Ghosts of Anguish

"Life ain't always what you think it ought to be- ain't even gray but she buries her baby.
The sharp knife of a short life..." ~The Band Perry, "If I Die Young"

Well, I've had just enough short lives. Living life, three months at a time or thereabouts. And that's all you've known of me, bodyHeadHeart. So when you accuse me of being a sparkle-chasing kitten with no concern for the hearts and feelings of others, I hear you. I...

My ability to take an outside perspective kills me tonight. The devil's advocate, they call it, and I wonder honestly just how much evil has to do with it.

You loved me, you said. I loved you. And when I loved you, I opened myself up for criticism, for critique. An honest look at an open heart, with the opportunity to reflect and review. I'm not perfect, and I know my weaknesses will continue to elude me unless I listen, sincerely, to perspectives outside of mine. I try to be picky about who gets to define me and my space; I let you in. I gave you a red pen, and said "Here...this is me."

And your words still hurt. Tonight they haunt me, teasing open the edges of wounds I thought had healed...is it all just a game, like you said? On to the next shiny thing, until it loses its new sparkles and I toss it aside as though it were nothing? Is that really what you saw me do to people? ...and you wanted to be with that person?

I remind myself that I'm different with words I stole from someone else. I did everything I could to change, three months, one season, at a time. I fought until I was exhausted, laid down and cried when I could go no further, slept when I could push no more...and I got up again. One season at a time, fight fight fight death respawn. Start again. No tools. No map. No indicator which game I got stuck in.

"All I wanna be is done." (And with that I had to stop the playlist in the background because my thoughts were careening about my mind too fast to put to paper. Thank you, country music and puzzle time for bringing me back.)

I fought so I could stop hurting people, the people I loved. I wanted to be a better person, a better me, so I was willing to hurt and die and face the awfulness and beat my demons (and other people's, as necessary) and Be Better. You saw me. You watched the fight and the aftermath and I know you saw me die at least once.

And yet you came at me like I carried ulterior, nefarious motives. Somewhere in your mind, no matter what I did, I was the bad guy. I was the one carrying around secret motives, using you for some twisted long-term goal. And that's part of why your all-access pass was revoked, changed to a more generally accessible part of my mind library. I needed to evaluate. To ensure. To protect. To maintain integrity and continuity.

And here my sadness and anger flash, because for all the care I took to be consistent and coherent and communicative I got chaos. I didn't know you were an emotion bomb waiting to explode. Let your emotions color your world, yes, but don't let them create it! ...but you did. And when you are angry, it becomes the lifeblood of your world.

And even though I don't want to, I must consider your words. All of them. I still evaluate myself based on criteria that is old and outdated. I will run updates eventually, and someday your measures will be so far down in the system that I won't hear them anymore.

But tonight I second-guess. Tonight I doubt me. Tonight I let your words out to play, to observe, to explore. Tonight for a few hours I hold myself accountable by your standards, all of them. One at a time, listing. I'm combing for my own standards in and among the muck and I will find them.

Finding them. Finding me. Looking, searching, defining...and living, finally, again.

More later. Loves.

Unexpected Song

"I have never felt like this
For once I'm lost for words
Your smile has really thrown me

This is not like me at all
I never thought I'd know
the kind of love you've shown me

Now, no matter where I am
No matter what I do
I see your face appearing...
like an unexpected song...
An unexpected song that only we are hearing.

I don't know what's going on
Can't work it out at all
Whatever made you choose me

I just can't believe my eyes
You look at me as though
You couldn't bear to lose me

Now, no matter where I am
No matter what I do
I see your face appearing...
like an unexpected song...
An unexpected song that only we are hearing."

(Third verse, same as the first)
Sung by Sarah Brightman, composed by Andrew Lloyd Weber, originally from Song and Dance

*I was swimming through the ocean, a mermaid unafraid of the depths, looking for heartsongs that meshed with mine.*

Still not quite right...

I keep writing and re-writing my feelings out, trying to capture the wonder that comes from finding you without looking for you.

"Long is destiny's route when we must walk on our hearts."

That's beautiful. 

I'll take the long path...it is the road less traveled, the "scenic route," (which is just code for significantly-less-appreciated in a world where instant gratification delayed one iota spurns road rage). It builds yearning, a feeling that endures and strengthens our heartstrings as we suspend life and limb from them.

I will be patient. I will wait for you. I will channel the waiting into creative force. I want to turn that "walking on our hearts" metaphor into something beautiful with my words, clumsy though English may be.

*I met you, and a hopeful piece of my heart dropped from my ribcage. I quickly picked it up, hoping no one would notice my neglect. The scandal of letting heart pieces skitter about as though they were free agents is strictly against the Code. You, with someone fantastic already, had found a duet partner and my quivering heart piece was soothed by the illusion that someone already harmonized with your heartsong. I checked and checked again to see if your connection-seeking module was turned on, an indicator of willingness to expand. Nothing came up. The still-beating bit of heart dropped to a murmur and floated back up to orbit the heart itself, which was already growing back the part it had lost in that moment of sheer ...something. Attraction? No, something with more kairos than that...*

I envision a steampunk fantasy world in which hearts are given and received, one where unrequited emotions orbit around the heartflesh in your ribcage, which is much more like a literal metal cage. Everyone is part machine, so it's the norm...but to truly build and explore that world will take a novel. I might do that, for you.

*Imagine my surprise when I saw you again, and my little murmuring gem, whose light had dwindled to but an ember, lit up again. Your words engrave themselves in the gem, microscopically magnetizing it to you. Someone with standards, then, and someone who would say yes to a proposition not just to make me happy...but because they also wanted to pursue that end. I allow the floating flame to present itself to you, vulnerable away from the sustaining light and heat of my heart. To my delight, you reached out and accepted the gem. Suddenly, fear clouds formed in my chest cavity. To whom had I just given a gem? What sort of conniving, devlisih Casanova had I fallen for now?*

You were like sunrise, lighting up the night when I did not realize I had stayed awake so long. Beautiful, bringing color and warmth back into the world...something I expected sometime, but not so soon. And that was just the beginning.

*The next interaction, you presented with the utmost formality two skeins of heartstring, which you unwound and tied to me. I was unprepared for the class, the high level of professionalism. I accepted the gift, weaving a pattern into my ribcage as I did so. (That was the appropriate formality, no?) I didn't anticipate the heartstring, but I chalked it up to your nature and not our connection. I had no reason to believe the connection was any more than wishful thinking making a bridge, a plank if you will for my heart to venture out of its cage and out over the cavernous gap between us. You were too protected, too unresponsive to the tiny gem envoys I sent...they were accepted but none returned from you. And yet your words built support for the bridge. "Someday." And so I built, hoping that the someday would  happen before I needed ths support from your cage to hold the bridge. Patience...I will wait.*

You courted my mind, parrying my witty and amusing remarks with unparalleled skill. It activated a part of my skillset I hadn't used in quite a long time...wordsmith extraordinaire. And you reveled in it. And I blossomed in ways I didn't even know I had forgotten.

*Someday came, but it was not a day of rejoicing for you. A previous bridge had burned, leaving only tender, smoking remnants of the connection that was. I offered salve, ice, my own heartstring for repair, and instead of treating your wounds, you opened yourself to me. "Let it hurt." And you embraced me, revealing your half of the bridge that had grown inside the confines of your bound heart. You and I both knew the risk. You were leaving, and the bridge would be stretched beyond what even bridges with substantial timeStrength were designed to withstand. I honored your bravery and allowed the regrowth of my heart to focus on fortifying that bridge.*

My heart and mind were alight. Despite the hindered growth of our connection, I had made space for We. And I cherished the moments marked by your words.

*Heart pieces floated the hundreds of miles to find their way to you, and me, and some traversed the distance more than once. As I acquired more and more heartflesh branded by the pure expression of investment, the bridge grew stronger. With its strength it could support more heart traffic...and it lost its newness and with it, flexibility. The distance made the stretch ache, and I longed for the day when the ache would subside.*

You are so worth every minute of the distance, the ache, and the strain. You have made a space for my heart, my mind, and my body. I had no idea you would grow into my life in such a beautiful and sudden way. I wasn't looking for you, for anything. You're like the orange roses I received in early 2008, for no apparent reason and from nowhere. No pretense, no ulterior motive- just something that adds beauty. Asks nothing of me. Sparks smiles.