm. She doesn’t laugh at herself.

She’s obsessive to a degree that is dangerously close to compulsive, but not just yet. She’s fearless, yet she panics in the face of a challenge. She’s thoughtful, but part of me wonders if it isn’t just habit. She nods and mmm-hmmms when she agrees with something on TV and when she disagrees she clucks her tongue at the screen. She gives a run-down of everything going on around her even though we can see it as well.

She can’t keep a secret, even at Christmas. When she laughs, you can’t help but join in. Even when the joke is on you.

brett (1992)

Then: My sixth grade crush.

Now: My twenty-six year old crush.

Later: Let’s just see how you look tonight before I crush on you for next sixty-seven years of my life.

jamie (circa 1984)

A blonde headed little boy with a bowl cut living in my neighbourhood.

We were friends. Then you moved. Haven’t seen you since.

I sometimes think I might actually marry you.

sifting

Four posts in eight months. Pitiful.

I have so not kept up with the New Year's Resolutions.

More to come. Just organizing the dreadful from the survivable.

gone away

Something is stuck. Somewhere between my diaphragm and my throat, but closer to my throat. Its edges billow up every now and then and catch me short of breath. It’s been there for months, waiting for its release.

I was sure I’d gotten it all out months ago. That the crying and the screaming would’ve rid me from this sinking feeling. But it remains. Tear soaked pillows in the middle of the night, and sad songs have done nothing to ease this pain. Pretending you’re traveling in some far off land has done nothing to comfort me.

You’re just not here anymore.

sullen

I was just thinking the other day that my title, Beautifully Broken, may not suit me any more. I felt re-built, even if just a little bit. Enough to give me hope and a will to re-build the rest of me.

I spoke too soon.

But pain, heartache and feeling adrift is what makes it so much easier for me to write.

Cheers to my somewhat shaky emotional state!

dandelion clock

She’s not even dead yet and her possessions are already scattered among her family. She has given away objects she cannot take with her; physical memories we are supposed to replace with our own. A 50th birthday present, a Christmas gift; once treasured pieces, now left to collect dust among the belongings we cling to.

She is preparing for her death, which is inevitable. Erasing herself from the earth; bills, bank statements, greeting cards are all being shredded. Anything personal, anything that may be stolen, or duplicated. Anything she doesn’t need before she dies. Sentimentality isn’t something she is concerned with at the moment. Cleaning up her life before it is over, that is what consumes her. Tying up those loose ends; selling her house and her car, finding a home for her loyal and beloved dog. Her death is all business.

All her worldly possessions have been split up, quartered and adopted. She’s given her life away before it even ends. Her death will descend, not unexpectedly, among those of us left living, and we will go on, slowly at first, afraid to laugh, or smile. I wonder when we will start to see her belongings as our own. When it will stop feeling like we’ve just made room temporarily. Not permanently. For life.

in the audience

This blog has only existed for a very short time. I’m still trying to get the rhythm down. I didn’t create this blog to have lots and lots of fans, though I do love those that comment, their thoughts and feelings about something I have written, and I am encouraging you to continue commenting.

I know that some day I will write something that will hit a nerve with a few people, but I am prepared to accept this. I just read something that I hope will renew my fervor for writing (I believe that was one of my resolutions…). “If the audience is on their feet at the end of the play, you have done your job. If the audience is booing at the end, you have also done your job. You never want polite applause*.”

This blog is for me, but you read it. I want you to have strong reactions to it; good or bad.

I hope that once things start to calm down where I am that I will once again post… perhaps sooner, rather than later. But rest assured I am still here.

*Quote

resolve

I resolve to be nicer. More compassionate and try not to judge so quickly. I resolve to stop imagining the worst of people, and the worst possible scenario. I resolve to find more than one thing to like in someone I don’t. I resolve to let go of the past; it can’t be changed no matter how hard I wish it, and though it can’t be changed, I resolve to learn from it.

I resolve to make cookies every month for the people I work with. To volunteer more, and get the Christmas Spirit back. I resolve to face my greatest fears and get past all that has held me back. To be more generous, and remember that in a heart beat that could be me. To say my prayers every single night, and attend church every now and then.

I resolve to say I love you more often and to smile more. To save money, and spend less. I resolve to learn, and teach. I resolve to be more patient, and understanding, and less sarcastic. To stop thinking I can’t and replace it with I can, and will. To stop saying I will try. To give more of myself, and less of my opinion, unless I am asked.

I resolve to be kinder to my mother, and listen closer to my father. To spend more time with those I love. I resolve to try new things. To come out of retirement from babysitting. To lose control every now and then and like it. To make more friends. To share.

I resolve to stop pretending I don’t see people I don’t want to talk to, and to watch more classic movies. To have salad for lunch but to eat dessert. To read even more. To confide in my sister and to write letters to my other sister more often. I resolve to consider going blonde. Seriously.

I resolve to make this the best year of my life, not by luck, but by working hard to make it so.

through the looking glass

I know you. I’ve seen you before. You’re so familiar, the way you tuck your thumb into your fist when you are sleeping, how you tilt your head when you are speaking and the way you bite your lower lip when you are thinking. Haven’t we met before? Or had a friendship, relationship? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were at one time a part of my life. You look just like me; your voice youthful, your skin translucent. We are so similar, our movements, our language, and sense of humour. Maybe we grew up together?

Then, at what point did we become so different? And when did we stop speaking to each other? Why are we divided; you in the light, the warmth, and me in the dark, the cold? You do everything right. You’re kind, and thoughtful. Genuine; what you see is what you get. Everyone loves you. And you love them right back. You’re careful, and diplomatic, levelheaded, smart and strong. Beautiful, graceful and delicate. I do everything wrong. I’m selfish, and distant. I have a hidden agenda. I love the wrong people, and they don’t love me back. I take what isn’t mine. I’m rough, vague, and reckless. I am empty, useless and hopeless. I have a temper, and a short fuse. I am erratic, and unstable. I’m sneaky, calculating and deceiving. Heartbreaker, temptress and villain.

We are mirrored images; similar to the naked eye, but so different below the surface. How is it that we look the same, but live completely opposite lives? I will always be the predator, and you will always be the prey. How have we continued to fool everyone around us? When did I begin to hate you so much? And why did we fall apart, splitting up? How did I become the distorted and twisted version of you? Did I walk away from you? Or were you the one to run?

I knew you once upon a time. I knew everything there was to know about you. But you’re a stranger to me, an enemy now. Through the looking glass; you’re trapped, and I am the one walking free.

if

There is something I never told you. Something you deserve to know. I never told you because I thought it would be selfish of me to say it. I held back, believing you would be better off not knowing. I always thought there were so many reasons not to tell you this, I thought that everything would hang in the balance, and I would be the one to lose. I didn’t have enough courage to tell you, when I should have. I let fear rule me and now it may be too late.

I should have taken more chances, dared to take more risks. I should have based my decisions on love, not fear. I should have been brave, and not afraid to make mistakes, or errors. I should have learned to live without regret, and not look back, but look ahead. If I had more time, I’d do things differently. I would live out loud, and honestly. I should have had the courage to tell you this a long time ago, despite what may have happened. And now I will never know.

I played it too safe. I colored inside the lines, and followed every rule. I never leapt without looking, and sat on the fence too much. I respected authority, even when I knew better and never listened to my instincts... even when they were perfectly in line with reality. I never rocked the boat, even when it was something I desperately wanted. I was seen, but not heard.

I love you. I am realizing now, as I write this, that it was selfish of me not to tell you. I was afraid that I would be hurt, never considering that it might just be the one thing you needed to hear. The one thing you’ve waited for. I feared that by telling you this, I’d be committing a crime, an offense against someone. There are far worse things in this world than loving someone. I couldn’t tell you without knowing if you’d reciprocate, but I never trusted myself that I would be okay even if you didn’t.

If there were time, I would tell you, how much I loved you. I’d be sure you knew that I loved you strongly, unconditionally, and without reserve. I’d want you to know that you were always in my heart, even now, and that I never felt alone because I carried you inside me. You would feel my love for you in my touch, hear it in my voice when I called your name, you would see it in the way I look at you.

If I could tell you that I loved you at this very moment, I would no longer be afraid of what awaits me. Time has run out for me. But because of my discernment, perhaps I never really lived at all.

let go

We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are. – Anais Nin

You convinced me to go to Cuba with you. I’d already been, and loved it so much, I was willing to forgo the fact that our relationship had ended. As we shopped for bikinis, shorts and sun dresses, I watched you, wondering, “Is this the right thing to do?” As if you could read my mind, you looked at me over the body of a mannequin and assured me that we’d have a great time.

I left packing for the last minute; having done this twice this year already I knew what I should bring, and what could stay behind. And at the airport I stood waiting to board with my ticket in hand, panicking. I shouldn’t do this. This is a bad idea. It felt like the fear of flying. Though this time I didn’t worry about the plane’s turbulence, I worried about ours. But I boarded anyways, and once we were up in the air, I started to think about our last vacation in an effort to pacify myself. Maybe it could have been different. Though, I’d still remember it the way it was, truly; excited early mornings that greeted us with the scent of the ocean, sleepy faced guests washed in warm sun, the creaky doors, wet bathroom floors, matching flip flops, sunburns, and Sunsets.

I knew it wouldn’t be any different, to you, or me. You’d see it the way you believed it happened, and so would I.

Though I know you’ll never read this, I am putting it out there, to let you go, for you to carry on; healthy, happy and fulfilled. I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened. I am sorry that I upset you. But more than anything, I am sorry I lost your friendship. I wish that you achieve your wildest dreams, your deepest hopes and your heart’s desire.

dirty little

Nobody knows that I’m living with you. That you’re with me from the very moment I open my eyes, everyday. What once began as perhaps a questionable relationship has bloomed into a full fledged regret. Though, I never invited you into my life. You helped yourself.

Now, our relationship is strained. I make secret plans to rid you from my life, but somehow you always find out. You’ll never leave me, I know; always promising, or threatening, that no matter where I go, or for how long, you’ll always be there. “I’ll find you,” you’ve whispered. I’ve cried at your hands, behind closed doors, though I tell myself it has nothing to do with you. I don’t tell anyone you’re the reason I’m most often upset. I mask my pain; afraid of rapid fire questioning that will surely follow.

Nobody knows that I fight with you every day, swearing, screaming, and cursing your name. You taunt me in a sing-song voice, “You have driven everyone you care about away. You’re a loser.” I’ve taken out all of my anger towards you on innocent people.

You’re abusive; never removing your ice cold grip from me, even when I sleep. You steal from me, and hurt me on purpose; to see me weak, to see me cry. Nobody knows that you scare me. I’m afraid of you, what you’ll do to me. You’re controlling me; never allowing me to lead a normal life, forcing me to make up lies. “You need me,” you say. ”I’m all you know.”

You’re my secret; dirty little and deep dark. I protect you, refusing to speak your name. I conceal your identity from those around me. You remind me, “No one will understand. You’ll be pigeonholed and stereotyped. I’m all you have.” You pretend to have my best interests at heart, but I know you just want to keep me all to yourself. You’ll suffocate me.

tasting winter

Somewhere in my future, on a deceivingly cold day, you leave your things at the door and press your cool face against mine. I can smell the winter on your skin. Bitter; warm sweat tangled with a stinging frost. Pungent like a cadaverous breath. Instead of pulling away from your cold, sour grip, I hold on tighter. I can taste the night in your mouth. Dusk; when I craved for the twilight of your face, your overcast voice. Miss for a man I didn’t know, and love for a man I didn’t want. Standing here, holding onto you, and swallowing your hellos, wishing for you, still. I’ll always fondly remember winter, just like this. Remembering my future.

Staring at her I could feel you next to me. Knowing everything would be different. Feeling it in my bones, in my blood, on my skin. In the children we have yet to have. Like ripples and waves in a field of wheat. Knowing, innately, upon the sight of creamy red Christmas light bulbs discarded on the wayside, it had to be over. Even if she didn’t already say so.

So absolutely you’ve settled, like silt, within me. A simple life, of faded wood, chipped paint and dripping water taps. Remembering the past of my future.

just to be better

I want to stop wanting something better. I want to stop wanting things I can’t have. I want for it to be alright for me to be sad. I want to know how people really see me. And then I never want to care about it again.

I want you to only ever say hello, never goodbye. I want to stop being afraid of people. Of myself. I want you to make me feel better, not just wish you could. I want people to understand me. I want for it to be alright for me to be me.

I want to know that I’m valued. I want to stop attracting my worst fears. I want to be brave. I want to stop being destructive. Self, or otherwise. I want to stop being hurt. I want to stop covering it up.

I want to stop looking at my life and seeing so much wrong with it. I want to only see the good, never the bad. I want to speak softer, be more kind. I want to handle difficult situations gracefully.

I want to be okay, even indifferent when I see you together. I want to understand why it couldn’t work out with us, and learn. I want to stop making the same mistakes. I want to be comfortable with a new path.

I want to know that what I see is indeed the truth. I want to just let go, fall, and know that I’ll be safe. I want to see the good in you, and I only want to know that of you. I want to know all your stories, without having to pry.

I want to go to bed every night satisfied. I want to be undeniably happy, and I want to shout it from the roof tops. I want someone to want. And have them want me right back. I want to know when I’ve got a good one, and stop fucking it up. I want to never want again.

addict

I’ll swallow you like a pill; taste the bitterness of you on my tongue as you consume my body. Lick my lips with a drop of water and wash you down inside. Crawl beneath my skin, like an ache. Rush through my veins; use my blood cells as life rafts. Raid my flesh, and strip me of my sanity.

I’ll draw you into me, slowly, breathe your sighs and inhale you like a drug. Multiply and invade me, steal my purity, and control me. Grip my wrists in your hands; tighter. Hold me beneath you, paralyze my virtue and guilt. Untie the corset of my façade, and watch me unravel. I’m fluid underneath you, malleable to the warmth of your body, and the pressure of your hands.

I’ll drink you in like absinthe. And with every sip I take, you’ll shatter my grace and I’ll distort. I’m swallowing you but you’re devouring me. Taste the rapture on my skin, beneath the innocence; bitter under a thin veil of sweet.

You’re a silent storm radiating through me, in thunderous even pulses. I’ll savour the red velvet of your kiss, the salt of your skin, the taste of me on your lips, fingertips. I’m thirsty for your breath on my body.

Feed me on an IV drip. I’m addicted to your virus.

fall

This perfume I'm wearing, I like it. It's clean, smells like soap, warm skin from a shower. Little drops of water on my freckled shoulders. But every time I wear it, I want to crawl back into bed. I associate it with something sad, I think. Something sad, and being tangled in sheets wearing jeans, barefoot. Letting go of someone, wanting to hold on to someone else. Cuddling, knowing it would end, or conversely, never begin. It's pretty, but it hurts.

It’s a go between. Juicy summer scents and rich velvet and tweed perfume. It’s perfect for today; the skies are gunmetal silk, lonely and cold. I think of you when the streets glisten. Whoever you are. When I think of you, I see golden fields of wheat under a navy blue sky. A dark road to a warm and familiar destination. Drinking the cold air. White sheets beneath a down tent, and too many pillows. Wool and cashmere.

I can’t decide if you’re my past, or my future.