Love
it's not always easy, not always attractive, not always full of smiles and laughter.
Love
sometimes means raised voices and misunderstandings and tears,
long nights and puffy eyes and sympathizing chocolate chip cookies.
Love
it breaks our hearts as much as it makes us whole, and challenges our inmost character,
carries with it dark clouds and days of rain as much as beams of sunshine.
But love
takes us back to what we know, what we value, what we treasure; shows us what it is we cannot live without; teaches us how to be a better person if only to receive a smile from our other half.
You are my love.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
turn
In a brief respite of reminiscing on an old friend’s engagement, I couldn’t help but be overcome with a dark cloud of nostalgia. What so often reflects a desire, a longing, for the emotional and physical existence of “home”, I was instead torn and missing certain aspects and faces of South Carolina. And the desire isn’t even to return in so many ways, as it is to just be in that long-lost state of mind with those people...if only for a day. To describe the feeling is almost impossible because certain notes of that chapter can never – and would never – be replayed. However, is it too much to ask for a southern summer day out by the pool with a group of good friends, a cooler full of cold beer, and some classic country music twanging in the background? Or to be overridden with a wave of scholastic pride at a college sporting event? Or even just to go out to a 24-hr diner at all hours of the night and simply contemplate the world over a hot cup of coffee and some cheese grits.
There is no contest that certain memories of college compete for the best times of my life – but only in the containment of that chapter. On a new page, in a new place of body and mind, I’ve found the true best party of my life. Dotted with beautiful intricacies and thought-provoking complimentary perfection. In this new chapter lies a new life with its own nostalgic memories to be made, cherished and wished for. In this chapter is true love, true happiness, true joy of no competition.
Memories of a time gone by are still held so dear, and the faces and voices of true friends remain priceless and irreplaceable… But I always will be yours.
There is no contest that certain memories of college compete for the best times of my life – but only in the containment of that chapter. On a new page, in a new place of body and mind, I’ve found the true best party of my life. Dotted with beautiful intricacies and thought-provoking complimentary perfection. In this new chapter lies a new life with its own nostalgic memories to be made, cherished and wished for. In this chapter is true love, true happiness, true joy of no competition.
Memories of a time gone by are still held so dear, and the faces and voices of true friends remain priceless and irreplaceable… But I always will be yours.
feather
floating, tumbling, sailing
surrendering to the weightless purity
that hails in your arms.
wondering, pondering, praying
that this heavenly completion never
ceases to amaze.
a simple touch
the whisper of a kiss
the lingering serenity of your embrace
sighing, retreating, succumbing
reposing in this most glorious dream
never-ending with you
surrendering to the weightless purity
that hails in your arms.
wondering, pondering, praying
that this heavenly completion never
ceases to amaze.
a simple touch
the whisper of a kiss
the lingering serenity of your embrace
sighing, retreating, succumbing
reposing in this most glorious dream
never-ending with you
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
nine...
How is it that so much time passes in the fleeting, transcendent blink of an eye...? So many memories linger; so many dreams blossom. How can something so unexpected suddenly upon second glance become the breath I breathe, the life in my veins.
What initially sustained no invested emotion was beautifully transformed into an ominous telescopic glimmer into the future. In a time of retired expectations, abandoned confidence, and wavering faith, how quickly the brilliant beams of hope dispel the fog.
In that cascade of exquisite vulnerability, you took my hand, you kissed my lips, you held me close. And in that moment...that bliss... I became yours forever.
What initially sustained no invested emotion was beautifully transformed into an ominous telescopic glimmer into the future. In a time of retired expectations, abandoned confidence, and wavering faith, how quickly the brilliant beams of hope dispel the fog.
In that cascade of exquisite vulnerability, you took my hand, you kissed my lips, you held me close. And in that moment...that bliss... I became yours forever.
Monday, April 5, 2010
play ball
Yesterday, and for clarification, indeed the entire 12 hour period from 1pm-1am, I was presented - blessed, even - with the opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe even two lifetimes: experiencing not only the pandemonium that encompasses opening day at Fenway Park for the Red Sox, indefinitely the greatest baseball team in the history of the American Tradition, as well as the kickoff of the entire Major League Baseball 2010 season, but also the blood-chilling, fist-pumping, lung-bursting phenomena that is the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry.
If it weren't enough that the streets were quite literally a sea of swarming, cheering, gnashing fans, pulsing and cresting on waves of placid pavement, the gently flowing breeze bursting with the harmonious, illustrious scents that define baseball atmosphere, the tangible conglomeration of emotions resonating from excitement and giddy glee to pure, unadulterated hatred perforated every inch of the Boston Harbour.
In a priceless pause, you can't help but to breathe in deeply, inhale the insatiable ribbons and currents of baseball mania, savoring the sweet euphoria like a fine wine. Smells, cascading around you, somehow incapsulate each individual delectable indulgence, tempting and teasing the senses, tickling the salivating palate. Hot dogs, sausages, peanuts and fried dough, stale beer, hot pretzels, and clam chowder...The torture of choosing...
And then...the National Anthem. A stadium of 30,000+ somehow hushes to a low drone dripping with honor and respect as the sacred verses traverse the grand stands, linger over the green outfield, and twinkle in the spotlights. A deep sigh of pride can be felt wafting over the crowd, and for that moment, for that brief intoxicating calm, the American is all that matters. There are no Yankees, there are no Red Sox... only American Baseball fans.
Fireworks explode, the crowd erupts in an earthquake of hoots and whistles, the spell is broken.... and the game begins.
Play ball!
If it weren't enough that the streets were quite literally a sea of swarming, cheering, gnashing fans, pulsing and cresting on waves of placid pavement, the gently flowing breeze bursting with the harmonious, illustrious scents that define baseball atmosphere, the tangible conglomeration of emotions resonating from excitement and giddy glee to pure, unadulterated hatred perforated every inch of the Boston Harbour.
In a priceless pause, you can't help but to breathe in deeply, inhale the insatiable ribbons and currents of baseball mania, savoring the sweet euphoria like a fine wine. Smells, cascading around you, somehow incapsulate each individual delectable indulgence, tempting and teasing the senses, tickling the salivating palate. Hot dogs, sausages, peanuts and fried dough, stale beer, hot pretzels, and clam chowder...The torture of choosing...
And then...the National Anthem. A stadium of 30,000+ somehow hushes to a low drone dripping with honor and respect as the sacred verses traverse the grand stands, linger over the green outfield, and twinkle in the spotlights. A deep sigh of pride can be felt wafting over the crowd, and for that moment, for that brief intoxicating calm, the American is all that matters. There are no Yankees, there are no Red Sox... only American Baseball fans.
Fireworks explode, the crowd erupts in an earthquake of hoots and whistles, the spell is broken.... and the game begins.
Play ball!
Friday, April 2, 2010
peep
In an exasperated effort to get home after a long day at a new job, with the tines of what promised to be a sparring headache pinching the inside of my eye sockets, I sped up the street. My foot pressed ever so heavily on the gas peal, the early evening radio host blaring through the speakers, and the window just partially down allowing the slightest breeze in to tickle the obstinate tendrils escaping my ponytail.
In a sudden, fleeting moment, the world, the noises, the whir of my car's engine and the jabbering radio all converged to a happenstance moment of unabashed silence. And as the wheels inaudibly carried me around the bend, the melancholy, ever-so-significant chorus of tree frogs erupted in the creeping din of dusk.
Suddenly, I was transported. Back in time, reversed in age, shrunken to the state of mind of a naive, impressionable six year old child at the unsung age of innocence. I was snuggled up in a giant, empty bed, foreign sheets bundled up all around me, the monotonous drone of a box fan in the window just barely audible. And in the unforeseen background, the symphony of peeping tree frogs and chirping crickets on the crescendo of a breeze. I could hear my grandfather's deep snore from down the hall, and the always-wagging tail of the faithful Golden Retriever now lay still in slumber just outside my door.
In a sudden, fleeting moment, the world, the noises, the whir of my car's engine and the jabbering radio all converged to a happenstance moment of unabashed silence. And as the wheels inaudibly carried me around the bend, the melancholy, ever-so-significant chorus of tree frogs erupted in the creeping din of dusk.
Suddenly, I was transported. Back in time, reversed in age, shrunken to the state of mind of a naive, impressionable six year old child at the unsung age of innocence. I was snuggled up in a giant, empty bed, foreign sheets bundled up all around me, the monotonous drone of a box fan in the window just barely audible. And in the unforeseen background, the symphony of peeping tree frogs and chirping crickets on the crescendo of a breeze. I could hear my grandfather's deep snore from down the hall, and the always-wagging tail of the faithful Golden Retriever now lay still in slumber just outside my door.
bliss...
July's whispers were new, unfamiliar, clutching a flicker of anticipation's spark. Friday's promise, an unfortold secret, hung in the sultry summer air, invisible currents drawing two unbidden hearts together.
The vestiges of a summer season succumbed to the vulnerable touch of Autumn's caress, as a vibrant explosion of new love carried with it the blossoming tendrils of hope and awe.
A celebration of masks, costumed in a haunted curtain revealed with it in the kindest romantic embrace a desire - a vow - of eternity.
Waltzing snowflakes and dancing sugar plums preluded sparkling dreams, warm traditions, and blue vision. A glimpse into years' future mirrors the reflections that endure to ripple through forever's gates.
When the flutters of infinite love first spread those July wings...
The vestiges of a summer season succumbed to the vulnerable touch of Autumn's caress, as a vibrant explosion of new love carried with it the blossoming tendrils of hope and awe.
A celebration of masks, costumed in a haunted curtain revealed with it in the kindest romantic embrace a desire - a vow - of eternity.
Waltzing snowflakes and dancing sugar plums preluded sparkling dreams, warm traditions, and blue vision. A glimpse into years' future mirrors the reflections that endure to ripple through forever's gates.
When the flutters of infinite love first spread those July wings...
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