Love a la Instagram

He woke up suddenly...startled. That fact alone shocked him. He was not the kind of guy to respond to fear, nor were there a lot of things in the world that scared him. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room. "His girl" was sleeping soundlessly next to him, her fine blond locks in disarray on the pillow. The bedroom was quiet and calm...except for a very quiet crackling, like a small fire, that he noted on the side of the bed closest to him. He turned his head to find a large, deep red, glowing sphere floating in the air next to the bed. It was the color of the last rays of sunset -  blood red, burnt orange, deep purple...it hovered next to him and changed in size slightly with each movement. It made no noise to speak of but it's surface crackled and popped like pop rocks mixed with soda. Nothing about the orb seemed sinister...it simply was. 

Curiosity peaked, he got up to examine it closer. As he reached for it, the sphere moved away, as if refusing his touch. In order to figure out this strange phenomenon infringing on the peace of his slumber V decided to think logically - what hovered before him could not have been a figment of his imagination. True, his headaches have gotten worse with each new concussion, and sometimes he could not see anything at all unless the team physician thrust his hands into a bucket of ice to shock his system into performing til the game was over, but hallucinations were never a symptom he experienced. This could not be the result of a hangover - he did celebrate the start of the summer with quite a few sleepless, drug-filled nights but has since returned to his meticulously clean lifestyle and daily training in order to ensure that next season he would be a vital force on the team. He took no medications, did not smoke...no, nothing could explain this mini "sun." Wide awake he walked past the sphere to the kitchen. Strangely the sphere did not immediately follow. It slowly floated into the bathroom and came very close to his grooming kit...perhaps looking for something. It circled around the room to the side of the bed with "his girl" and lingered for a few seconds next to her. It flew into the closet and slowly hovered around his suits, examining, searching...perhaps remembering. It finally met him in the kitchen where V, not witnessing the strange trajectory of the orb, was busy making coffee. As he stared past the sphere and mindlessly drank he suddenly understood what this was. That fucking piece of shit Instagram VR love note!!!! Fan-fucking-tastic.

It all started out innocently enough. After acquiring 6G many social media platforms were able to expand their reach to unimaginable distances and advance their technology to create phenomena only described in sci fi novels. Emojis became live and floated from one user to the next; likes and dislikes were hovering around influencers like a swarm of bees; adorable, albeit annoying, puppies and kittens filled the streets as they rushed from sender to receiver to send a paw print or a lick.
Then came the ability to send people notes through the air which opened on contact and disappeared as soon as they were read. True DIRECT messages. Dating was never the same!

All of this was building up to the crown jewel - the ability to not only send someone a love note but to do it in such a way as to actually show them, and the world, exactly HOW much and HOW deeply you love them. IG made it possible to actually SHOW your feelings. The rollout was huge, of course. An initially nervous public embraced the idea of sending these spheres to "safe" targets - parents flooded the world with pastel pink and blue balloons that flew towards their children and upon touch exploded in gold confetti and fizzed in small bubbles making more than one baby giggle in absolute joy. Older parents were able to send somewhat stern looking spheres of love to their college grads and career warriors - these seemed to be smaller and slightly aggressive, in that they pushed themselves into the receiver in order to break apart and disappear. "I love you, but call me." "Don't disappear for a month again, I miss you." Then sports and celebrity fans discovered the power of sending LOVE to their icons. Every big sporting event was inundated with spheres made of team colors, every movie premiere an explosion of rainbow spheres from admirers of movie stars and directors. And V, being slightly famous in his field, received a good share of these...black and gold from fans of the team, a couple blue grey and green from family, a handful of small funny ones from kids who look up to him.

...and, unfortunately, quite a few from girls he conveniently forgot to call after a night or two of his usual fun. You wouldn't call these little planets "love" though...perhaps they were cries of anger or anguish. They were chocolate brown and black, dark purple and burgundy...they sped through his house and often knocked down the vases and moved the furniture from the force of the impact before exploding into little sharp tacks or shiny black hearts or whatever other bullshit these girls thought would make him take notice.

But who could blame them for wanting to try? They met a tall, charming, successful athlete who told them everything they wanted to hear. Who seemed to be able to read their thoughts and asked interesting, thoughtful questions. Who made a joke or two so nonchalantly that their guard inevitably came down...and who slipped out before the sun rose while they still dreamed of what could be.
They were understandably angry. Because none of them every knew about "his girl." None of them knew that he was master liar when he saw the opportunity for a perfect night. Not one could imagine that this handsome, strong, genuinely kind man has spent his whole adult life collecting women like trophies. No...collecting is the wrong word, for he never kept what he acquired. He spent his life using women as a conduit for his pleasure. When the need arose he went on a hunt to find the perfect girl to help him reach ecstasy.

And "his girl" knew...of course she knew. But she understood that ignoring his indiscretions was the price for becoming THE WIFE. She was willing to pay, of course, but she refused to have her face be thrust into it. Thus the spheres became a problem. She yelled, she cried, she chased them around the house wanting to strangle them and make them disappear...but they kept coming. The app was popular and the users rabid which flooded their home with incessant colorful balls that seemed to arrive at every inopportune moment. But, like all good and bad things, eventually they stopped.
Until this morning...
The sphere in question was more intense, both in color and size. And its behavior thus far was suspect, to say the least. For it seemed to have a purpose for being there. And he wasn't sure how this sphere was supposed to show him love.

He knew it would follow him so he quickly showered and slipped out of the house before "his girl" woke up. The orb followed him to the lake where he always went to clear his mind and escape what bothered him. It watched him load the boat into the water, assemble his lines, check his bates..and took off after the him as soon as the motor started. It never interfered with his actions or hindered his path through the water. In fact, it almost knew what he was going to do next, as if it has been on the lake before. This was definitely not a classic love note.

For hours he fished and tried not to think. The sphere's presence eventually stopped being a nuisance and he even began to think of it as a companion...like the family's dog that could sit next to him and stare at the water as he searched for specific fish he wanted to capture that day. He caught and released them, marvelling in his ability to outsmart nature and capture that, which did not want to be captured. Like the girls in his life the fish were only a temporary pleasure...the thrill of the hunt more important than the result. So he released each one into the water, never to think about them again.
As the sun began to set the water around him gained intensity. The blues and greens deepened and darkened and he marveled at the simple perfection of the lake before him. When he turned to put away his rods he gasped, for the sphere was now the color of the lake. A deep, fervent blue that glistened like mercury. Slowly it began to lighten to a piercing blue, the color of the sky.

And suddenly he KNEW. He knew who made the sphere. For it was now the color of her eyes. The color he tried to burn out of memory almost as soon as he left her that morning. The sphere grew larger and finally approached him. It slowly touched his body and when it did it began to rapidly disappear, fizzing and hissing as it turned a deep pitch black. He tried to hold on to it...to make it stop evolving but it was too late. He felt a small ache where the sphere touched his left nipple and when he looked down he saw a little white scar on his chest...the pace where her head used to rest.

Whenever she disappeared into the abyss of her monstrously giant bed he would call out into the darkness in a hoarse whisper - "come into my arms"...and out of the dark came her tiny hands that wrapped around his neck. Her lithe, muscular body would follow to press itself along his, as her always cold toes snuggled on his perpetually overheated body. A wild cat seeking comfort from the storm...she wrapped herself around him and rested her head on his chest and her lips always tickled his left nipple... a feeling he hated at the time but now missed. This was her sphere. It was the last message she wanted to send. Not to remind him of the intense love they shared for a brief time when both seemed free...not to appeal for a return. No. This was a simple declaration that her love for him was no more. The last time she could show him how deeply and passionately she loved him and missed him when he left her with a false hope and a suitcase full of pain.

This love was beautiful and it was now dead.

And even the little scar he thought the sphere left faded by the time he turned the key and entered his home where "his girl" was busy making dinner.

He opened his phone and started to write her...but stopped when he realized that there was absolutely nothing he could offer her. So he quietly showered and poured himself a glass of her favorite whiskey.
"To Instagram" he thought to himself as the liquid burned his throat.

Brick Pollitt

Whenever my heart gets broken I seek comfort in the usual suspects- music that reminds me of him, reliving memories that made me happy, scrutinizing shared words and gestures...watching Cat on a Hot Tim Roof on loop.

I loved it long before it was my coping tool. The performances, the colors, the actors..the entire aesthetic is absolute perfection to me. But I watch it now because through Maggie that Cat I get to talk to my Brick. The Brick that, unsurprisingly, injured me this time. ( sadly there have been a few now)

You know the type... they start out brilliantly from the beginning of life. The strong, charming, care free boys. Excelling in most things, especially anything physical, they draw admirers instantly and bask in the love of girls of all shapes and sizes. They never try to fit in or follow trends because they set them. Their chiseled bodies make any outfit look perfect even if it’d seen better days. They wake up, brush their teeth, fuss with their hair for 30 seconds and run out the door chasing another thing that they desire that day.

Professional athletes or surgeons or rock stars... always the ones to set the mood in the room, always the ones that leave and are not the ones left behind. They glide through life with such ease... they can usually fix cars and boats and doors and anything else that’s broken without ever having been taught how to do those things. They thrive outdoors and chase adrenalin in all its forms- and so you follow them on hikes and bike rides and fishing trips and skiing because you are addicted to them and because you’ll get another rush of desire when you see how they look at you when you excel at the thing they love... what a fucking stupid circle that is.

Being with them is exciting (even if you thought you lost all ability to be entertained)- great conversations, constant laughter and mind blowing sex because there are no rules between you two. Seemingly, life is so easy for them- they figured it out. While YOU are consumed by thoughts and inconsistencies, they tell you life is simple. When you’re happy you stay. When you're not... you leave. And so they chase happiness ... new country, new sport, new car... new girl. Over and over because there has never been and never will be a person to tell them “no.” Not until they get old and lose their charm but by then their long suffering girlfriend would have become the long suffering wife- content with ignoring the painful moments for the price of being “Mrs X.”

Being with them is like a drug. You get addicted to the idea that maybe.. just maybe.. two alphas can be together. Because you grew up with movies and books that made it seem possible. Because you finally feel like you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Because someone stronger is there to catch you. And that feeling is what I end up chasing. Curling up against a big muscular chest at night and feeling safe. Being tossed in the air like a feather and caught in giant hands... knowing that anywhere we go doesn’t require a plan because it will be perfect anyway. Insidiously the desire for more of this grows and it’s too late before you realize your heart has joined the fan club of the Bricks. And worst of all.. now it has given you ideas of the future. It wants more. It wants a lifetime of this. But that lifetime usually belongs to the girl next door they already know. Because your alpha doesn’t want an equal. They want “comfort” and “safety” and “easy.” And hard as I may try... easy has never been a word to define me. And even when I’ve tried in the past (mistakenly) to change and bend with the boy it’s never enough. Because like a wolf they know your core and any desire for you is trumped by the need to continue to do whatever they want whenever they want it.

Perhaps that’s too simplistic. Perhaps I’m missing the necessary details to truly define this... to understand this. And when I ache I turn to the film. Where a gorgeous strong girl fights for her handsome broken husband and says the words I long to say. To watch her win her love back scratches my itch. I pick at that wound daily.. I’m sick of it, frankly. I wish I could stop feeling like shit.  But I cannot help doing it again the next day. Because every night it does scar a little bit. And with time it heals... though much slower than it should. And in the end I still have hope.. that one day, my Brick is going to choose me.

Мой Лисик...

Я часто думаю о тебе, моя маленькая девочка. 

Сейчас ты паришь где-то в еффемерной вселенной. Ты ждешь меня... Видишь ли ты меня? Знаешь ли ты как долго я тебя жду? 

Давно ли ты выбрала меня или ещё решаешь? 

Когда я вижу тебя в снах, то только с сзади. Твои маленькие загорелые плечики на пляже. Твоя панамка вот вот наровит улететь, но ты не замечаешь потому что ты сосредоточенно строишь замок из твоих абстрактных видений. Ты не видишь мамины руки которые наровят унести тебя под защиту большого зонта и намазать терпко пахнущим санблоком. Ты спишь на мне...мой маленький заспанный пупс. Ветер нежно колошит твои золотистые пряди и нам так приятно прятаться от знойного дня...

Вот твои маленькие ступни которые шлепают по холодному деревянному полу когда ты, ещё заспанная, идёшь к завтраку. Твоя большая копна волос все время наровит упасть в лицо...и ты убираешь её всей рукой потому что твои пальчики ещё не слушаются тебя. 

Твои строгие пальчики, которые надевают мундиры из малины перед тем как те нырнут в ротик, так как учила мама. 

Черные кожанные ботинки которыми ты весело болтаешь на кресле самолета, большое как диван, пока я терпеливо обьясняю почему оливковое масло не растворяетсья в воде. 

Твои большие, пухлые губки, которые ты сжимаешь вместе, перед тем как спросить меня твой очереднной, серьёзный, вопрос. 

Я готовлюсь к ним. Я знаю что не буду знать все ответы потому что у тебя нестандартноё мышление и все что ты видишь вокруг ты воспринимаешь с интересом и серьёзностью не твоих лет. 

Я хочу быть сильной для тебя. Я научусь кататься на лыжах что бы держать тебя когда ты будешь падать (было очень страшно но я переборола себя потому что ты важнее всех страхов). Я научусь стрелять чтобы защитить тебя и говорить по французски что бы говорить тебе "Бонжур ма петит фий" каждый день. 

Я качаю мышцы которые помогут держать тебя в волнах дикого океана и ты будешь звонко смеяться как я, когда меня держала моя мама. Я читаю в запой что бы рассказывать тебе интерессные сказки....ты будешь знать все балеты, пьесы, истории, поэмы и картины. Я буду достойной тебя, мой Лисик. 

Я не буду плакать от злости и обращать внимание на тупых людей жаждущих моего внимания. Я не буду терять терпения и надежды что все получиться как я мечтала. 

Жди меня, моя маленькая прекрасная девочка. Пожалуйста, жди меня. Нам осталось совсем чуть чуть...

Je t'aime...Je ne t'aime plus

Ugh... it's been a while again, hasn't it? I must admit I thought about you, my little blog. I thought about you often. But I could not bring myself to write anything...for a long time. New move...new job...new kitten...new boyfriend...None of that seemed to be enough to open myself up again.


Until now I guess.

Another break-up has taken place. This one much more short-lived and bearable in terms of pain and depression.

Which made me think...does the quality of a relationship (it's intensity, it's length, it's milestones) have a direct correlation to the duration and quality of the break-up? I suppose it is not an exact relationship. Of course there can be short-lived but "once-in-a-lifetime" romances that devastate you when they end. And there are the "dragged out much too long" monotonies that may end fairly amicably and, even, kindly. But it seems in my life so far the correlation has been direct.

When a relationship ends...no matter how long or brief it was...it will still always hurt. And it is such a special type of hurt isn't it? I wonder if I could ever describe what one feels in a break-up to my child? That special hopeless, dull, unfathomable ache that takes over like a black abyss into which you feel yourself slipping.
It physically hurts because you feel actual pangs in your heart and your stomach.
It hurts repeatedly because every time a thought catches you of guard and a memory flickers before you the pain intensifies and doubles you over.
It hurts so much more whenever you wake up - for a few moments you are barely awake and safe and content...and then you remember what broke you and the tears flow and the hopelessness takes hold as its cold jaws grip your heart. Thus weeks in bed are spent...eyes are puffy...wine bottles empty.

It's the emptiness that catches you.. that place the person you loved had filled (a weird place you created for them in your life) is now empty and it does not disappear right away under the weight of the interests and stresses of daily existence.
How fascinating are humans? A stranger had a necessary, vital role in your well-being...and now they are no longer there. And even though how they impacted your life is, largely, your doing...and can be easily undone...you feel empty. And sometimes lost. And what is the absolute worst...you feel hopeless. You wonder if this was the last time you were loved. If this was the one person you should have tried harder with.  Should have changed for???

Yeah, no. FUCK THAT. I am all for (sensible) compromise but I will be damned if I change a single thing about me for another human being that is not related to me by blood. I am an adult now, for better or worse. And a pretty great one actually. So to change for someone because I do not want to face loneliness?? That is just absurd.

Happiness comes in many forms and this, of course, won't be my last relationship. Nor my last break up I imagine. But marriage and co-habitation remain big question marks for me...I am truly unsure if these are things I want or need. Perhaps my opinions will change with time. Currently, willingly living a shorter life because I want a male companion seems ludicrous (there is actual science behind this should you choose to investigate further).

This one hurt...But given how short and inconsequential it was, the pangs only lasted a few hours. And now it's hard to even remember why we dated in the first place. A fleeting thought here and there...but really nothing more.

Interest in the male species as a whole is peaking again which means I must be feeling better. My friendships and pursuits have not been impacted and I move on...again. I'd like to say stronger and wiser....but I've always been strong. The wiser part is a work in progress.

Old skin

It's funny....It's been a while since we broke..yet, once in a while, I find myself missing HIM. Like a whiff of a stranger's perfume or a fleeting image, a memory of him appears and creates a ...pause.

I shake it off. Memories of him no longer make me sad...or even melancholy. I can listen to, what used to be, our song and not feel that familiar stabbing pain in my heart I learned to count as my own when we were together.

But once in a while...once in a while a song comes along and I revert. Memories of our wintery love flash back...I long for my friend. I long for the  LOVE I had with a handsome man who loved me so passionately. I mourn what we used to be. I close my eyes...and wish I was back in his arms and all was right with the world. The future that I once held in my hand...the future with grey eyes and soft lips...is gone forever. It was never "to be"...but the pain remains. Despite how strongly I convinced myself that it was the right choice.
I KNOW with the entirety of my being that it was the right choice. But my heart misses nonetheless...especially on cold dark nights like tonight.

I blink and the moment passes. He was not the ONE.
...all the is left now are killer songs.

because sometimes I am a joiner

                           

15 things you may not know about Bellatrix (interspersed with pictures of mini fashionistas, because why not- here's your daily dose of chic lilliput realness):

1. when I was 5 I thought it was the greatest idea to tie myself and my giant stuffed dog to my mom's tiny foot in the hopes that she would walk and carry us with her. It never went well.

2. I hate clowns. Terribly, inexplicably and with the entirety of my being. I blame watching "It" when I was a child. I can be covered in blood/emesis/poop or watch "Church of Fudge" (do NOT look that one up. Ever.) and not blink an eye but clowns make me physically ill.

3. There was a time when I wanted to be a cat so much I actually forced myself to sleep in contortionist positions like my kitten hoping that the practice would make me more akin to my favorite creature. Neck cramps happened.

4. I could not/can not eat something sweet on it's own. I have to have meat. Oatmeal? Sausage accompaniment. Cereal? Bacon. Salad? Heresy without protein. :p

5. I can dance straight for 8 hours without a break but if you ask me to run half a mile I will die. My cardio situation is a puzzle.

 6. I often cannot tell the difference between appropriate and not. I do not mean fart jokes or other simpleton fodder...I mean I do not know when laughing at the insignificance of humanity by describing the blood and gore of my job will be appreciated by my audience or met with dismay...and more emesis.

7. I thinks animals can feel. And think, on their own level. They respond...they love...they hurt. And I will never understand people who do not. That said...I am not vegan nor do I trust people who do not eat meat. There is a difference between being a natural killer and a martyr. I am the former.

8. This has been said before but bears repeating because it is integral to who I am. I live to travel. I NEED to travel. If I was forced to live and die in the same city, even if it was New York or Paris...I would slit my wrists immediately. Life is not a life well lived if you have not seen the world. I would crawl...beg, lie and steal to do that. Trust.

9. No matter what I say or do...at my core I truly want to be a descent human. Not perfect or overtly moral...Just a good human that contributed something to the world.

10. I live and die for my friends. What's mine is yours. To Russians friendship is sacred. It must be protected and honored to the last breath. Our friends are our blood...and they know that.

11. My favorite time? A summer dusk as it becomes night. I love sitting outside...barefoot...feeling the hot day melt into a smoldering night...hearing the cicadas chirping as your thoughts run away... I could spend eternity sitting by a fire pit with my glass of wine, looking at the stars...

12. I love black. Black has been my companion for a very long time. And yet, as I have mentioned before, I am also bound by it. I feel trapped in that nothing but black feels normal. Nothing feels like it fits unless it's black. I love the way all black makes anyone look incredibly chic....but I often fear on me it has lost the effect after years of living in it's shadow.

13. I want a fox. I will not live my life without owning a domesticated red fox from a Siberian institute. It is, perhaps, eccentric...unnecessary...silly?...but I need it. This is happening.

14. My favorite book is " The Little Prince." I read it every couple of years and it always reveals nuances missed previously. It is deliciously well written and absolutely fabulous in its simplicity. It has quotes for every situation in your life. And, of course, a fox. Boom.

15. I fear...not finding love. I always find romances...fleeting relationships...brief, exciting affairs. But I am afraid that I will go through this life on my own as I have done thus far. I do "solitary" impeccably...but I do long for a lasting love. A partnership that I have only seen in movies and books...for I have yet to see it in real life.

Ma belle enfant

Spring is coming...and with that many of my friends will become mothers. It is the natural course, I suppose...after all we are all now of the age when child-bearing takes precedence. Careers are in full swing, accomplishments pour in, love...well, for the lucky ones, love blooms. How incredible it must be to create a human being with the one you love most in the world?

I have always known I would have a child. Nay, I have always known I would have a GIRL. It may sound strange but sometimes I imagine what it will be like...to have a mini-me so perfect that each day will be spent marveling at the beauty that my body gave me. To have my entire happiness wrapped up into a single tiny being who thinks of me as the her universe. Her alpha and omega. At least until she grows up and knows better :)

I imagine the trips we will take to the sea...not unlike the ones I have spent with my mother. I remember being held in the powerful tide by a beautiful girl, MY universe as it were, and knowing that I was protected...utterly loved. I felt the sun shinning on my face and I laughed as the water hit us...My mother gave me an unforgettable childhood.

I think of the child I shall have if I am lucky enough. I have often dreamt of her...I had this dream of travelling with a little blond doll..serious and incredibly curious. I struggled in my sleep when she asked me to explain why water and oil could not mix. She sat next to me on our plane and impatiently kicked her tiny foot clad in a mini horse-riding boot while I waxed on the principles of hydrophilicity. Silly, I know.

I imagine dancing while holding her in my arms when we both can't sleep...her days are going to be filled with incredible music. Her life will be spent with iconoclasts and outcasts...she will see more of this world than many dare to dream of...she will always be warm, always safe, always surrounded by quiet luxury. She will be able to pursue whatever passion overtakes her...she will have access to information and culture and privilege. And I know she will make the most of it for she is going to be much more beautiful and intelligent than I.

That is part of the reason why I have worked so hard...why I have bled and fought and sacrificed for what I have achieved. So that when she finally joins me our life will be...perfection. And though I know I cannot protect her from the world (nor would I want to) I will ensure that my little clone is well equipped to make the most of her time on this glorious rock. And if I am able...I shall spend every day trying to make hers just a little bit better than mine.

I believe children wait for us. Wait for us to be ready...chose us if we are worthy. Love us...just because.
She is waiting, I know it.
And I am almost ready. Purr.

Mon Hiver

It is 82 degrees outside today...and though the leaves are finally turning yellow it does not feel like fall, much less a winter. Yet my thoughts return to a season that seems still so far away.

Two years ago we fell in love during a winter... We spent many nights dancing in the candlelight of our beautiful house looking out on the valley below, draped in pure white snow.

I will remember that winter forever...I saw the sun so rarely then...I went to work before it came up and left way after sundown. I remember long, bitterly cold, nights tempered by a crackling fireplace...a glass of my favorite red waiting for me when I came home. And there was always...ALWAYS...music. We slow danced while we made dinner and even now, when I close my eyes, I can see his face lit so perfectly by the warm candlelight. We fell asleep in each others arms as the fluffy snowflakes covered the world...slowly...inevitably...completely. The nights were pitch black and oh so quiet. During the snowstorms that ravaged the city it felt as though we were the only two people left...how safe and loved I felt...

 I do not miss that city...much. I do not miss leaving a warm bed at 4am to scrape off ice of my little car and freeze until the air conditioner kicked in. I do not miss the smog hanging low over the city streets suffocating air and sunlight. I do not miss being so cold that no amount of clothing could help me get warm.

But I miss THAT winter. That winter made us...created us...made us love each other and forced us back together when we wanted to give up. I miss our cozy nights of endless conversation. I long for the dinners we created together and the parties we threw for our friends. I yearn for the way that cold winter made us crave each other in a way I had not known before. And I will always...ALWAYS...miss the music. Those songs haunt me. Music is such a key part of us...I cannot imagine our love without it.

I am coming back this winter. I will land smack in the middle of cold January, when the city is ravaged by snow and wind. When I walk outside the gleaming crisp sunlight will burn my eyes and the world will be covered in white. I will jump into the warm belly of our steel animal on wheels and he will take me back...back to our beautiful house overlooking the valley. Back to the candlelight...and the music.

Pace is the trick

Somedays I feel very alone. Somedays it seems like the world is crashing on top of me and I can barely catch my breath. I feel overwhelmed with frustration and anger and despair...I get angrier still that there are so many in this world that can come home to their Love and find comfort and strength...their respite.

When my head is down and my knees are shaking...
that's when I need him most.

And that's when he is at his best.

His calm voice soothes my temper..his words penetrate through my little sharp armor...he looks at me the way only he can and I know all will be well.

This is our song. It was there when we began. It will be there until the end.
When I hear it...those first cords always stop me cold. I hear HIS voice and I feel him near me. Like a movie in front of me I see us...all of our dates...our passionate nights...our crazy adventures...our arguments and separations...our darkest moments when each has crumbled in front of the other only to be embraced and protected.

I see how much we have gone through already and how we have always become just a little stronger with each obstacle.
I am amazed at how deep, how absolutely encompassing, our love has become. Much more than I think either one of us had expected.

This song is not about perfect love. Some may say it's not about love at all. But it is ours and thus it is about OUR love. I cannot put into words exactly why but this song is everything. 
Every note..every word...as if written just for us (silly, I know, but that's the point, isn't it?)
I always go back to it when I need him just a little closer then Skype will allow.



Music can change your mood. It can change your day. And sometimes it can change your life.
ILJ

PRINTEMPS

I miss spring... yes I know you can't miss something that happens every year like clockwork especially DURING the time it is actually happening.

I miss the spring of my childhood. When you woke up one morning and you knew that the air changed. That it was going to be warm and sunny and colorful. That days would be filled with running along dusty city streets in brand new sandals until they wore out, eating loads of ice cream and literally bursting from energy and happiness. Days were long and fulfilled...pockets were full of petals and pebbles and gum wrappers...sleep was truly restful...

The world was never so big as it was then. It was never so full of promise. It was mine to discover.

I got nostalgic looking at these shots of young fashionistas...not so much because of what they are wearing (though yes, YES please) but because the "street style" often captures the sprit of the actual street.

                    The brand new oaks that endured the winter and burst through cement to proudly show off their vibrant foliage for all to admire.

                    The flowers that managed to persevere through a city winter and now bloom with such vigor it's almost gauche.

                    The sunlight that fills everything with golden light and illuminates every corner with new energy.

                    You can see in the way these girls dress that they feel spring. They are hopeful with the possibility of discovery...of hurried anticipation of this season...a season that could bring a new love, a new adventure to a foreign land...a new direction to their life.

When you live in a place that snows for 9 months and sneezes spring in one day before giving you two hot months of summer or a town where the seasons are basically a slight differential on the humidity scale you miss out on that change...that moment when seasons TURN. When, although you definitely know better, you want to run out into the street and run as fast as you can, breathing in the world around you...reveling in the fact that you are young and still believe the world to be a good place.

That is what I miss.

I also miss wearing actual clothes instead of the same drab uniform every single day.
I wish I had time to play with fashion like I used to...I wish I had more places to go where I was allowed to play with fashion. Someday I guess.

I mustn't complain. This is only temporary and New York is only two weeks away. I'll get My Spring then...