A Smile Where the Glimmer Still Exists

In life you will face trials. This is a part of the experience. It's no use going to look for them, though. They'll find you all the same.

Consider this: A wink. A kiss. The touch of a hand on your shoulder as the warmth fills your chest, and you think of the rest, and your longing becomes even greater than before.

Consider this: A wink. A kiss. A solemn vow that rises from the deepest part, beyond your heart, and offers this and more.

Consider me: A call. A plea. A wish that if it's granted brings a quiet joy. A girl. A boy. A future stretched out endlessly to see.

Consider this. A swing. A miss. An inward, crushing, terrible collapse. A song. Get up. Move on. But never quite the same.

A younger man. A thought. A plan. Without a clue. A stranger next to you. A man. A brilliant plan. But no one sees. They all just look right through.

The eyes. The tired eyes. The gleam is dimmer, but surely not gone. The hands with stories more than you will ever read or hear or know.

Consider this: A wink. A kiss. Such a simple act which started all of this. A life. An afterlife. A smile where the glimmer still exists.

Sometimes the only way to fix it is to take it apart.

"If it isn't too much to ask, I'd like to have that without any dressing."

I sat and watched as this went on for fifteen minutes. She would bring exactly what he had asked for, and he would ever so politely make some slight modification that would force her to begin all over again. I was trying to decide if he was mentally unstable or just ornery. She clearly didn't care either way. No tip was worth this. I could see the cloud forming over her head, and I called her over. She later told me she was ready to explode at the first complaint I had, assuming that was why I called her. Instead I looked right into her eyes and told her that she was the most patient, kindest soul I had ever met, and seeing how she tirelessly dealt with "us customers" every day was inspiring. I'm not sure if it was my kind words, or maybe just the minute's reprieve. Maybe it was the large tip she spotted on my table, since I was getting ready to leave. No matter what it was, I saw the first genuine smile I had ever seen on her face. I glanced at her name tag.

"Good bye Elizabeth. I really hope you have an amazing night."

That was the first time I said her name, and as with everyone I meet it felt strange on my tongue. A name is at the same time so accessible, and yet so personal. I ended up going back there every Wednesday afternoon, and she even invited me to have dinner with her family, her husband and three boys, the next free weekend we both had. I never took her up on that dinner. The first time I met her husband was at the wake. He hugged me, and we both leaned on each other for just a moment. I'll never know what was going through his head, but I know in that moment, for no other reason than a kind word five years ago, we shared a moment that will be with me forever.

When Actions No Longer Elicit Reactions

Should I start this post with a question?

Is originality to be desired above quality? Do we have to make that choice?

The world slowly faded to black as I watched. I tried several times to look away, but looking away would mean that it's over, as if that weren't certain already. The black spot on the horizon that I had been staring at, thinking it was you turned out to just be a rock sticking out of the ocean somewhere where the water grew shallow. You were gone, and it didn't matter how long I stared, I would never see you again.

You taught me that living is the best way to honor the dead, and so I know that every moment spent here staring at the ocean, looking for the boat that carried your empty shell to sea is only serving to dishonor that memory, but I just can't tear myself away. Not yet. Who will teach me now that you're not here? I always hated your lessons, but I would give anything for one verbal sparring match, in which I would inevitably lose. One more time when you could tell me that my "youthful pride is getting old, and soon will turn to stubbornness." You were one to talk, old man. If only I had listened more, or offered more time. Maybe I would feel better about this. Maybe you wouldn't have left such a hole in my life.

I step down from the cliffs where you told me never to go, finally ready to listen.

Reminiscence is Rosy, but Reality is Red

All I can think about is you.

Could it really be so simple?

Far away I hear a song, and old soul song, whose melody reminds me of a time long since passed, when I used to live every single day. Now I wait. I'm not always even sure what I'm waiting on, and yet I wait. Give me a plan so that I can move forward. Give me something in front of me to press into, and press onward, living in every day. Give me more of yourself, so that I can understand. Help me. I don't know what to do. I'm not a child anymore, but I long for those days. I remember, not the immaturity and the mistakes, but that I really did something and I believed with everything inside that I was where I was meant to be. Take me back to that place, but let me keep my age. I don't miss my youth. I don't miss the oblivious boy who didn't know how to handle life. I only miss the boy who tried anyway. God help me to find him again, and we will become unstoppable.

A Real Man

If I were a real man, I'd tell you how I feel. At least that's what they tell me. But what kind of real man tells you something that he can't back up. I know how you felt about me before. I could see it in your eyes, just a glimpse, and I could hear it in the conversations you didn't have. I just wasn't ready. Now I am ready, but now I don't know if you're the one, and I don't want to start something I can't finish. I'm waiting for a sign, and it's not what you'd expect. I'm waiting for a sign that I won't be able to neglect. I'm waiting for the right thing, and to me that's worth the wait, so I'm sorry that I've kept you waiting. I'm not even sure it's me you're waiting for.

If I were a real man, I wouldn't be afraid. At least that's what they tell me. But what kind of real man walks into his destiny without at least some kind of apprehension? Fear stimulates the mind, and the body. Fear causes you to experience everything around you, while at the same time it lets you maintain razor sharp focus. Fear brings out the best in you. I don't ever want to lose that feeling. Without fear, I am nothing.

If I were a real man, I would stop acting like a child. At least that's what they tell me. Who knows? maybe they're right for once.

Self-Pity Is the Worst Form of Narcissism

Standing alone in a crowd
Screaming to be heard above the noise

There was a kid I knew once. He told me that he was going to grow up and be famous. I looked him in the eye and killed his dream with just one sentence: "You better have a fallback plan, kid."

Give me a reason, and I'll let you go, but I reserve the right to reject your reasoning.

Continuity is for those who can't comprehend the abstract.

"If you ask me to, I'll stay."

I stood there silently, looking in any direction except hers. I could feel her eyes on me, and without looking I knew their expression: deep wells slowly filling to the brim, ready to overflow either with joy or pain, all depending on my next words. I couldn't possibly say anything. I knew what was right, but I just couldn't stand to be the one to break a person, so I just held my tongue. Eventually though, that just brought about a worse reaction. The silence stretched on. It had long since become unbearable, and yet we bore it, preferring it to the coming storm. I was the one who broke first, as I silently took one step away from her. I picked her jacket up off the chair and as I held it toward her I reached for her hand. She understandably pulled away. How could I have done this thing? When did I become someone who put himself in this situation? How could I fix this? I vaguely remember the slamming of the front door as I slumped onto the couch in the silence of my own living room, where all I could think about was me, and what a fool I've been.

Self-pity is the worst form of narcissism.

Good night.