Fear

A beautiful quote from Princess Diaries. Of all places.

Courage is not the absence of fear, more of the knowledge that something else is more important than fear.

And fear is nothing more than having the courage to believe logically. Nothing more than a veil over those eyes we have longed to see opened and smiling, for so long.

And I and we make mistakes. Try to be perfect, try to forget the apostrophe that makes all the difference from a lie and a truth: imperfect.

Right now, right this moment:
Gracias, Nichole. Viejo amigo.

Bug

I found the secret to everlasting life in a virus.
They don't discriminate between people by skin color or belief; they give and take what they will.

The Purpose? To Convince

Because you know you want to, go on. Go on and tell yourself it would all have been better if you had gone the extra mile. Go on and try to chalk up more white lies then call the blackboard pure when it won't hide the scars anymore. You know you want to. Deep inside - no, maybe not so deep inside - you'll enjoy being exposed. You are going to enjoy having the limelight. You will revel in a gaze even if it was aimed at you in disgust; you would likely auction off yet more of yourself for any amount of time someone spent believing in the illusion with you. Somehow comfort can come in the kind of form; somehow when misery has company, company's comfort. Ice cubes that will melt away only too quickly in a hot desert sun - you complain your glass is half empty when you've already taken so much, accepted and begged for and stolen and conned for so much, you don't remember actually owning something anymore. 

Trek Back

In the summer the bamboo groves remain cool
They await the lonely wanderers
Who crawl or limp in
Having long lost their way elsewhere
They await the the odd coincidence
When two solitaires meet in a single deck
Strolling along the same tired old track
Attempting to find without having to search

The scholars and artists sit by
Penning disciplined hypotheses and
Fantastical descriptions of beauty they are not
And will not and cannot see
Because they picture the lights of the day only
Smeared onto their canvas and paper
In only the pre-manufactured commercial pigments
Everybody can find anywhere else.
They will never know what we - yes, we -
Have seen and will see
In our memories, in our dreams
To remember

In the summer there are only hearts
To forgive and forget.

Track

The cement turned to quicksand beneath her nimble feet.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
One step forward. Another. Stop.
Stuck. Can't move; can't move: just one more step.
Breathe in. Out.
Dodge around - no use, keep running... Stop!
Breathe. In-out.
Come on. Voices ringing, echoing in dark, spiraling voids.
Just another basement floor push-up, right?

Flight: Fiction Fifty-Five

Fiction 55 had a topic a while back, a theme called Flight.

It's long over but here goes nothing:

It was a graveyard for spoilt makeup, torn net leggings and hastily ripped packaging. Boarders got the barest inch of space in their final resting place, and occasional neighbors always intruded, displacing comrades, with hot, sweaty skin, before the landlord evicted his most recent pretty little butterfly. They left in teary flutters of their wings.

Was it You?

I gave you a bouquet for Christmas
Grew each bloom by myself
Here in this old garden
Even when the snows came
And froze the ground
I carried the tears off your cheek
Planted them as seeds
Sprinkled a little dedication and foreplay
Propped up their heavy buds
And wrinkled leaves
Watched the petals disentangle
Till a knot formed in my throat

And they say that the thread of friendship
Can be mended when broken
But there'll always be that extra knot
The little bit of sensitivity
That builds itself up to a trauma
Deep within your eyes and
The quivering of your hardwood lips

You rejected my present on Christmas morning
Shut the door in my face
So I stared at goofy Santa on your wreath
Finding no humor in his sadistically cheerful grin
You came back put to hand me a rose
Picked, sieved from the blooms
I'm sorry to say
I only felt the thorns

So where does that put us?
I will never know when to call you
Whether I'm even authorized now that
It's not official anymore
Where does that leave us?
Lying somewhere between lost and found
No mutiny of the broken
Just a dead love of a token
Not much more than the empty boxes
Hiding beneath mangled wrapping papers
In the shadow of your Christmas tree

I was mistaken.
I apologize while I long for an apology
Apologize while I wait for forgiveness
I was mistaken.

It seems
There was never an 'us' to leave carelessly around
Stolen treasured memories from
Under the great pine tree

Present

glances askance
for lack of something
better
to say

I'd offer you my heart
but
you'd only give it away