January 9, 2008
Im nervous. Visibly anxious. My stomach is rolling. My mind is racing. I’d imagined it differently as a teenager. I’d demonstrate excellent composure and issue smiles to those seated patiently. I’d shake hands with distant family members and modestly receive their best wishes. For years I’ve welcomed fantasies of how this one day will change the present and favorably the years to come. My heart is willing, but oddly my confidence is absent. Completely absent.
As I button my suit and straighten my tie, the sounds of reality fade in. Church bells chime while the organ screams into harmony and my heart skips a few beats. Im nervous. Visibly anxious. My stomach is rolling. My mind is racing. I walk the aisle between the beautifully draped chapel pews checking, editing and rechecking my metal notes. The most important; Smile like you mean it. I take my stand and look out over the 153 in attendance. Im thankful they’ve decided to share this day with me. With Us. They stand up, she walks down.
Im nervous. Visibly anxious. My stomach is rolling. My mind is racing. Here she comes. Astonishing! I drown in her beauty. Loved ones reach out with their hearts and look on proudly. Kids look up in awe as she floats down the aisle. Her long white gown flowing behind her. She looks nowhere but ahead. Nowhere but directly at me. And only at me.
Im nervous. Visibly anxious. My stomach is rolling. My mind is racing. I gaze at her beautiful brown eyes as the distance between her in the aisle and I at the alter grows shorter. Time is suspended and all is quiet but the sound of my heart drumming at my chest. I think of the 4 years we’ve shared together. The happy, the sad, the funny and the difficult times. I don’t bother to wipe the tears from my eyes instead I pier deep into hers and whisper between weeping breaths, “Im madly in love with you and I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world”.
January 9, 2008
Those who dream at night often forget what they dream, and so with that I encourage you to slumber-awake. A series of pleasant thoughts that distract one’s attention from the present is daydreaming. I myself spend a great deal of time wondering the Hills and Lands of Nod. Searching for lost treasures hidden beneath the deep waters of my mind. Laughing as the waves drift my thoughts, further and further away from my existence. I leave this world behind and DayDream to far away pastures. There, the world is my canvas and to every man his own. There, I paint the sky with clouds of my confusion and bath in the rain of my tears. Like a feather I move with the winds and challenge the skies.
The mind of an artist never sleeps. Its constantly evolving. Constantly inspired. Always mobile, Traveling; seeking new expressions, exploring new thoughts and finding new voices to amplify their souls. He who speaks against the dreamer is foolish and cowardly seeks comfort in a inanimate mind. The ability to live between both worlds is a gift. Embrace it.
Thanks Shadelle. Sleep is beautiful.
January 7, 2008
How long must I wait for you? Days turn into weeks and weeks into months. Months seem like years and years, like an eternity. The clock over my fireplace has stopped ticking, perhaps time waits for you as I have. Our bedroom has become my cell. There is a tree outside our window. Its shadow dances to the sounds of my weeping through the blinds forming bar-like shapes on the walls over our bed. I could hear it’s branches tapping the glass, the wind whispering your name through the leaves. Through my nightmares I answer, “My love? Is that you? Have you returned?”.
January 7, 2008
She smells like coffee. I can still smell it hours after her morning cup. That smell of French-Vanilla tickles my nose and triggers my childhood memories; the screaming kettle, the rusty ironing board yawning loudly open at 6am. It all comes back to me. Even from a time before me and her. Its difficult to ignore her smile through the glass. She’s the perfect illustration. My perfect description of a good morning. She is my coffee. My caffeine that wakes me. My something to look forward to every night.
I watch as she takes the risk and burns her lips to sip from which she’s holding. Her lusted love, her trusted mug or cup, her drug indulgence. She must be strung, she stops for one, just sucks till’ some is none. Its hot, it numbs her tongue and gums, she not the one I loved.
