Angel Hollywood

“Now you understand

just why my head’s not bowed.

I don’t shout or jump about

or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

it ought to make you proud.”

A Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou

Some young women are naturally esteemed. Their aura commanding attention, even while expressing insecurities, playfully to reassure again that they are admired. For what it is worth, to be regarded so, is a breathable life sentence. Unless she forgets again that we all age, and fail to understand the remarkable attraction of matured beauty too. She’ll compare to what was yesterday and not to factor in her progression: a beautiful girl to young woman and now this, a matured lady. Beauty is as it is seen by her admirers, especially one so naturally gifted, but importantly as seen of herself. And so it seems most women may lose that sense of their self.

Other women attempt to achieve this sense, too, though unsuccessful with their pride diminished upon each word, look, or gesture that causes hurt. About other women, every possible chance to crush the glimpse of pride in her eyes most likely by an acquaintance. She is so often taunted and told otherwise of what she may state so boldly. My smile, is the best part of me. Your smile, as gaped as can be seen, why do you smile so often and about everything? She fades away to the eye. Her stance, then it is critiqued and criticized. You could be yourself, but not with the others, especially those that hold attention with high regard. You could be this way but you are always that way and now so easily pushed. Last, a comment made with a side eye and a sneer, any one made surely to break away attention; a gaze in her direction. A trick so often played by the acquaintance. Here I witness so many women held back by their own awakening – a sense of her own beauty.

To Angelou, we share our fascination of her. Her words and her wisdom, may I say her views of herself. How she could turn the heads of influential, remarkable, brilliant men to listen to her as equal. What was that sense about her? Angelou wrote of it, of herself, a phenomenal woman. You are one among many, a phenomenal woman. As you sing and dance, yet too shy to do before company . I still envision the same confidence within you. A phenomenal woman, despite what they say that may bring you down some.

To you I write, I see where you may be flawed. Whenever I see your head bowed with a voice whispered so low about being not pretty, I’m lost. Your eyes smile along with you as you express any thought of joy. Then without embarrassment you may sing to yourself and dance along to an image of yourself, but to stop if someone may take an interest. Why? In embarrassment, for so long you are told you cannot do what someone so naturally gifted may do. To be put down and criticized for every thought you may have of your own beauty. This is why I am lost, you are convinced of what others taunt while misunderstanding or timid. What they may refuse to acknowledge is not for you to expect in validation. As a young woman you must see, over time, that you are made as you may feel. You appear as you may have yourself. And that you can be renewed again, of confidence, if you so choose to see it.

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What Is Maturity?

Subject: Wendy’s interview with Area Supervisor Mike

Job Posted Position: Assistant Manager

Location: Alpharetta, GA

Time: 10:00AM, Mike’s arrival 10:32AM

Upon first meeting I’ve seated myself near the main entrance of the restaurant. The General Manager, in assumption here, tells me that the Area Supervisor will be a few minutes late. A few minutes turned into an half hour; and there he is seen before the door to be let in.

Brief introductions were made with a smile and side glance.

‘Let’s move away from the door.’ He says as he leads me to the seating near the second door entrance. I’m more so aware of small gestures and manners that may indicate discomfort or a person not as prepared. The difference from where I was seated to where the new arrangement felt more comfortable was none other than the left to right side of the restaurant.

I began with a disclaimer: I have recently moved, though have yet to find a printer to update my resume. However, what I do have is a previous year resume with main relevant jobs listed in order and accurate still.

With slight understanding and half listening Mike instead begins with a speech about people and how we are able to pick up and to sense something about a person. A long speech really, and one just as patronizing as his age group is stereotypically fond of reenacting towards someone clearly younger-assumed severely naïve and inexperienced.

He stated that my job ‘hopping’-something that new times and generations are more so doing to gain a leg up in income and competition for skills not at all willingly trained-was of a concern. Either the problem was myself-as he gave an example-or I am unable to tough out a situation until the work environment calms again. I had to interrupt several times to state on the contrary. The first job I was promoted from cashier to a manager in 3 months because I toughed out a situation of a General Manager (GM) fired suddenly as well majority of the crew leaving in protest based on loyalty. I worked 3 different positions simultaneously without complaint from customers understanding that I’m trying my best to serve them. I clocked in over 50 hours a week while attending college full time with work load of a senior student. I am more than capable of toughing a situation as I was sent to another location for my job at present. Both the GM and the Assistant manager quit, so I was put in place to string together a severely short staffed restaurant of the busiest location in that district, as a low level manager. I can tough a situation, however I can recognize abuse and managers above my rank unappreciative of my sacrifices to sleep and orderliness. I recognize that my first job essentially gave all responsibility to me, yet faulting me first thing if I had done something insignificantly wrong. All the responsibility forced upon me, yet I was paid the same amount as my low level manager title entailed. Same with my job at present, I was due for a promotion at the struggling location, instead someone from outside was hired and trained to take my place essentially- as I trained him. I can tough a situation, however, I recognize abuse and neglect.

A sign of ‘mmhm’ read across his face.

The new attack was about the amount of experience in number of years. It does not take 10+ years of dedication to know a job so effectively that one is due for either a promotion or job training elsewhere. As I witness with my present temp job (second job) that number of years does not translate to skills and knowledge. Some then become too comfortable, lazy even. As I witness at present old timers feeling threatened as I rearrange their departments that follows the modules, pricing and proper location for the merchandises. Their first reaction is to find something to tell the store manager that ‘the new people’ are unproductive.

His next point in speech was about age. How do I manage someone older? He had assumed I managed primarily teenagers. On the contrary I manage adults and have managed adults previously, though I’m of the mindset that age being a requirement of respect as beyond ridiculous. We all know an example of someone older yet still incompetent at their job duty and function. I have met someone younger, yet competent. While I witness someone older, set in their ways, unwilling to compromise and to allow fault. I have witnessed younger workers apologize to the heavens of what little they have done wrong. At last, older workers behaving immaturely towards someone younger managing over them. So I say to anyone if you’re upset that someone younger is coaching you then no one else to blame but yourself. I have the same expectation that if you’re upset with me because of my age-switch shifts or quit as I am here still. My expectations remain the same: simply requiring workers to do their jobs or to go home so I may do it myself.

Mike being unable to state what exactly he took issue with me, all I can assume was age as the speech continued about age and experience. I had to ask, how long has he worked for Wendy’s? His record of decades of dedication at the same position, but now will be replaced by someone younger. I concluded my assumption of him as someone feeling old and bitter.


I’m typing this as I take a beating every time for my youthful looks. I have a title of management, a life of a settled adult, yet questioned daily about my maturity and knowledge.

As social creatures we judge people based on their looks. Someone beautiful more likely to lead an easier life, as we are biased in agreeing with someone based on physical appearances alone. Same with age, as social creatures we assume the more wise depends on years numbered and experiences countable. We may assume the older person knows more, has more in terms of skills simply based on a number stated of years lived after birth. On the other end we may assume a younger person as naïve and so inexperienced that whatever opinions or options that one may give is moot or ridiculous.

The beating continues and I have to either find another situation or to prove myself to the older person clearly immature or feeling threatened. That my reasons for doing something or saying something is no different from yourself. My place in the work environment is no different than yourself. What we both share is a means to acquire some financial gain to live. The only competition is which person performs the job well enough with enough experiences proving better to handle any task similar or out in another field.

If your first jab in order to be considered or to consider one person over another is consulted to age, then you’ve lost the meaning of maturity.

Alias Grace

Imagine, if you will, that you are a woman and your position in life is already compromised. Your body indicated for servitude both for vocation and male sexual desire. Your voice is silent before you speak. If you dare speak you are hysterical, or worse a whore not worth given credence. Your mind is easily susceptible to bad spirits and incomprehensible thoughts simply because you are born of a sex religiously deemed devious.

alias

That is Grace Marks, a woman determined so by natural devices, at the age of 15 or 16 years old. An Irish immigrant already expected poverty. Already, so early she is to be told by society what her body is good and useful for and that is servitude.

Every order given to her is expected of utmost obedience. Every action by her own is acted as innocence.

If she ever denies any order she is suddenly ‘filthy’, a ‘whore’, or ‘untrustworthy’.

What stood out to me in this miniseries is the ‘doctor of the mind’. A psychiatrist named Simon, given permission to have sessions with Grace in order to stir her memory of the events again. Then again, what memories are there to stir if the events of murder were never seen or properly recollected? Regardless he was curious, always on the edge, sleepless even to know more about Grace and her story. Simon had supposed that Grace was either somewhere along the lines of insanity or a woman who had found a means to break away from the suppression of her body.

She had become clever, he thought even. To express what one may think is rage against what was done to her and any other woman; or to express her anger of suppression. Suppression- that is to clean and to care at so young of an age. Suppression- that also means to give her body to any man’s will with a command for her consent. She had then created an audience with her hysterics. An audience composed of wealthy gossipers and then potential romantic partners, including Simon. He then supposed that that was her intention, even one that cost nearly her life.

It’s definitely a curious subject here. If you were a woman of that time period-and had to witness what that meant exactly, would you become a fiend to speak on it?

Mud Bound

Movie story lines usually leave the story that I find more interesting. Here in MudBound (2017) the story about the woman leaves me interested for more.

The story begins with a woman describing the mud surrounding the home, really a shack-like place on a farm. The year is near the end of World War II. Men are being sent back home to where they no longer belong; one other sent to their grave. It’s another story about familiarity and the effects of a changing environment. You know where you have gone out to experience that there is more than the world you first knew at any age. So you’ll find any means to escape, or to find someone else to relate. In the end you may or may not find that place where you belong, but in this film the men will do.

The woman.

She is already nearing her middle ages and not yet married. A woman from a family middle class meets a man assumed to be similar in social status. By no means is she a farmer, nor does he mention his background to her. But as women are expected to be told at a later time, whenever it’ll suite him to reveal that there is a farm he wants to plow and a nice farmhouse he wants his family to reside in. ‘You’ll like, you’ll see’. She must hush her initial fuss about this news of moving on from what and where she is familiar.

Through some scheme and false transaction, the dream home for his family is just that-imagined. Instead he moves them to the shack, among the ‘blacks’ but we know in this time another word was stated. At this point, she looks about a house with a leaking roof, mud all around ruining one of her best dress heels. She can only tolerate so much, and so she tells him she can only tolerate so much up to this point.

mudbound

Outside of her element she did learn a few things. She knows her way around a shotgun. She’s not too squeamish about the initial acts of providing protein for her children. She even became accustomed to not bathing for most days of the week. However, once the children became sick her ability to care for both her children and home became too overwhelming. In fact, help turned into ‘I can’t do this (alone)’. In the slightest, the black tenant farmer on down the road somewhere must lend his wife for paid assistance.

At first the woman is strong, allowing her new environment to teach her a lesson about survival. However, in an instance does she give away her power ‘to know’ to someone who knows more by traditional upbringing.  I want to know more about her story, as it turns to love instead. I want to know how did she manage to cope once the black tenants packed and moved away.

How did she come to find where she belongs?

Well some people are fortunate to find where they belong, soon as the men do. However, not the woman. In any indication where her story ends her life is that of a farmer’s (sharecropper) wife, still outside of her element. Inside her home is a piano and books, fine China and whatever else the white tenants down the road somewhere are not familiar. In any other case she proves to be unfaithful, once again to marry the first man that saw her. But now no longer sheltered she knows her desires, still she assumes a voice whenever in objection to her husband. Where does she go or does she simply comply in slight misery til death?

In those times, back then I’ll assume she remains in slight misery.

‘Where Is Everybody?’

The first episode of the 1950’s series The Twilight Zone answered my own fears and anticipation about loneliness.

Human beings, as animals, are social creatures that thrive in a group and just as well as a pair. We see this fact played out in most films and television shows about the ‘last man standing’ or some devastation that left a few or two alone in the world. The common expectation of quarreling; selfish behavior and aggression matched to detain the selfish individual played out. The individual cannot undermine the whole and the group requires all like minded individuals to survive. It’s a survival instinct.

 

Last Man
No one else to escape with in talking about nothing in particular.

 

And as well, if he is found to be alone, his sanity is lost as he finds no purpose for his voice. With most films, if he is alone and now silent, he’ll find some way to seek civilization.

Isolation. A sudden removal from all others and all subjects familiar. This is what defines loneliness. At times I dream of my own experience of it.

A plane trip gone wrong but I’ve lost my memory of what had happened. A small boat slightly moved by the waters. It’s abandoned and I do not remember my trip to this muddy, wooded lake side. But I take it, push it along, to jump in and to forget where I last left my life. I play these two scenarios over again in my mind when I find myself wrecked by emotions so overwhelmed. I do not imagine the trip to where I find the definition of loneliness. I think in that instance it’ll become a fear of death that’ll force me to survive. A sudden sense of grief as I leave those that do care for me wondering, abandoned. Other than that I never play out what is to be expected.

Somewhere I land on a beach side. I’m too frightened still to venture into the woods behind me, so I have just landed or its been a few months. About the only thing I know how to do is to fish, but to build a fire proves to be more difficult than what it seems. I suppose this is why fire, greatest success our human ancestors made left them too tired to venture into other technical success. Seriously thousands of years past by before the next latest invention.

Of course I’m suffering through the will of nature, finding discomfort. I’m uncomfortable in my surroundings, though I convince myself I could build something in the future. I’m inspired as that is all it takes for me to feel motivated in conquering my surroundings. I must convince myself that I could do something. Somehow take pride in my accomplishments as I learn through several trial and error scenarios to simply build means of conveniences (shelter, tools,  warmth). Still I find my discomfort met with frustration.

At some point, a replay of this sense of longing and wanting remains with me. This is where I end my dream. I was longing for the memories of places built by people. I wanted to witness again people going about their daily life. The news, the disagreements, the bitterness of people unable to properly vent their frustrations accordingly-I day dreamed about it all. A certain smell from home town. It’s the smell of factory farming, so not at all pleasant but nostalgia will have you missing the worst part of something.

The quiet of country living, something I miss that is reality not a dream. As a child and then a teenager I thought that I was alone there. Trapped in four walls I sent myself off to bed as I laid down to provide my own source of entertainment-that being my imagination. I would dream of someone like myself going off on a day dream that I am dreaming of now. A young girl outcaste, so she runs away. Though she finds herself moving back home again for what is familiar, really to seek a familiar face. She learns that she wants someone, a companion. I would lay for hours dreaming of another person’s anxiety about their society. The story dreams would keep me with comfort, but still depressing as I thought this was worse. Trapped in my own mind in the quiet of the country.

What is worse then, to fear loneliness. To fear being apart from all others, or to live so far and remote that you have no one to even share this dream with. That is the worst fear of mine. Perhaps the worst fear of everyone else, as it seems.

I witness middle aged women filling a void in their life by living superficial. Women addicted to materialism all to fill in the gaps of being alone, really. People forming relationships so quickly out of habit and out of fear. Then with the age of the internet and social media we have trolls that turn out to be just as much as a loser as they are bullying while seemingly anonymous. There is a void, a lack of happiness, a sense of loneliness. We fill it the best way we can, as I had done with the story dreams while living quietly. However, still, the worst feeling is to have no one and no sense that others where here with us.

Quirk

Online dating has become a new way to stare at someone from across the bar, the room, the Mall, the way without actually speaking. We may appreciate the beauty but never to stop and say hello… You never know if the person staring back at you screams internally with all signals pointing ‘yes’. ‘Yes please speak to me, introduce yourself and be as awkward as you can be, so we may speak of this again when asked’. 

It’s become a pointless matter of ‘likes’. Perhaps on my end it’s a matter of ‘likes’ without a message. A kind indicator that they are intrigued, interested but never a message. A simple way to let you know that they are curious though not that interested, so I take it upon myself to message first. 

Thoughtful messages worded as questions to women that read but never reply. They are not interested for sure but as well hinting that I’m a terrible flirt. I’m too technical, too serious, too textbook and like a teacher asking you about something you’ve written but cannot explain. So I ask ‘why do you enjoy this subject, book or author?’ She most likely will not reply but if she does it’s along the lines of ‘oh I’ve mentioned something that I’ve forgotten’. Or sometimes ‘oh what are you talking about?’ And so the conversations end before they begin. 
Though there are few others that’ll happily message back until each one die off as if we had never seemed intrigued. I’m puzzled here. I had asked one person a question instead of guessing and assuming common disinterest. So I had asked her ‘Why do you seem less inclined to talk with me?’ 

Her answer summarized as: 

The way you asked the question. Why do you have to try so hard to ask or to say something. Like I can tell that you are intelligent but you don’t need to be that deep. And I come from a long day and the last thing I need to read is a message I have to break down to get what you want. When I do answer it’s not enough for you and sometimes I can’t respond really with what you’re giving me. So I thought to let the conservations die slowly. 

I’ll be honest to say my feelings were hurt. I took to deleting every word or link to who I am as a person. I left my profile blank with only a single picture and my gender and relationship preference listed. I became more sadden that once I had deleted everything about myself and what I wanted the ‘likes’ increased exponentially within 10 minutes. 

My feelings were hurt as this is a common criticism that has followed me from childhood. I’m speaking mere friendship seeking on the playground as I had no one but I couldn’t relate to the other children and they too couldn’t relate to me. As one girl came up to me and said ‘this is why no one likes you’ and throughout years ’til graduation day she never liked me. I’m confused; I didn’t understand what was the matter with me. And over time I realized by the questions I was asked from elementary school to high school that they assumed everything false. 

I’ve never thought highly of myself in terms of intelligence and manner of speaking. I speak and write a certain way but I didn’t know it was so different from the way others speak and write until I was told and asked. I understand you just fine regardless of your vernacular or broken English I understand you; therefore no need on my end to mock you.  I never actually thought anything more or less of you. How do I explain that when I meet a person my mind is free of judgement, entirely blank until you fill in my mind of who you are. I will speak to you as I speak to everyone-with clarity and without assumption. No I’m not trying hard to word my responses or questions as this manner of speaking is clear and concise to me. 

But all others read and hear are riddles. As my mom asked my brother and I ‘why do y’all talk in riddles?’ An air of quiet as I sat to think what did she mean… I lookto my brother to see if he was just as confused. A blank expression upon his face. I don’t know but what I say to you seems direct. What I ask seems like an indication that a conversation is wanted. The simple fact that I’m speaking to you, sharing my experience and the like is a way to produce a response for a conversation to flow naturally. However to you and most people this is an oddity. 

I’m a firm beleiver that I should be able to be myself as I relate to other people. But then I find that people like me best when I at least try to speak and behave as they do. A headache for sure as I have to actually think and try to be vague-in my mind over simplicity. To have short burst of phrases and one worded responses, or else to read a few sentences punctuated is equivalent to a boring chapter read in that one class yesterday.  Then I think it sad to read that a  few sentences is considered a chore by most people. 

Well then if how I express myself is not to your liking then most kindly I’m not for you. I’m coming to accept that I’m not for most people. 

As I go over previous relationships, as bitter memories as they are, they all told me the same. I deserve someone better or someone like myself. Someone more understanding and appreciative that this quirky woman would like to share the world and the night sky with her. So I am sadden, but I’ll wait.

I Wish I Had Not

Thought the world of you when my world was slowly becoming filled. Or to think that you would fulfill all that I have ever wanted, then needed, as a companion. 

I wish I had not pursued you in youthful anticipation of something everlasting. As you know-as you are a part of a question involving society, people, and the distrust of simply uttering the words ‘I love you too’. 

I wish that I could have canceled the meeting of our first date. You were smiling so brightly and intrigued. I for sure thought after all of our previous conversations that you knew something of me-wanted to hold me selfishly to yourself. On that day I thought of you curiously. On this page; these pages I’ve written in my journal actually, I think of how selfish I was to pursue a stranger simply infatuated, fascinated that someone like myself exist. And as I write I think how foolish I am to cry, and to cloud my mind with thoughts of you. As you go over the first date, now, with your girlfriend…with her not I. I sit to contemplate and rewind daily-not of your smiles and overly politiness that brought us together. Instead I think of bitter headeaches; eyes rolled so far back; eyes shifted in glance, away from my own eyes; sighs of frustrations of you telling me that who I am as a person is not what you wanted. And that the love you expressed to me is not what you meant, now. Here I think of the seconds measured in songs, mental raps and rants. I add an explanation to others inquiring about my heavy eyes and heart. I tell them it is you that I think of-and as I think to myself ‘I wish’. As she is a reminder to why my love is denied. So I write, and to think without end about how ‘I wish had not’ spent so much of my effort on you. 

To beg and to plead with you.

To stare into your face of apathy once you wanted no more. 

I see now that I’m triggered by every musical notes, melody to memories of you. 

As I wish I had not pursued you. 

About A Girl

Hair wavy and damp, brushed back away from her face. Her nose is running-decorated in glitter. Now her nose, finger and hair glimmers with colors of blue. “I’m fucked up” she says as her body waves and her thoughts come out aloud disconnected. She drops her phone for the second time beside her foot. She’s searching for something, perhaps a tissue, her lighter, no actually her phone. Again, for the third time she has forgotten something again. She looks down and around; raises her head. A smile lights up across her face-on to find something to drink, preferably water. In the kitchen now to stare at the stove then the fridge. Though she grabs a beer too-a decision to make of which to have first as she quenches both her habit and her thirst. 

Lisa looks into her in blank observation. For a moment she studies the girl before her in her body movements mocking the conflicting options going over in her mind. The move for the night was to make plans for a chill night, a smoke session. But now the dealer is too incompetent as the girl explains. She tells Lisa that he deserves his shitty job at Nachos and Bar. Lisa chuckles slightly to hear the girl’s frustration. In Lisa’s mind now going over what is actually unfortunate. 

An apology to Lisa is begged as the night extends to another hour without progress. “It’s alight, drink something.” Lisa beckons her to come closer. As she does, for a longing hug and a light kiss upon he lips. “It’s okay, do you need to sit?” Lisa pauses as she rubs the girl’s back. “You seem dizz.” 

“Oh no I’m fine, thank you.” The girl smiles again. 

Turning away from the embrace, the girl places her elbows onto the island countertop. Her head rest between her palms. “I’m sorry, just I took too many drugs and then I drank alcohol… and I don’t think that was a great idea now that I’m so fucked. I was looking for a good high and now I’m just.. I feel bad.” She raises her head from her palms to sniff, to wipe her nose again. “Do you mind?” Lisa tells her “no, you’re alright with me.” 

The girl lays her head on Lisa’s shoulder; brushing back her damp hair now. She kisses her on top her head. “You’re alright with me.”

“Thank you”, the girl whispers. She breaks away from the embrace to search her dazzled, glittered pocket purse. A pack of Marblos in hand now as she searches the living room for her lighter. “I need to smoke. Do you want to come outside?” 

“Sure.”

Lisa makes a motion with her feet. Bridget sniffs her shoes, paws at her shoelaces. Only startled for a moment, Lisa shakes her shoe -turns to make her way to the balcony. The girl ahead of her, and now the dog picks up into a pace to follow outdoors. 

The darkness is approaching midnight. 

What source of light allowed is the latter above their heads, a low tone of yellow. A wind chime matching the movement of a warm breeze. The two sit, offering one another a story about their day. As one tells the other, one may have a sense that both here are not altogether right mentally. Something in their respective past has affected them emotionally. And what they do to themselves physically expresses all that is wrong with someone else now a distant, painful memory.

Happy Anniversary 

A relief to find the love of your life in bliss. Shared memories saved as pictures on a popular website. From what one can tell she is polite and happy. A comment or two appears below-she will thank you for the kind thoughts and words. The compliment given was a witness to true love and happiness. From what one can see is a slight embrace from the side, though definitely close and clinging to the other. Each are smiling enjoying their time out doors. They seem to enjoy one another’s company. Perhaps a day out to explore a park or some venue. Then later to have lunch or dinner depending on the time of day. The two are definitely enjoying one another’s company and will  intend to do so again as they had done so before. A way to add to the collection of how blissfulness is suppose to appear. 

Her heart skips a bit as she studies over their faces. Not so much the other woman, but of her love she wishes she could be there to replace. She imagines over again now that this must be happiness. I’ve had it confirmed; she’s experiencing what love means to her. 

Eyes crossed over now as the dampening of her eyes overflows. Her neck tingles, what an odd sensation and a place to feel loneliness. Her mind in constant repetition of her love, and of her happiness. Her face becomes hot and heavy, heart again slows down to a beat easily numbered. Not so bad now, this feeling she has felt numerous times for what has been…for what has been a year almost. Her brow is wrinkled as she stresses in her mind of the head throb pounding away. She tells herself this is pain. Actually, what happens in this moment is that her head  throbs as her mind overreacts to the slightest assumptions most likely true. She sheds a tear to allow for breathing. She begins to twitch to stop the words going over again-that her love is happy.

In the news is a hurricane too close for comfort. Will she come back again for those she care more about? Going over in the mind to accidentally find oneself in a time and place matched according to her love’s day-to-day activity or rush. In the news was a mass shooting affecting the lives of hundreds. Their lives taken by surprise now missed and altered forever. She thinks to herself-if it were her love…

A natural thought not one forced. She reflects again why this one and only this one love has made such a lasting impression on her mind. A regrettable mistake her love was, yet she cannot help to wonder if her love thinks of her too. If so it is a thought of a regrettable mistake best avoided if she remains true to her newfound happiness. Most likely this assumption is truth in a way. As for certain her love is flawed in being honest about emotional giving. One can’t help to think that she is so important in this universe that her love would want her again. 

A single picture can tell others about the event that has taken place. We can assume happiness as we are always smiling, just as we may assume neglect and remorse to those old photos tan and faded. In your own pictures, of your love and yourself, you think of what appeared to be…happiness. And when asked and complimented your love confirmed it was happiness. 

To whatever that had transpired to question that confirmation is now irrelevant. A time to move forward she tells herself, but to whom in paticular? You’re definitely an attraction, something wanted and desired though not for a long time. You’ve remained at settlement, a compromise then as you long for human touch, though from others that simply want a good time. In the moment you think this is for now, as you pursue what is for the future and ever lasting. You open your mind for love as your love asked you to do instead. You’ll find another. She said, I already did, but you didn’t want me. 

Free Time

I’ve thought of a few short stories to write over the course of days. The subjects are varied, though all relating to some abstact thought. The summary of them all is that my mind is longing for an ever presence that will transcend time. At this moment I think of how to adequately express what I am writing first in my journal. What I am to present here for mild interest. What I wish to make known to the world in writing will not be justified here. Instead what I wish to relate requires hours of patience and understanding.  

Ditto on love said that we seek immortality. Meaning once we have come to understand that childhood last briefly, we see the time to do something last a short life. The world is full of wonder and inspiration yet so little time to experience it all. And so we find ways to matter to someone, to a whole of society. I think that is what I seek too… to make my presence known and to make an impact of some kind. 


As of now I’m looking over my left shoulder. A spontaneous decision some days ago for a tattoo. It’s a moon, closer to the reality we may view at night. Underneath are Greek letters saying “you’re missing without me”. What it means is something I wish to witness myself. Time to move forward, to change. As I-as a person without a physical sense-to witness something remarkable while timeless. I wish to witness the impossible with no one else to tell. Perhaps a summation of what I’m thinking, what all I wish to write is a sense of longing.