Picture Imperfect...

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Every time I see you, you are little miss picture perfect.

Nice hair, nice smile - smell good & feel good threaded eye-brows & polished nails.

White Guess Purse, Tight Guess Jeans, Gucci shoes hair in a perfect little pony-tail.

I mean nothing is out of place, not even the way your lips taste when we kiss;

Somehow I think it’s too good to be true, and I'm not one to wallow in ignorant bliss

In order for me to truly love you, I need to truly know you.

You want to know what love is, so step a little closer, let me show you

I want to know you like Adam knew Eve. So let’s get naked

There's no trick up my sleeve, I just want to see you see you tainted.

And not this picture that you've painted, somehow I think it's too good to be you.

So just for a day, I want to have my way. Maybe then I'll have a clue

I want to see you how you see you when you wake up with no make up.

I want to feel you how you feel you when you're soaking wet in your own sweat.

I want to touch you how you touch you're feeling crappy instead of happy.

I want to know you how you know you, when you forfeit the lies and the disguise.

When you stand before the mirror, and look past your exterior,

And see yourself as inferior to what society thinks of you.

I want to look at your interior and see you as superior to what you think of you.

So get out of those tight guess jeans, out of those Victoria’s secrets

I want to be honest with me today, so let out all your glorious secrets.

Let me see the real you. What you look like on Sunday night.

When there's no party to go to, no shopping to do, no friends to hang out with - just you,

your cat, a bag of potato chips, and a remote and an episode of desperate housewives,

sitting on an old couch, wearing baggy sweatpants, a tank-top and coke-bottle glasses.

And when I lean over to embrace you I hope you’ll realise

that I’m not in it for how you look but for who you are.

See, I love you from the crown of your head to the sole of your feet.

In fact I will love you my dear until lemons taste sweet.

I will kiss you here there & everywhere -

From your toes, to your calves, your hips, your thighs

From your waist to your neck, your lips your eyes.

And believe me; if I could, I would kiss you where your mind lies

Because just one look at you, had me thinking of your ring size.

I want to hold you so tight that you forget what its like to be free.

I want you to lose yourself in love, and always find yourself in me

I want you to feel as free and unbound as an un-tethered cloud,

To always have a smile on your face and no room for a frown.

I want you know that I love you enough to die for you,

And I you will see that in the way I live for you.

abstract by Tedd V.

Beautiful (excerpt)

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"Tell me again, how beautiful I am" she whispered in my ear. She'd say this whenever she was feeling down, and I'd always been eloquent enough to lift her spirits higher that the wind lifts the eagle. It always amazed me how such a wonderful young lady, full of cheer and good spirit, humour and joy could ever have a moment in her life when she felt unworthy of anything. Maybe I didn't really understand the depths of the hardships she had come face to face with, or how her struggles were harder than a slave’s palm. Maybe I looked at the way she smiled and failed to comprehend how, from those bright brown eyes that were so captivating, cold tears could flow like the like endless salt-water streams of melted snow. It's hard to imagine that under that beautiful even toned skin, she had emotional scars and bruises that band-aids couldn't hold together.

As these thoughts raced through my mind, I felt her gently nudging me with her elbow. "Tell me again, how beautiful I am." This time she came closer, and snuggled up against me, laying her head on my chest and putting her arm around me, as though to assure herself that I wasn't going to leave her. Her voice sounded like that of a mother singing a lullaby to a dying child. I could hear how she so desperately wanted to sound strong, but the trembling in her heart she couldn’t contain. Fear is an ugly thing, even in beautiful people. So I took advantage of her proximity, and gave her a gentle squeeze. Just to let her know that I’m here, and I have nowhere to go. Even if I did, she’d be my designated driver because I am stoned-drunk with the wine of her love.

I finally understood why an answer to this question was of such importance to her. Imagine, all your life having nothing beautiful to call your own, nothing good to look forward to. Imagine how it feels to know that goodness exists only through seeing someone else's smile. Everything she ever owned, everything she ever attached her name to, had been stolen from her. Her clothes, parents, home, friends, joy and her innocence, all that was stripped away from her. All she had left was her health and her beauty – and she felt like that too was lost. Fighting was all she knew how to do. With a past like hers, she just had to be strong. It’s saddened me when I saw her strength become her weakness.

Due to all the stress she had to deal with, her immune system had become too strong and started attacking her own body. She’d been fighting lupus and though she was winning by physical standards, it was heavily taxing her psychologically. Though she had it under control, she still felt like she wasn’t pretty enough on the outside. Like her her struggle was written on her face. Like all those silent screams were finally given volume. As if the deep hidden, emotional scars were starting to penetrate to the surface of her skin.

Sometimes I Hurt

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I woke up to a loud bang that morning. I'd heard gunfire so many times before but something was different about that shot. Something left my spirit unsettled and I just couldn't go back to sleep. Normally there would be multiple gunshots, one after the other as rivals exchange fire trying to knock each other down, but this time it was just one shot. It sounded as though it was premeditated, calculated, decided and fatal. That's what made me restless. Joey was out that from the night before; it was 4 am and he hadn't come home. Being troublesome as he was, I couldn't help but fear that he was on the receiving end of that gunfire. I got up, put my clothes and shoes on then went outside to see what was happening. Since dad walked out on us, mom had been working 3 jobs to put food on the table and put us through school. Joey being the big brother felt that he should be able to help, so he started selling weed to make a little money to help with the expenses in the house. Mom didn't know about it, she thought he was working odd-jobs after school. For some reason I suspected that Joey had crossed the line and started selling crack, and that would have been the wrong move. Especially because the crack dealers had established territories and guarded them fiercely. I told my sisters to stay put and left them in their room as I went out to investigate.

As I walked through this valley of the shadow of death, I stumbled upon some stumbling blocks that were designed to keep young inner-city kids like me down. I stumbled upon weed, upon alcohol and upon some crack rock and I saw how an unguided child would do anything to belong to the flock. They say its hard out hear for a pimp, but who's going to tell my story, who's going to say its hard out here for me. I wish I could live in an area where yellow school buses abound, running the streets, picking up little kids and taking them to school. Instead, I live in the inner city, in the streets, where yellow police tape is constantly unwound, and police cruisers pick up kids and take them to the school of hard knocks.

As I tried to step over the crack pipe my foot landed on the used syringe. Luckily the sole on my shoe is thick, so the needle did not harm me. I had to walk past Mr Woo's candy store, right next door to Singh's Liquor store with the bullet proof glass. I took a turn into the alley for a short-cut, and half way down after passing the stench of urine at he entrance, I had to walk carefully so as to not step on the used condoms. I had to cover my eyes so I wouldn't see Mr Jacob's cheating on his wife with the prostitute from down the block. When I got to the other end of the alley I started jogging. My heart was racing; I could see Joey's corner but I couldn't see Joey. I started to run faster and I got there at the same time as the police cruiser. There he was, lying face down in his own blood. My brother who'd been taking care of my sisters and I since the day daddy left.

That crack pipe I stepped over looked real good to me at that moment. I could have used a line cocaine, that would have done the trick. Or maybe a nice fat blunt to take away the blunt-force trauma on my spirit. I'd felt pain before, but none of it compared to the harrowing I felt on my soul that day. Sometimes I hurt. No matter what I try to ease the pain with, nothing is strong enough to take the hurt away. No amount of beer will ever be able to drown these sorrows. I felt like I had just woken up in a cold sweat on a hot night, with nothing but blinding darkness surrounding me and nothing but silent cries to scream out into the depth of this ear-less space that tries tirelessly to sooth my shivering soul. The police officer knew Joey and he knew me too. At the very moment I felt myself getting weak, he walked up to me and said, "Hold on son, be strong. You'll pull through."

That morning I became a man; I wanted to cry but sometimes crying doesn't help. I let out silent screams that were amplified and echoed by the walls of oppression that pressed tight against me. That silence, to me sounded louder than the bang you hear when you finally hit the floor of a bottomless pit. I asked myself, "Why me? Why does it rain when I have no umbrella? Why does it get cold when I have no sweater? Why does the power always go out when I have no candles?
Why am I the motherless child that I am? She has to work 3 jobs just so she can make up for whats lacking at home. A father. As she tries to make up for that she deprives me from what's needed at home. A mother.

Just then Joey's friend Leroy walked up to me, put his hand on my back and said, "It's a hard knock life kiddo. Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you." He looked me in the eye as he said that, and walked away. Just like daddy did when he walked away from us. I felt an anger overcoming me. I'd never wished bad on anyone, but that morning I wished it on my own father. I wished he'd wake up one day with his tear ducts sealed shut, with nothing but time on his hands and onions to cut. I wished he'd have migraines every time he'd think, I wished he'd have nightmares every time he blinked. I wished he'd choke on 40oz of his children's tears, I wished his tongue would bleed every time he'd drink a beer. I wish his life turns out to be somebody else's dream, and they wake up the moment he wins the lottery. I wish the earth would fall from beneath his feet, and no one would be there to hear him but me. And on that day I would have smoked the biggest blunt just to ease away the pain he caused me because sometimes I hurt.
abstract by Tedd V.
Last paragraph inspired by Lizz Straight

Still a Negro...Part I

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I remember a time when I walked down chemin de Chambly or rue Conefroy in Longueuil & down rue Ste Catherine or rue de Maisonneuve in Montreal, Quebec, seemingly surrounded by every nationality but African, feeling doubly out of place because it was not my land I trekked on, nor was it my language i heard being spoken. Then, from across the street, I spotted him; Jean-Francois, a young Haitian boy, a few years my junior and it happened. Not rehearsed, not taught, an instinctively induced motion; a slow raising and lowering of the head while making eye contact. In my language, this would be something like saying, "sawubona" - loosely translated this means "I see you." This was a form of greeting among many black people across the world, especially in places where the black are the minority. It basically says to the other person, "I see you, I know what it's like, hang in there, I got your back" - At least that's how I saw it; especially coming from the motherland and having had an opportunity to explore the difference in backgrounds between Africa; where black is majority, and North America; where black is a hand-me-down slave with earning privileges, a second class citizen. One would think that the ongoing liberation struggles in Africa, the civil-rights movements in America, the various affirmative action groups as well as the truth & reconciliation commissions among other organisations that are active globally, would influence justice and fair treatment among all people. This is not so.

There is another social monster that has reared it's ugly head, it's been quietly working behind the scenes and is causing a greater divide among the people. It's no secret that in African countries, the colonials used a divide and conquer strategy. They separated the masses and once they had them in the smaller groups they were able to rule with an iron fist - effectively dominating and overpowering the smaller numbers. This division was both tribal & geographical among other criteria. To drive the nail home they had to make the division more than just physical. They also made it a mental condition by stirring up contention between the separated groups hence the continuing tribalism experiencing today. Parallel to this happening in Africa, it happened in Europe and America. Slaves were separated and segregated from one another, and ranks were unofficially given. You may have heard the term "casta" or "caste" referring to this social-hierarchy implemented in Spain during slavery. Today we face this same type of intraracial separation among our own people. Colorism. I couldn't believe how many responses I hit when I searched this term word on google guess what I found; about 1,020,000 results for colorism were found in 0.34 seconds.

I didn't know that this was such a widespread cancer in our society, I have received the short end onf the stick on this a few times but when i saw this becoming a little more prevalent in my circles than just the odd comment here and there I decided to do some research and thats when I came across the word. Colorism is not a dictionary defined term so naturally I decided to search google. I couldn't believe how many hits I got; about 1,020,000 results for colorism were found in 0.34 seconds. So this thing has been going on for ages. Wikipedia's link on this gave a definition as "discrimination in which human beings are accorded differing social and treatment based on skin color. The preference often gets translated into economic status because of opportunities for work. Colorism can be found across the world. The term is generally used for the phenomenon of people discriminating within their own ethnic groups."

Some comedian once cracked a joke on this, he took it back to the slavery days, saying that slave masters gave out jobs and privileges based on tone of skin. The lighter skin slaves had house duties, and depending on how light their complexion was, they might even be allowed to clean master's bedroom. The darker slaves had outdoor duties, the darker you were, the farther away from the house you were. The comedian (a fairly dark gentleman) said that if he were a slave, he'd be so far away from master's house, he'd be two steps from freedom. Funny as this statement may be in a comical setting, I see how certain people still have that kind of thinking, and how the intraracial segregation could have been initiated by this type of treatment. It would have been easy for the lighter skinned people to get a 'nose-up' attitude towards their darker counterparts. How it would be easy for them to forget that they are still negro.

On the flip side, there is the same type of arrogance exhibited by the darker skinned brothers and sisters towards the light skinned fellas. Those of you that know me would say that I am light-skinned. Personally I don't see that in myself but what ever; it was brought to my attention by a young lady when I expressed interest in her. She had the audacity to say I'm not 'black' enough. I asked if she meant tone-wise or culturally, and she said both. You see, once a bother gets educated, people think he loses his culture, and if he is lightskinned, they say he's got white blood in him. There is nothing wrong with being mixed, I hate no man, discriminate against no man, but I can't tolerate ignorance. so I had to address this. I am born and raised African, I was exposed to, and experienced the culture first hand, not through television, not through magazines, not through friends or museums. I lived it. So, for a young lady, born and raised in Canada, to insinuate that she is more 'black' than I am. Trick please. I have probably seen more oppression in one year than you have in all your life. I am still negro. No matter how much you try to claim to be 'better than me' you are still dust.

...to be continued

The Mourning After

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Sitting here alone in my bed, my mind wandering and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened? She was right here next to me - her head was on my chest and my fingers navigating softly on her scalp. I was without a care as I felt the natural texture of her hair brushing softly on my chin. To say I can still smell her would be cutting it thin, but you have to understand the state that I’m in. It seems like it was just last night that everything was going so well, even the most perfect stranger looking at us could tell that we were in love. We enjoyed a candle-light dinner in the gazebo with the cool late spring evening breeze gently caressing our lightly dressed bodies. We sat there and enjoyed her brilliant cooking, and I spent the rest of the evening just looking, just watching, just gazing aimlessly into her amazing eyes and thinking of all the things I wanted to do to her.

From there we went inside the house and lay down on the floor, listened to some Barbara Johnson & Bessie Smith, while we had apple pie for dessert and played a game of chess. Have you ever felt like you were blessed? That’s me, that’s how I felt whenever I was with her. With all my hang-ups, my insecurities, my fears, my imperfections she looked at me and I felt wanted. I felt huggable, felt touchable & felt lovable. After the game of chess she led me upstairs to our room where we talked the night away, she told me about her fears, dreams and ambitions and I told her about mine as I gently massaged all her tension away. She sang some Jill Scott to me and remixed it with Anita Baker; and at that moment I just had to thank my maker for taking time to make her for me. You ever feel like you wanted a moment to last forever? Ever wish that you could take a feeling and just put it in a bottle so that every once in a while you could go back to that bottle, open it and re-live that moment? That’s what our 21st anniversary felt like. Kodak® couldn’t capture the brilliance of that moment. Imax® couldn’t produce anything to make you feel it the way I did. But as any other moment, you live it and it goes. Today would have been our 22nd – I had looked forward to it being better than last year, I woke up to an empty bed, and it feels weird. It’s been 2 months since breast cancer took her away, and every morning feels like the mourning after.

Abstract - Untitled

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I just finished packing my son’s clothes. I did the dishes earlier after enjoying the simple meal that I prepared. Since my wife is studying for her exams, I volunteered to do all the work in the house instead of just my half. If my parents could see me now; they’d be proud. I remember sharing my dream with them. How I wanted to have a house on the hill, a wife and two kids, a great job with great benefits, good friends – that was the dream I had when I was younger. When life was just one big potential, waiting to be explored, waiting to be lived. I had it all figured out, go to university, get my degree, come out and get the job I wanted then let life begin. Then I met you and you had similar ambitions desires and dreams, you were so perfect you felt like a dream. You motivated me to be more than I was, to do more than I thought possible, to step outside my comfort zone – I learned a lot from you. How not to dream big but dream bigger; not to do good, but do better – never to take silver when the gold is up for grabs. My dreams slowly changed. I wanted a big house in the mountains; I wanted you as my wife, no kids because that didn’t fit in your plans. I decided I would be my own boss, and as for friends, well anyone would be lucky to have me as a friend. This kind of thinking made you happy and I thought I was happy too because I saw you happy. Then it happened, someone you thought was better than me walked into your life, and I faded out of the picture. It made sense because all I ever did was never enough for you. You were always about bigger and better.

Crushed. That’s how my heart felt – and all those bigger dreams were lost. It hurt, but just for a little while – I had to do as a man does; pick myself up, dust myself off and keep walking. When I saw your name on my patients list today I was shocked, and when you walked into the clinic, I was stunned. What happened to the bright-eyed girl who was always about bigger and better. Where’s that captivating smile, that charming personality, that beautiful girl I once worked so hard to please? It’s hard to believe that she’s an HIV patient of mine today. Funny how life works sometimes, how things turn out different from our expectations. I could be living a miserable bigger dream that wasn’t really mine to start off with, but even if all that I am is not enough for you, the great I AM is more than enough for me. Today, I have my house on Montgomery Hill, a great wife, one son and a daughter on the way, being a doctor is not so bad, and the clinic has great benefits. I have a lot of patients and when I make house calls I build great friendships. Life is not about how big you can dream, its about how well you can live it.

uninspired abstract thought by Tedd V

Go Now & Live

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Experience. Dream. Risk. Close your eyes and jump. Enjoy the free-fall. Choose exhilaration over comfort. Choose magic over predictability. Choose potential over safety. Wake up to the magic of everyday life. Make friends with your intuition. Discover the beauty of uncertainty. Know yourself fully before you make promises to another. Make millions of mistakes. Know when to hold on and when to let go. Love hard and often and without reservation. Seek knowledge. Open yourself to possibility. Keep your heart open, your head high and your spirit free. Embrace your darkness along with your light. Be wrong every once in a while, and don't be afraid to admit it. Awaken to the brilliance in ordinary moments. Tell the truth about yourself no matter what the cost. Own your reality without apology. See goodness in the world. Be Bold. Be Fierce. Be Grateful. Be Wild, Crazy and Gloriously Free. Be you. Go now, and live.
©Jeanette Leblanc 2008

Plunge

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Where you see risks I see opportunities. Opportunities for emptiness to be filled with existence, whether it be a physical or emotional manifestation. Time and again our logic tells us not to tread those waters, our commonsense bids us remain in these comfortable familiar surrounding, do not disturb the dust on the unexplored path. But what is logic any way? What is commonsense? It’s that thieving feeling you have before an uncertain victory; the feeling that if you go by, that uncertain victory turns into definite defeat. The reasoning within oneself that subconsciously says, “Aim low, you are not among the elite that has the strength and skill to aim so high.” How many times have you let fear govern your decisions? Fear should introduce you to faith, and faith works best when it is blind. When you close your eyes to all the possibilities of falling and trust that God has given you the ability to walk. Life and its experiences are all a great risk. You have to close your eyes and take the plunge. Live unstoppable, like the wind. Don’t see risk. See chance.

thought inspired by Dr Alfred Blalok

The Long Way Home - Ch 3 – Scars and Reasons.

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I felt a chill going down my spine. It was my duty to always protect my little sister and seeing her in this state with all the bruises and scars just tore me up inside. Her back had a long scar, very similar to the ones on Solomon’s back. I knew only one thing that could make that scar; a sjambok. The police had used them mercilessly during the apartheid days and I wondered where Vera got such a scar from. “Don’t worry Dee, it’s not as bad as it looks. Besides, it healed a long while ago.”

“That doesn’t answer my question Vera, what happened to your back? Who did this to you?”

She put on one of my dry blouses, as she answered, “It’s not important Dee, what’s important right now is that I am here.” While she was buttoning up the blouse, I stormed across the room and pulled it off her so I could examine her back. Salt water streams flowed down my face as I held her firmly in my hand. It was hard to get my words past the nostalgic lump in my throat, remembering how I had always been her protector; it’s hard to talk and repress your cry at the same time but I managed to squeeze the words out. “What’s been going on with you? Everything just happened so quickly with you, you dumped Kevin for no reason and the following week you just left. You only wrote once to give your address and we never heard from you again. If your address hadn’t been a post office box, I’d have come looking for you. Sis, I’m really glad you’re home. In fact, I’m glad you’re alive because I honestly thought I’d never see you again. The bottom line is you’re still my little sister, and I deserve to know what has been going on with you. I’m sorry I’m crying but I am just so excited and so hurt at the same time. I don’t know what really I am feeling; I don’t know whether to hug you or slap you for putting us through this.”

“I’m so sorry sis, I really am. I knew you guys were disappointed in me and the thought of letting mom down was just too much for me to bear. At the same time I had certain desires that I needed to fulfil, certain curiosities that I needed to satisfy so I decided to leave and pursue my dreams. I didn’t want life to pass me by, and I didn’t want to be stuck here and not experience the world outside…”

As she spoke, I got lost in her words, thinking of how I once had those same dreams and aspirations. How I wanted to experience the big cities, travel to different places, see different things and meet new people. I had even saved money to move to the city, but sacrificed my savings to pay for her university education. I was hurt. How could she? After all that’s why she managed to graduate before I did. I took time off school to work and save money to put us both through university as well as help Paula finish off high-school, then she goes & runs off like this to pursue a dream that I sacrificed for her. I can’t say I was angry with her; I was more disappointed by her ingratitude than anything else. I faded back from my thought to hear what she was saying.

“…this place had nothing to offer me Dee, I just couldn’t see myself going to fetch water at the well every morning, cooking over a fire and inhaling the smoke everyday. Dee, take a look at mom, she worked like a slave raising us, taking care of dad and taking care of the land, and even now she’s stuck doing that stuff. I bet she’s slaving over the fire right now with two pots and dad is just sitting there telling stories like he always does.”

“Vera!” I yelled. I felt a cold chill on my body as she said that. I must have startled her with my sudden shout because she leaped off the bed. Then it occurred to me, she didn’t know dad had passed away. That’s why she hadn’t come home for the funeral or the memorial service. I couldn’t understand how she would not know, I wrote to her every month for the first two years. She would not reply and that didn’t surprise me; after all, she didn’t reply our letters when she was in university. I now had to break it to her.

“What is it Dee, why are you yelling?”

“Tell me something sis, did you get my letters? I wrote to you every month for 2 years until I got tired of not getting responses.”

“I got letters from you on the first 3 months, and I replied each one. I even wrote to you when you stopped writing. I always asked Mandla to mail them for me because our post office box is close to where he works.”

Mandla; I cringed whenever I heard that name. If there was ever a repellent made for me it was him. Everything about him did not agree with me. I just couldn’t put my finger on it but something about him wasn’t right. What made me loathe him was the fact that Vera broke up with a perfectly good man so she could go out with him. She thought he the best thing since sliced bread, but something about his character wasn’t right. Looking into his eyes, I could find no hint of honesty or goodness in him and that was enough for me not to trust him.

“Well I didn’t stop writing until two years after you left V, and the only reason I stopped is because I was getting no response and it was painful for me to continue. One of the last letters I wrote you was telling you that dad had passed away; when you didn’t reply that and didn’t show up for the funeral. I figured that you just didn’t care and wanted nothing to do with us.”

Vera had a stoic expression on her face and I could see a new pain dawning in her eyes. She covered her mouth and fell on her knees and as tears started from eyes and she let out a high shriek. If there is anything I hate more than the squeaking of the cart, it’s the sound of my sisters crying. It makes me feel so helpless. As I leaned over to hug her, there was a knock on the door. "Diana, its Kevin, can I come in?"

abstract by Tedd V. Chapter 4 coming on Jan 3

What do I have to do?

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What do I have to do to make you love me? What do I have to do to make you care? What do I have to do to make you hug me? What do I have to do to make you share a day with me? I mean all I’m asking is that one day you go away with me, to a place where it can be just you and me. No phone calls, no newspaper, no TV, just you and me. I long for a day we can just kick back and relax, just watch the sky while we lie on our backs and soak up the sun. When we can take time to get to know each other, we see each other almost every day, but I don’t even know your favourite colour.

Last night I waited up late for you; you came in past midnight, went and took a shower and went straight to bed. No word, not even a “goodnight.” Last week, I made your favourite meal; it got cold on the table, so I put it in the oven and left you a note. Only to wake up the next day and find you brought home a doggy bag from Big Joe’s. Something seems unnatural in this relationship, something seems off. Almost like I’m an employee and you’re the boss. I feel like I’m working hard to earn a bonus, and you’re bracing yourself to fire me. In that case why did you hire me?

Like a fool I linger and tolerate, I know I should go but somehow I wait, hoping that you will turn around and look at me different. Hoping you’ll one day see me here waiting, see me here aching, see me here wanting to feel wanted by you. Wanting to feel loved by you, wanting to be hugged by you & wanting to be your number one, your first choice when you want to have fun in the sun. Hoping you’ll let me ride shotgun, hoping you’ll treat me like your son.

What do I do to make you want me? What do I have to say to be heard? What do I do to bring you closer? Daddy, please tell me I can’t take this hurt.

Written in by Tedd V. 1997 Inspired by Elton John - Dedicated to my father. (Things have since gotten better)

The Long Way Home - Ch 2 – It always rains sometimes…

Posted by Tedd V 8 comments

Ma always said it best, “When it rains it pours.” I always took that literally, and it was fitting for the moment I reunited with my sister. The clouds just let loose on us, and we were soaked within seconds. What I didn’t know was the metaphorical context to which that phrase could be applied, the raining within the soul, that rain is harder to bear than the natural. Vera had always been a happy go lucky girl. Things seemed to always fall in her favour and she reminded me of Joseph with his coat of many colours, only she didn’t have envious siblings. We always looked out for her and were supportive of her good decisions. She was the pretty one in the family and never had trouble attracting boys. She was smart and had good ambitions, even though she was two years younger than me, she completed her degree before I did; for a rural girl in this harsh country, that was an awesome achievement. One thing I admired about her was her free spirit. Nothing ever got her down, and if there was something that bothered her, she didn’t let it bother her for long. Something was wrong though, something that put me in my big-sister protective role.

She had an unsightly swelling on the left side of her face, signs that her cheek had an unplanned encounter with a blunt object, perhaps more that once in a short period of time. Her eye couldn’t fully close because it too was badly swollen. I would have noticed the tears streaming from her face were it not for the rain falling so heavy on us & I know she would have noticed mine too. She didn’t have to tell me what had happened, it was painfully written on her face. The welts on her arm as well as the scars & bruises told a well detailed story. I remember thinking how sad that situation was; it took such physical violence for her to remember her way home. The most important thing at that moment was that she was home. As much as I wanted to know what happened to her, I had to wait for her to stop sobbing before I could ask. In freemasonry, I lowered myself, hunched over her & embraced her.

“Diana,” mom called out for me, “Diana, you’re too old to be playing in the rain. Get inside” I guess I’d been out for a little too long; long enough to get her worried about me.

“Dee, you can’t let her see me like this. I have to hide somewhere until the swelling goes down.”

I would have felt the same way. I know she would have loved to feel mom’s embrace at a time like that, but at the same time, she did not want to cause her any stress. I had to respond quickly to avoid ma coming to where we were. “I’ll be there in a bit mamma,” I yelled, “the mule broke out of the kraal so I had to keep him away from the crop.” I hate lying to her, but I had no choice. “Quick, get into my room and take a short nap. I’ll go and make tea for ma then I’ll come to you. I need to know exactly what happened to you, so you better quit your crying quick.”

As I walked back to the main hut, I felt a heaviness setting in on my feet so naturally I walked a little slow. I thought it was because of the mud that had accumulated on them, but looking back, I have a feeling it was because I didn’t want to be away from my sister. It was only for a short little while but I knew that she came back home because she wanted to feel loved, she wanted to feel a familiar closeness. I know how it is to need someone to be there close to you yet be met with the cold embrace of solitary confinement. This brief experience adduced my own sadness from five years ago, a time when I had needed Vera the most but she was no where to be found. It rained on that day too, and similarly I felt that no matter how hard the rain fall, it could never wash away the dirt I felt.

“My goodness child did you go swimming in your clothes?” mom exclaimed as I wiped the mud off my feet at the door. “It sure is falling heavy out there and with no warning too. I hope we get steady rains for a couple of months to at least give our crop a chance at to survive till the harvest.”

“I sure hope so too mom, it would be nice to be able to sell some sugar cane like we used to.”

Her countenance changed when I mentioned selling sugar cane. Her face elongated and her bright smile disappeared like morning dew on a hot summer’s day. “What’s wrong mom? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright my dear - I just had a nostalgic moment when you mentioned selling sugar cane. That’s what I was doing the day Vera left.” My heart skipped a beat. “It’s been six years and nine months you know, and I still haven’t heard from her. I sometimes dream that she’s in trouble, that she’s hurting somewhere but feels like she can’t come back. I wonder if she’s even alive.” My heart sank. I could hear the pain in her voice as she said this, and I could see the pain in her eyes. I wanted to tell her not to worry, but at the same time I didn’t want her to stress after seeing her in that state. “I’m sure she’s fine where ever she is ma,” I said as I snapped the twigs to start the fire. “You raised us remember? We’re strong because of you and we can take care of ourselves.”

She sat and stared at the kettle in the fire, fanned it a little and said, “You are right, I raised you to be strong, but you can’t take care of yourselves. Along the way you picked up pride and stubbornness from your aunt, so I’m afraid for you girls. Out of the three of you, I worry the least about Paula.” She paused for a few seconds, and as I slipped some bread into a small bag, I noticed her eyes watering. “You and Vera just didn’t get it the way Paula did. You are no match for men. That’s why I’m always so afraid for you two.”

Some things ma said where hurtful, but one thing I always respected her for speaking the truth. As I watched the tears welling in her eyes, I felt mine run obstreperously down my cheek. I thought of what had just happened to Vera, I thought of what had happened to me five years ago. I was overcome with a sensation of worthlessness. Recalling all the things mom had tried so hard to teach us, and in our seemingly wise foolishness we were bent on rebelling against her, just to prove her wrong. Vera’s struggle and mine were different, but they both stemmed from the same seed. I poured out the tea for ma, and gave her the last two slices of bread. “Will you be needing anything else ma? I want to get into some dry clothes and lie down for a little while before I make dinner. I have a slight headache.”

“No my child, I’m well satisfied for now. I think I’ll do some knitting in here while it rains. You go ahead and rest. It’s been a long day for you.”

With that I grabbed the small bag with the bread and made haste through the pouring rain to my hut. I opened the door slowly thinking Vera may have been asleep, but I found her sitting on the bed in the process of changing her wet clothes too. She had just removed her blouse too, with her back to the door. I froze because of what I saw. The bag dropped to the floor along with my jaw. “Oh my goodness Vera, what happened to your back!?!” What mamma said was true, when it rains it pours.

abstract by Tedd V - to be continue on Dec 27

Here I stand...

Posted by Tedd V 6 comments

Here I stand, a broken man caught between who I want to be and who I am. Here I stand, with my little black book in hand, trying so hard to understand, how I’ve succeeded living by the player's code but all of a sudden I feel like I’m slowly sinking in the sand. Here I stand. Not as the man that I used to be but as the man that i choose to be; they say the grass is greener on the other side, so I’m standing on the fence, trying to see if the grass looks good to me. Here I stand. Not yet the man that I want to be because right and wrong are still one to me. So I’m going to stay on this fence until my senses come to me. You see, I’ve always been unlucky in matters of the heart, I've always been unlucky in love. So I gave up on it and decided to focus my efforts on bodily pleasures; until God heard my silent cry from up above, and opened He up the window of heaven and He let out this treasure. Yes He poured out a blessing that I cannot even think to measure; to prove to me that loving me is His great leisure.

However, this not what I had in mind, well, maybe it did cross my mind, but this is certainly not the right time. You see as a player I have one goal and I have to stay on my grind. And after all I’ve been through I figured this was my time to shine. My 15 minutes of fame, my turn to run the game, a chance to have my name stuck on the lips of every dame. But here I stand with this little black book in hand, trying so hard to hold on, and trying so hard to let go. A wise man once told me that a monkey cannot hold on to two branches all day, he has to let one go so he can regress or make progress. So as I sift through the pages and see all the faces of all my past flames, I remember the games and my mind goes back. Back to the days when I only focused on rolling in the hay. Back to the nights when she'd ask where I've been & I'd start a fight. Back to the days when I knew that one wrong move would wrong move could leave me with AIDS. Back to the nights when if her body was banging & her face wasn't so nice - I'd just turn off the lights.

As the pages start to turn, my heart starts to yearn for one more passionate night that would turn out to be nothing more than just another physical night. As the pages continue turning my conscience starts burning as I realise that what I was doing was just not right. I nurtured her physical because her physical kept me satisfied, but I fractured her emotional because her emotional made me weak inside. I cradled her body but I broke her heart. Page after page takes me to a different place, and on each page I see a different face. I see faces with smiles as I remember all nights with the girls gone wild, but I also see her tear filled eyes as I remember the good-byes. I remember her tear filled eyes when she noticed my wandering eyes; I remember her tear filled eyes when she caught me in my lies. I know I'm a man & all but when I think of how I've hurt her, I myself begin to cry. For the first time I ask myself a simple question, why?

Why did I turn out the way that I did? Why did I do the things I saw my father do? Why am I not the same person that my mother knew? Why? My aunt once told me, I would make a lot of money but I’d always be poor – because I knew how to work hard, but I didn’t know how to spend smart. I’ve spent my life proving her right. My grandmother told me, I’d rock a lot of children to sleep, but I’d never have my own – because I couldn’t be a good father if I wasn’t mentally grown. I’ve spent my life proving her right. My mother told me I’d attract a lot of women, but I’d never have a wife – because I’m a rolling stone and I’m scared to commit to one person for life. I’ve spent my life proving her right. Just this one time I want to prove them all wrong - not to prove myself or my worth, but to lose this pain & this hurt. Here I stand with a choice to make, a curse to break, a risk to take and it all seems so simple; it all feels so real. It’s time that the monkey let go of the old branch and moved to the new. It’s time to notice that the grass seems greener only because the fence itself is green. It’s time to let go of who I used to be. It’s time to hold onto who I want to be. It’s time to become somebody new, so today I'm putting this little black book down, I'll walk down that aisle and say “I DO.”

inspired by Lamar H.

The Long Way Home - Ch1 - Squeaks & Clouds

Posted by Tedd V 2 comments

That high squeak coming from the old greaseless axle always annoyed me. I had tried to use the left over chicken fat to lubricate it but to no avail. After a couple of hours of running back and forth to the water well and to the stores on grandpa’s mule cart, the quick fix would wear out and the squeak seemed to be a little louder. That day was different, it had a piercing effect; a sound that harrowed my very core. It made me cringe, almost similar to my school days, when Miss Nyawiri would scratch her fingers on the chalk-board to get the students’ attention when we were making noise. Maybe it was because mom decided to come along to fetch water with me that day, and the extra weight was causing the unusual and unwelcome pitch. In any case, home seemed so far away, more so because I couldn’t stop at the soccer field to watch the boys play, and of course to see my special friend Solomon.

Despite all the unpleasant little peeves I was enjoy the ride with mom. We spent every day together and always had something interesting to discuss. Since dad passed away and my siblings moved out, I’m all she has left, so she holds on to me like a promise. I’ve practically had to put my life on hold to take care of her. I even asked Solomon to be patient as far as marriage goes. He’s been waiting for just over a year now. Taking care of ma is really no challenge at all; being that she is self sufficient for the most part. I just feel bad leaving her alone and moving on with my life, especially knowing how much she sacrificed for us when she was younger. I work a part time job, so that I can spend as much time with her as possible. Maybe it’s because we almost lost her to breast-cancer last year, hence the uncertainty of how much time she has left on this earth makes me cherish her more. Every minute I spend with her is precious, but that didn’t change the annoying squealing of that wheel. It seemed like I was the only one that found it bothersome because as I looked up at mom, I saw her smiling as the sun bounced off her face. I can’t help but wonder if she has an off switch for her hearing. It’s quite surreal how nothing seems to bother her now. It’s almost as though she takes on anything that comes with an attitude that says, “I’ve been through worse, I’m sure I can handle you.” I admire that about her.

After a seemingly long ride the homestead was in our sights and the sun that had been so relentlessly beating on mom and I, began to now sheepishly retreat behind a mass of neoteric dark clouds. That’s when I noticed her slumping over her bag at the door of our old hut. Vera. It had been years since she wrote home, even longer since she came to see mom. My excitement at seeing her was quickly overshadowed by a protective air. I took advantage of mom’s short-sightedness; knowing she hadn’t spotted her, I steered the mule wide so that Vera’s figure was concealed from mom by the hut. The distant rolling of thunder and the smell of rain in the air brought a nostalgic feeling of the day Vera left. I remembered vividly her harsh word, I remembered thinking if I ever saw her again it would be too soon. The feeling was different now. Six years is a lot of time for emotional wounds to heal. I had a new bone to pick with her. She hadn't come home when dad passed away & didn't even call when mom was sick with breast cancer. None the less, I had missed her and I couldn’t wait to talk to her.

Examining the quickly darkening sky, mom said, “finally, the crop will see some moisture, I’ll get the clothes off the line, they should be dry by now,” and with a wide smile on her face she slid off the cart and made her way to the clothesline, while I proceeded to unload the water at the kitchen before loosing the mule into the kraal. After all had been put away I made my way to the hut where my estranged sibling was slumped over; my heart was racing and I had no idea what the initial reunion would be like. So much had happened since she stormed off, so much time had passed; an overwhelming rush of mixed emotions came over me, and though I was angry at my younger sister, I struggled to hold back the tears of joy I had. As I drew closer to the hut, my quick pace turned into a slight trot; I couldn’t contain my anxiety any longer, much more, I couldn’t restrain myself from calling out to her. “Vera, Vera, come out from behind there,” I yelled with excitement in my voice. I just wanted to embrace her and forget about all our differences. As I reached the hut, I heard the crack of lightning, and felt a big raindrop fall on my left cheek right below my eye. There she was, my sister, still hunched over her bag – at that moment I knew that this was not going to be the sweet reunion I had just recently anticipated. As if on cue, the rain started pouring heavily, providing the perfect disguise for the tears streaming down my face as well as Vera’s

abstract by Tedd V. to be continued on Dec 20

Posted by Tedd V 1 comments

I'm lying flat on my back, and I'm thinking about Rosa, how she was always was so leisurely yet had a firm resolve, how she exerted her will on me. Assertive yet gentle, I can almost feel her grip on my fore-arm. That grip that she gave me the day I left. There was a quiet strength behind it, which reminded me so much of Ms Harriet, a sweet old lady that lived down the road from my grandma's house. I remembered how she had arthritis, and so had difficulty walking, but was determined to walk round the block twice every morning. That gentle grip at that very moment reminded me of Ms Harriet, because I knew Rosa had difficulty expressing her emotions deliberately, but was always determined to let me know exactly how she felt. After 11 years of marriage, our first full year together was a wonderful year, and all the moments we shared, can neither be fully captured by words or photographs, nor wholly contained in our memories. Maybe its because we subconsciously knew that that year was the "together forever" we dreamed about. Where I wouldn't have to serve in the navy anymore. We will do the best we can to recall and relive them, but it doesn't last forever and the feeling cannot be duplicated. She'd always had a hard time hiding her anger, and as angry as she may have been when I got the deployment order, she puckered up and made the most of those last moments we had together and I really appreciated that about her.

All I could do was step closer to her, gently grab her delicate, soft, small hand, and place it on my rough cheek. Right then, that very moment embodied perfection. Her hand, was slightly warmer than my cheek, and it felt like it belonged there. It mirrored the warmth she'd brought into my life, heaven knows I need that warmth right now. I'm not usually sensitive to the touch, but I noticed the ever so slight tremble in her hand. I knew she was scared, heck, I was too. Its similar to how I'm feeling right now, well not really, instead of a slight tremble, I have this accentuated shiver; and though I've never feared anything in my life, I am terrified right now. As much as I want her here next to me right now, I'm glad she's not here to see me like this. Six months at war in the desert will leave you looking worse than you feel. I remember pulling her close to me that day. She hugged me so tight, I can feel her still. I was uncertain if she'd ever let go, I didn't want her to ever let go. I couldn't help but smile, kiss her on the forehead, and whisper "Don't worry pumpkin, I'll be fine. I promise you." She had a way of making me feel like superman. Like I could take on the world and win ten times out of ten. So when I told her I'd be fine, I meant it. She looked me square in the eye, and replied, "you'd better be."

Looking back, how could I not be sure of myself? I mean Rosa was just too good to me to feel any other way, and I had done this so many times. I'd been all over the world fighting for my country, and this being my last tour before an honorable dis-charge, I felt like the heavens were finally smiling on me. We'd just bought a property in a small town, like she'd always wanted. Complete with a big back-yard and a picket fence. I had started my auto-repair business a walking distance from home, hired Juan, her little brother as my assistant. To top it all off, after years of trying, we were finally going to be blessed with the patter of little feet around the house. Yes sir, she was 8 weeks pregnant when I left, and in the last letter she sent, she said it was going to be a girl. She'd always wanted a girl, so naturally, I wanted a girl too. I just had to come back, I'd come back 16 times before, but this time I had more to come back to. So I promised I'd be fine.

This morning, was the brightest morning I ever did see. Today I complete my tour of duty. At 1500hrs the seasprites lift off, and I'll be home tomorrow. I can almost taste Rosa's casserole, and off-course, I already feel her touch. I can't wait to feel Nancy-Juanita kicking in Rosa's belly. We decided we'd name our first daughter after Rosa's mom who passed away while giving birth to Juan. I've dreamed of tomorrow for so many nights, and it's so close I can almost walk right into it. I can damn-near see it. What I want most of all though is to hug my Rosa once again. Hug her tighter than she hugged me that day. I just cant wait. Everything is packed, and as the rear-admiral, it's my responsibility to make sure that everyone below me is accounted for and arrives home safely. I stepped out of the quarters, and got word from the vice admiral that the seasprites were fueled, and needed a look over before being cleared for the flight home.

Captain Svarozki had been injured 3 days ago, so I had to do the look over instead of him. The humvee took a hit, so I decided to take a motorcycle to get to the hanger. Its pointless going along the regular roads with a motor cycle, so Commodore Levert and myself decided to take a short-cut. He knew the way better so he led the way. While riding, I noticed a little girl on the side of the road. About 6 years old, and cute as could be. My daughter will look like this someday. My mind was taken off of where I was and what I was doing. For the first time in 6 months, I forgot I was a Naval officer, I forgot I was at war, I forgot I was a target, and I focused on what freedom would look like in a few years. I could imagine myself picking her up from school, and walking home with her, to greet Rosa at the door with kisses, hugs and stories of my day. I forgot about my rank, and the task at hand. I was curious about
this little girl, out in the desert alone. I just had to find out what her name was. Levert must not have noticed me slowing down because he continued tiding full speed ahead. I came to a stop, got off my bike, with a smile on my face, and a tears of joy crowding my eye.

"Hey little girl, what's your name?" I asked, and at that moment I noticed in the corner of my eye, a sharp light on a rock. It was the kind of light you get when the sun shines on a mirror. My heart sank. There are no mirrors in the desert, just snipers and telescopes. In that brief moment, I thought to myself "I shouldn't be here" If Captain Svarozki hadn't been injured 3 days ago, If the humvee hadn't taken a hit yesterday, If we hadn't taken a shortcut, If I hadn't seen this little beautiful girl, if I hadn't been so curious, I f only I hadn't stopped. I wouldn't be lying flat on my back with this sharp pain in my chest. I'm thinking about Rosa. How will she take the news. I was so close to coming home, so close to spending "forever together" with her. So close to witnessing the birth of our child. So close to keeping the promise I made to her. One moment of carelessness, and my promise turned into a lie. I'm not fine right now. Who knew that the desert floor could feel so cold? Oh how I need Rosa's warmth right now.

abstract by Tedd V

Love Is...

Posted by Tedd V 1 comments

Like red paint on canvas, carefully stroked and with a slight touch of white. A piece of art, in the shape of a heart, you can feel the emotion by following the motion of the brush-strokes. Not heavy, but there is a lot of weight to it, not hard, just firm and deliberate. Yes, this heart drawn was heart-felt. When I see it I can only think of love, I can only wonder how deep those brush strokes went into that canvas, I mean, how deep this love really is. My officiousness leads me to imagine what love really looks like, when you take off the red paint, beneath the resplendent surface, what does it look like. So I undress it a little, and now we're left with the canvas. Now, when I look at love, it looks like your pair of beautiful brown eyes wandering across a crowded room, colliding with mine. Immediately, we're blinded to all else in the room, and all that our eyes can see is themselves in each other, and each other in themselves. Love looks like, you and I, walking, hand in hand in the warm breeze on a beautiful summer evening, down the path of life, barefoot of course, because, what's the point of walking on rose petals if they don't touch your feet. Love looks like a field of daisies, pansies and lilies, you & I, a couple of butterflies and the setting sun, on that day we sat on the park bench and you fed me strawberries, and as your finger rested on my lip, I couldn't get the softness of your touch off my mind. And I don't even like strawberries, but I eat them now, hungrily, and remember that moment, that touch. I like what this kind of love looks like, but this is only skin-deep. I want to go deeper so I peel the canvas off, step back and take a good look at love. Your love. Looks like, you, frustrated with my stubbornness, tired of repeating yourself, only to find that you're patient enough to tell me one more time. Love, yes, my love looks like, me waiting tirelessly for you to get dressed, even after you've changed your outfit 3 times already and the show starts in 19 minutes. Our love looks like, us fussing and fighting for three hours, until we both look at each other, smile and realise that we've both forgotten what we're fussing about anyways. This love looks like me, sitting in my room, thinking about you at 3:08am, and I haven't had a wink of sleep yet. Yet, I want to go deeper still, beneath the flesh, right down to the core, I want to see the more, much more, deeper than the frame that holds love up. Now love looks like me sitting right here, right now trying to figure out how much I really love you, because you said something hurtful yesterday. I don't know how you could ever think I don't pay attention to you. I know it takes you 2 seconds after you open the door to say, "honey, I'm home." And 9 seconds, after you take your shoes off, you plant a kiss on my left cheek in the middle of the kitchen floor. I know you always skip the second step when you go up or down the stairs because that's the step that our cat died on. You, don't pick the apples off your favorite tree anymore ever since we buried our son's hamster under it. I know, I turn my head to the door at least 16 times when i'm expecting you home after your work-out. I know even though you put on a brave front, you can't fall asleep unless you can feel my breath on your skin. It takes you 6 seconds to exhale completely when you're scared, and I know that where ever we go together, I don't like to be more than 60 seconds away from where you are. At the end of the day, I come to a point when I want to take a good look at love, so lets put the flesh back on, cover it up with the skin, dress it back up and, coat it with that red paint. And see what love looks like. Love looks like you, in a red dress, like the red paint, with a white ribbon tied around the waist, holding my hand, looking into my eyes, and me, looking so deep into yours, I see past your red dress, past the red paint. Even deeper, past your beautiful skin, past the canvas. Deeper yet, past the frame, past the bones. And there it is, it looks like your heart beating, and me clinging onto you for dear-life because you're th only one of you I have, so let me look at you, let me love you. How much do I love you? let me count the ways. I love you for numberless nights, upon numberless days.

-Inspired by Steve C.

Kiss

Posted by Tedd V 1 comments

So juicy and so succulent, robust is the word I'm looking for. Those smooth, soft yet firm curves, quite limber might I add, and in all the land, I said in all the land, I haven't yet laid my eyes on a pair so fair. your lips my dear, are the antidote to eye-sore; as hard as I try, I cannot take my mind off the kiss you planted on me so many moons ago. In fact, each time I drink a glass of water, the sensation is relived, admittedly not as vivid or as pronounced as the real deal, but a nice cool glass of water does it to me. Yes, I'm taking long sips of your unfiltered tender kisses by my kitchen sink, sinking deeper and deeper in this love-pond. Pondering on how to maneuver and navigate myself on this wave of emotions. Potions have been made, and drunk in the name of love, but by the grace of God above, I found myself an ever-flowing well-spring, an ever growing genesis of joy. Joy, when I think of your breath and my breath, gently combined, as your tongue whispers a little secret to mine. Joy when I remember the moment your lips clung to mine, and how naturally our eyes closed, how we moved together around each other on the moonlit dance-floor as though the moment was choreographed. I don't really know how to describe it other than to say it was an oral waltz. A moment of bliss, in that sweet kiss, with your lips pressed firmly on mine. The passion with which your hands raced all over me, conveyed the cascading emotions you were bottling within. So I clenched you tighter to encourage you to crack the top open and let it all flow out. I stood right there, and soaked it all in, drop by drop, I took it all in, till we were both engulfed by the unending supply of your fountainhead. Such passion is unwonted, no not unwanted, but unwonted, you know, not usual, like 1st place country-fair kinda rare. I mean, I'm not well seasoned when it comes to kisses, but I've never had someone kiss me until they cried. I love how you were so uninhibited, how your smile and your tears seemed agree with each other that night. Something about your mascara running towards your dimples makes you simply irresistible. So there we were, lost and floating in a euphoric puddle, loving every moment as we let our emotions ride the ripples of uncertainty. I still can't get the taste of you out of my mouth. Butterscotch with a hint of caramel, fresh like the scent of casablanca-lily. And your soft caress reminds me of the soft brush of bouganvilla leaves in my godmothers backyard. Like all good things, that moment came to an end. A painful end. At least for me. I felt you ebbing away from me, almost like I was the river bank, and you were a wave, that was waving good-bye to me. Your clasp didn't feel so tight any more, your left hand simply hung in my right as you used your right to gently wipe the tears and mascara off your face. Those lips that were just pursed a few seconds before, were now firmly pressed together, as you tried to smile. Tried to ease me into the let down. I know I didn't steal that kiss from you; you gave it freely, now you're stealing it away from me. Many are the days that I've loved you my dear, and many more will follow. It's a shame that you would let fear steal your joy away. I see how you look at me sometimes. I know, because I look at you the same way. If the moon and the stars would decide to hide, I know your glow would brighten the heavens. Yet this fear of uncertainty singes that fire within you. Tomorrow is not promise, so it cannot be broken, and I want to walk into it with you. Don't be afraid of being loved, because I'm not scared of loving you. I know you think you'd be losing your freedom, but consider this, what loving man, would imprison his lady? Come on, take the plunge with me. Hold my hand and lets dive in together. All we've seen is an estuary, there's a whole ocean of emotion we have yet to experience. Hold on a second, before we take the dip, would you once again bless me with your lips.
abstract - inspired by V. Willi

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