Errant Thoughts

Intermittently Sparking Synapses #249

Today is no different….
   The game was always the same: girls taller than me, blonder than me; girls chosen first, first before me. Laughter and talking melding into a constant din; the din rising and falling as each girl was chosen.
   And alone I stood, an island of crackling nerves, shuffling my feet, hands holding on to each other for fear they might do something regrettable. 
   And at last I was chosen, last as always, at the end, unheard, unseen, unwanted.

Brown Velvet box

Sometimes, in the dark hours, when the birds in the parking garage are silent, and all I can hear is the shushing of the tires of the homebound late shift workers, I think about you.

I try to remember the good times, the times in Technicolor, filled with heart and soul so deep all I could see was rich, brown velvet.
In a box,

that velvet climbed up the walls, caressed the bottom, contained my heart and closed it in, with cover tight. We had a thing that I am unable to name. Your face was my face, I was you and you were me…I think.

But when the chips were on the table, when it was time to show our cards, you folded. Folding, for me, was not an option. I played my hand, but it wasn’t big enough for you, wasn’t high enough, wasn’t dear enough, because you walked away from the table.

The ripple from your exit still nudges my boat.

Your hateful, negligent rhetoric and absence ripped great, bleeding wounds so deep inside me, that even now when I remember then, 
the scar tissue tingles faintly.

I was never able to let you go, because you see, you were careless enough to leave part of you with me. Funny that you didn’t even miss those parts. You were so full of yourself that those tiny, flickering flames you left me never had the power to make you turn, to look, to see how, as time progressed in my world, those flames became the light with which I traversed my world.

Now I am just I.

And you are living on another planet. I would not want you, or anyone to open that box for me, because you see, my heart was locked inside it. Lid tightly closed, It sits, in shock, unable to move beyond. I’ve tried. I don’t have the technology.

But I’ve learned to persevere. Which is different than to thrive, and in persevering I was able to release my self to those brilliant flames, that you chose to ignore for year upon years. 

So you may now have one of those flames, and I dearly pray you don’t do or say anything to snuff it out. This one needed you; she had always possessed the uncanny talent to get exactly what she wanted.

It’s not for me to say whether it’s right or wrong, it just is. But let me assure you, here and now, if you hurt or damage that flame in any way, I will come after you with a wrath you’ve never even imagined I possessed.

Mistake

the mistake was so bad that it completely unmoored me... that before my conscious mind was aware of it, I was in the throes of a complete perfect storm of weeping.
What could do this?
My first born child, Jenine, is a singer and base player in a bluegrass band in New Zealand with her husband Nathan on banjo and father-in-law Barry on guitar.
This girl/woman has always had a voice that brought me to tears. But now, in the bluegrass band, she has changed the way her voice sounds to fit the genre. Not that her ability to hit and hold a note is compromised, it just sounds different.
So today I found that she had added some youtube video to her online presence, and thinking "Wow, it's been a while since I've heard her sing, so I'll turn it up loud and start my housecleaning."
uh huh, that's what did it, remember I said she lives in New Zealand? The bloody bottom of the planet, 20,000 miles away from me...the sound of her voice so filled my house that it resulted in an unexpected shock to my well hidden reservoir of sadness that I keep in a back room of my mind with the door locked. At the first note that damn door was flung open and out came a ton of sludge and sediment from the bottom of the reservoir. My heart spasmed, and I wept uncontrollably. I miss her more than i can accurately describe. The pain is so intense that it makes my eyes water, and my breathing to become labored.
Fine, call me crazy. Whatever. It's time to stitch. One tiny stitch at a time, slowly pushing back the flood...........go back in there......go back in there.....I don't want you here.....go back in there.

nope, I can't really say anymore because I miss her more than mere words can describe.