alone

i am practicing aloneness.  i don't even know what that means other than i am not going out.  with anyone.  except for a few family members, pup + kitten.  i don't like it at all.  it gets lonely.  but so easily remedied with saying "yes" to this or to that.  i have put this off way to long + i don't think it will get any easier.

there is always so much noise, you know.  things + people wanting your attention.  you wanting their attention.  or maybe you want his attention.  to feel special or valued.  attachments.  to actually be alone for an extended time feels desperate.  so desperate.  to spend time with yourself.  time just quiet + not flooding the mind with music or visuals or people.  

please let this get easier.  please let me not need to be in the company of another.  please let me enjoy my own company, doing regular things.  being normal.  staying in it.  not chasing, ever ever ever.  so mortifyingly hard. 

men + women can be friends

(i wrote this back in february, but forgot to post until tonight)

what remedy is there for sorrow?  what cures a heart that breaks?  laughter.  i swear it is the craziest thing.  the phone buzzes + he says something so witty + clever,  you burst out laughing in the midst of crying ... well, that is something special.  + you lay in bed thinking about it,  relive the memory + you catch yourself smiling again.  now wait, that really is something.  because as i type this, i am still smiling.

i have had the pleasure of the company of so many wonderful individuals.  but only a handful keep my attention.  this past weekend was one of the most fun, ever.  it consisted of being around a small group of men.  did you hear that?  i didn't say boys, but men.  the kind who make your pulse quicken just a bit  + wish you only wore expensive lacy black underpinnings because well, it just feels more like a woman, more sexy.  okay, yes, they treat you to fancy restaurants + pull out your chairs + make sure you always have an escort to this + to that ... oh, + the compliments, the lavishing on of compliments from such eloquent lips makes my knees weak.  but that's not entirely what i am talking about.  these men have stories.  the kind of stories that make the surrounding tables take pause + lean over to eavesdrop a tad too long.  the kind of stories causing passers-by to stop + join in for a drink or two.  the kind of stories that stretch a fine dinner out until a realization the staff is just hanging around listening, enjoying the boisterousness as much as our little party.

these men make me feel so spoiled.  how did i ever get so lucky as to be the only woman allowed?  sure, the drinks kept coming + that wonderful sound of uncontrollable laughter.  then you find yourself back at the peninsula suite.  they give you the king bed + tuck you in because keeping up with them became impossible once 3am arrived.  my favorite part ... lounging around the next morning in plush, white bathrobes drinking coffee + mimosas.  catching up, catching up on life, on family.

shiny things

some say the shiny things are the prettiest.  like the sparkle of a diamond or the gloss on fresh lips.  not me.  i like the smoothened edges of a worn wooden table.  the softness of sheets that have endured hundreds of restful slumbers as well as torrid, restless nights.

my heart betrays my mind again.  i told myself, it's okay.  it won't hurt this time.  but i lie awake, strained.  strangled by the very thoughts that once brought such peace.  there's something about pain.  it finds a way to be felt.  you try to cover it up with laughter + smiles + conversations with the most interesting people or the most interesting topics.  but you are caught off guard by quiet creeping sobs interrupting the laughter.  it startles you.  you give in to it.  you give in to the tears.  you give in to your pain.  pain demands to be felt.  it can kill you, i think.  the pain of an aching heart can kill you.  or at least you hope it will, because anything is better than the kind of grief that refuses comfort.  i once heard it compared to the ripping of flesh.

some say the shiny things are the best.  like the delight + butterflies of that new person.  or the first kiss, first time he touches your skin, feels your skin.  not me.  i prefer the stubble of a relaxed face.  the one that looks back at you with wrinkles + lines.  the one that has seen you utterly naked + bare + uncovered.  the one that still finds you devastatingly beautiful, even while you lie there with nothing to give, once you've lost your shine.