Note to Self (100) Picture crush
I’m not sure whether my separation and divorce made my heart thicker or more sensitive to sudden infatuations; moments of the day where I lose my mind over a guy I saw two minutes earlier on my way to work and I’ll never spot again. Our eyes met for a split second and my dreams awoke like a storm. I imagined him smiling at me, grabbing the side of my face and giving me a wonderful passionate kiss.
It happens to me all the time. I watch a movie and I obsess over a character, fall in love with his sensitivity and his lack of touch with reality because I know nothing of what I picture about him is real. My creative mind unfolds in twisted ways pushing me to project all the love I miss onto everything I observe. I don’t try to understand human nature anymore, and instead I search what I desire in every soul that crosses my path. It’s a dangerous game and I’m fully aware of its consequences. My heart has become mush; I long to hold a body against mine and share my darkest thoughts with a kindred spirit who’ll love me for the crazy person that I am.
My picture crushes invade my every day routine and I keep them displayed on my computer screen so I can look at them and feel whole again. They’re the fuel to my insanity and the cure to my loneliness. I stare at them like I used to when I was thirteen. The romantic in me never died and I think it actually became stronger. I never gave up on love, despite the disappointments and the lies, and I don’t fear to be in love again. I feel it’s the right thing for me, because a new love will give me heartache after all, and will help me stay the tortured soul I was born to be.
I can’t settle for simple. I can’t compromise for plain. I need another picture crush every minute I breathe, until the picture becomes real and gives me the love I so desperately crave.
I can read your eyes and see the pain you hide. From the first glance I knew I loved you…. You’ll remain a stranger in two dimensions, far away from my reach, and you’ll soon disappear to be replaced with another face. Thank you for coming into my life and simply making me feel human again.
Note to Self (99) A friendship has died and we did nothing to save it
Promises never kept. Meaningless words. Dull moments shared together. Waste of time. Yet, I thought we were friends.
Like a good game of pool, our lives connected for a split second. You reached one pocket and I reached another one. The balls hit each other – a spark appeared and disappeared. Nothing to remember from our relationship. If it wasn’t for the trust I had in you, I’d have already moved on.
I watched you from afar. I never believed you could be such a thief. I didn’t see your true colors until recently. Your behavior hurt me and I tried to stop feeling like this. There’s really no need to dwell on the past. What happened between us is long gone. Memories fell down the drain and got flushed with the other bullshit I caught on the way. I try to be honest here. You ignored me. Maybe a talk would have been beneficial for both our sakes, but why do you care? You’re such a hypocritical bastard, you disgust me.
I expressed myself through words because I didn’t want to face you. I had enough of your fake excuses. I had enough of your made up reasons. You never loved me the way I did. I’m heartbroken and I need to mourn our friendship. I don’t give people third chances anymore. I’ve been burned too many times – you pay the price for everybody else’s mistakes. You knew it though, so you’ve been warned. You decided nonetheless to play by your selfish rules.
I wish you good luck. I won’t be there next time you ask for advice or for help. I don’t think you’ll even ask anything of me. You never wanted to be my true friend. You just used me and when you were done, you tossed me away. Fair enough. Have fun living the lie you built and pretend nothing ever went wrong. I’m done talking about you.
Note to Self (98) I want my voice to be heard
I want to never stop talking through my posts and my stories. I want my stream to never stop flowing through my thoughts and my craziest dreams. I want to live until I die of exhaustion on top of my keyboard, my last breath taken from me in an unfinished attempt to tell one more tale. I want to love and never cry, only to feel more passion take over my soul and make me shiver of pleasure. I want to simply be who I was born to be, a poet, a writer, a lover of words, a dreamer, a utopian, a lunatic, a fool running after dull fantasies… I want to feel an adrenaline rush every time I see ink hit my page. I want to lose control and drive fast down the track. I want to catch the authorship light with my bare hands. I want to tumble and fall in a puddle of hugs, and maybe the puddle will someday become an ocean. I want to taste the beauty of this world, touch it and smell it, grab it until we become one. I want to fly through space and time.
I want to write. I want to create. I just want to be free…
Note to Self (97) Your Soul
It felt like a scream in the middle of the night. You gave me your all, without hesitation and without fear. You held my hands and you showed me your light. I looked inside your heart and I saw it: your soul. Beautiful and strong, it guided me to your world. Colors melted, running like a river of love, and I drifted with you.
You spoke the same language and I found myself when I found you. I sang along the melody of my dreams, loud and proud, searching for your embrace and moving toward you. My sins were only mistakes I needed to make in order to reach you, even if I had to go through struggle and pain, tears and prayers, always more prayers, while I fell asleep in an empty bed of hope and despair every night. You didn’t forsake me. You gave me the power to fight and survive, and I owe you my recovery.
You showed me your soul and now is time to show you mine. I hope you’ll like what you’ll see… My muse, my alter ego, my perfect friend and worst enemy… I dedicate every word to you.
Note to Self (96) Halloween
I don’t think an adventure like this could have happened without a few bumps on the road. We were ready to organize the party of the century. We ended up renting a bus that looked like it came from the gates of an old 80s movie. People canceled, other got stuck home because of the weather. Whatever. We sat on the benches and poured the first drink. The night had just begun and we were ready to make the best of it. Despite the rain and the snow, the puddles of slush and New York City as our ghost town, we wanted it. Bad.
It doesn’t take much effort to enjoy the company of friends whom I share the good and the worst with. They’re more my family now anyway. We yell at each other and we get upset, but we always give love and support whenever somebody really needs it. I changed my life because of these people. I turned on the bright lights and I climbed up the hill thanks to them. Sometimes, we didn’t talk for a while. They let me sit in my own sorrow and waited for me to recover. They offered me a shoulder to cry on, a couch to sleep on, and many times just a big hug, telling me that everything would ultimately be alright.
I know we’ll stay together forever. These friends aren’t temporary. The love grows as years pass and we still crave more time together. Last night was a success because we all focused on having fun. We danced and joked around; we did silly things and I took many pictures. When I browse through them, I see the light of our friendship in each of them, and I smile.
These people are my people. Through thick and thin. Simply love you guys.
Happy Halloween 2011!
Note to Self (95) Limitless
Whatever you want to achieve, you can do it. Use the power of your mind and possibilities will be endless. Be your best adviser. Never doubt your own judgment.
You want to conquer the world. What other people believe doesn’t matter. You can do what you want. You seek to reach the highest level and yes, I promise you, you’ll get there. No need to trust strangers. Have faith and take the leap. You won’t regret it.
How do I know all these things? I’ve never been smarter than anyone. I observed and learned from my mistakes. I built wisdom. It doesn’t matter how many times you fail. Once you get the expected result, you’ve conquered the world.
I live to find my inner truth. I am who I was meant to be. A leader. A winner. A star. Whichever galaxy will recognize my powers, I don’t crave recognition. I only want one thing: be proud of who I am.
Never look back. Never compromise for less. Just keep running. You’ll end the race someday and you’ll know everything happened for a reason. Your life belongs to you. Make the best of it. Make your dreams come true and never stop thinking.
Stay true to yourself and you won’t be disappointed.
Note to Self (94) Hangover
Flashes of light danced before my eyes. I let the crowd take me over and I drowned.
I woke up this morning and found a taxi receipt on the living room table. I poked my eyes thinking my contacts were still on because I somehow could see clear. I had slept barely five hours. My make up had drooled over my eyes. A disoriented raccoon, that’s what I had become.
An insane drunk little girl decided to let loose last night. And let loose she did.
My creativity has been damaged by the overdose of Jameson on the rocks. I feel drained. My thoughts mean nothing anymore. My head lives in a fog. My stomach wants to touch no food and I look at my cats, sleeping… They incite me to do the same.
Dreams. So many dreams. Glasses. Full then empty. Spilled liquor on the bar. Hands. Faces. Bodies. Strangers. Everywhere. A dark street. Opening doors. The bathroom. Toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Another drink. Eyes meet. I stare. I laugh. I forget. Everything.
I pay the price for transgressing the rules of sobriety. I never follow any rules. I sought to absorb life. Enjoy it. Discover a world full of fun. And danger.
I slapped the little girl on the cheek and I scolded her. Why did you drink so much? You lost control. You should always be in control.
She didn’t listen. She won’t ever listen. She does whatever she likes to do, because she’s free. Yes, she’ll nod to my reprimands and laugh at me behind my back. I know her so well. The little girl loves to be in charge. The little girl loves to make me forget. The little girl loves to run and hide in her favorite secret place.
She’ll come back. And punish me again with a hangover.
Note to Self (93) Kissing you
I had a dream. I saw your face and I closed my eyes, imagining the most beautiful picture of us together. We held hands and we laughed, our minds in perfect harmony with the surrounding world. It felt perfect. Nothing could break us.
Solid like the diamond you slipped on my finger the day you asked me to marry you, I loved you. I defined myself around you. We were one, remember? One, forever.
Yet the glass fell to the ground and I let you go. I wandered trying to find you, but I landed in the middle of nowhere. Alone. I glanced at my ring and realized it didn’t mean anything to me anymore. So I took it off.
I liked kissing you. Touching your face. Forgetting myself in your arms because I felt safe. I believed in us. I believed in you.
And now the world floats above me while I’m lying down, watching the sky and counting stars. My fingers trace shapes in the darkness and I shiver. I used to be held at night. I used to feel warm. I search for you but find only more emptiness. There’s no reason to cry anymore. I’m gone. So are you.
My lips brush yours in a distant memory and I recall your smile, happy, proud, your words whispering your unconditional love in my ear… I lived for you. You were my everything. Now what?
Now is time for me to start again. I close my eyes and imagine a new face who has no name yet, but the kiss, oh what a kiss, takes me far away, much further than you ever took me, and I dream for hours, lost in an embrace that won’t ever let me go.
There’s hope for a new love.
Guest Post (9) Peter Hobbs
Hello everyone! After reading my post Heels, Peter sent me a tweet. “This was hot” he said. I immediately challenged him to write something in a similar genre, the way I had challenged my good friend Simon Poore and he came up with The Girl Call Christmas, which he later supplemented with the Return of the Girl Called Christmas due to popular demand. This is just the beginning of a frenzy I wish to initiate… 😉
And now without further ado, Peter’s post written in tribute to Heels.
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He lays in the total darkness of the room with only a thin ribbon of light glows hauntingly through the bottom of the door. Had it really been six months? Six months since this sordid affair had started. Moving slightly on the bed, feeling the cool air from the ceiling fan gently caresses his nakedness and he remembers. Closing his eyes to visualize, how they consummated their flirting that cold October night, how exciting it had been, the raw release of pent up sexual aggression and passion on both their parts.
Her sleek frame carried so easily and gracefully by the heels, oh the heels, how exciting it was to see her in them, turning and parading from one side of the room to the other, with each turn shedding another piece of clothing until just the heels were left to adorn her body. As if imbibed with the most potent aphrodisiac in the world he took her that night, wild and uninhibited as her legs wrapped around his waist, the tip of the heels touching the back of his thighs, urging him on like a thoroughbred race horse.
Unfaithful, perhaps that is how some would see it, but to be unfaithful you have to do something to be unfaithful to, something that is solid and unwavering, something that would be faithful in return. Sadly, that was not his lot in life, the flame of his passion long ago extinguished by the irrational and inexplicable behavior of his other.
Now, all these months later the familiar anticipation builds and the knowledge of what will soon happen causes his heart to race. He loves this time, the moments before her arrival, all of his sense on high alert then he hears the heels, closing his eyes again he can see her feet gracefully gliding along the hall of the hotel, the heels making gently taps on the floor with each step, then opening his eyes in a start as a key turns in the lock, the shape of a heel evident in the ribbon of light just before the door swings open.
She quickly closes the door behind her, the darkness returns as he can smell her now, his nostrils flare with the scent of her and he struggles against the bonds wanting to be free, to touch her, to hold her. A soft touch on his ear as she leans and whispers to him, how she wants to play, to teach him, to show him how much she has missed him these past weeks.
And then they are one, he feels her sliding over him, her hands resting on his bare chest as she gyrates and takes from him what he so willingly gives, the night a long series of movements, positions, laughter and touching until they both succumb to the sleep that their physical activities has wrought upon them.
A click of the door, he opens his eyes with a start as he sees her slipping out, like she always does, ahead of him and back to her life. The last sight he catches of her is the patent leather heels before the door closes quietly behind her. “Until next month, my love” he whispers to the sound of her walking down the hall.
The Manicheans 