Skip to main content

B is for Ms. Patti

I’m standing on this cliff. This very moment I’m standing on the edge, loose stones under these shoes. I knew I shouldn’t have worn them but I thought it best to have my feet covered with truth… so much for that. because for all the truth I wear, my lips shell out lies. Not to you. Never to you. Only to me.

Me who says, “I’m not a romantic”
Me who refuses to admit that there’s something to admit… to you.
Me who wants to say, “listen…. I think…. I know…. I know that this is weird but… I…”
But I don’t – lest I scare you off.

Me who used strategy and lex ish principals, trying to be smooth as, calm as, wise as but the dim light in my head gets dimmer.

How do I jump from the edge without causing you to scream?
How do I say these words without making your mouth dry?
How can I say, he is nothing but a shadow on the wall but I am… more?
How do I tell you, I have felt what you are and I know what it is and for that… you are now my craving – without the calories and the guilt that comes from the morning after.

Ms. Patti says, “If only you knew”. If only….
But then what?
Cut the cocoon too early and the moth dies. Sit and wait for the blossom to grow makes little sense either. So I wait. And I wait. Patience is a virtue I thought I lost, but really it was sitting in your doorstep, where I come to polish my shoes. These truths I now have under my feet, on the edge of the cliff, in the stillness of the day, not wanting to say…. Not wanting to make you run away…. Not making you want to….

Man, Ms. Patti… if only she knew… where the trail of my heart ends, she would know that it is impossible for me NOT TO BE a good friend.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

B is for Loving Boys

90's boy love - Joey n Chandler....
a moment of randomness between Catharsis videos

There are boys I love. And they love me. And we’re open about it. Just last Saturday I got a text message from one of those boys who said “I love you too man” in response to something I said. My boys are artists, artistes, atheists, and agirl (who is in fact one of the boys so hence the addition to the category) fathers, brothers and high school musicals (Jed and Umar will get that one – lol). We share ideas, music, random nothingness and Brent Worthington . We approve, reprove and listen to each other. I think the girl that I end up with must in fact be like the boys I love. Good looks aside… please… have some substance. One of my boys is appalled that I watched Gossip Girl (if you’re going to bash it… know what it is first) and has for this [and other minor reasons] jokingly labeled me a homosexual. But he who looks like Miley Cyrus with rainbow bandanas should not talk [chuckles]. I love my boys…

Play of the Week WK #6

B is for The Haunting October

--> I first felt it in the shower. Nostalgia. Creeping up my leg and resting on my shoulder. Bony fingers caresses in that sickeningly sweet way nostalgia often does. It was the end of September or the beginning of October... That night in the shower when I remembered an old October, reading poetry at a wine factory; with sandwiches as big as your face. And I remembered two tables. Friends and a girl. And it was October. The sealing of fate. 2008.
Days passed but not before the memory of darkness and a knife. The surgery that changed me... And it was October. October or go to Heaven. 2007.
Time passed and so did my expectations. Fluctuations in blood flow in the head causes heart to flutter for another. Infatuation of the highest order. The beginning of tears and sighs of"it's not fair" and the wandering nature of soul; I'm done, turn me over. And it was October. All my queries I vowed to shelve. 2012.
And Sunday. When I threw the scroll and claimed I was don…