( Read more... )So many things done for the sake of peace, for the sake of carefully making the way smooth for someone else - you may not have recognized this colossus of strength but yeah, that's me, colossus. Or maybe that's just some word for a rough hewn pole. He feels more like one of those old tree trunks, bark stripped off, branches chopped, leaves dried and blown free. Only inside, some small family of birds had been born and their songs had charmed even the dead wood.
Whatever the reason, the season's no longer spring green with fresh promise of long, lush summer. This is still wood. Only now, rain sodden and the birds are lifting off. Dreams are so very easy to kill. Smiles and laughter, so easy to paste on and perform. Others have a chance at that summer. And trust, ... again, gathering up the wood chips of hope and joy. Into the fire with you guys. One of these days I just may learn.
And what of this, my diary that I know gets read by others? I have tried to not edit it for others' benefit. How else could it be mine? I've celebrated my life here and cursed it. This is where I kick myself or congratulate myself. If you don't like what I say then get your own.
Like a cowering dog, I'm staying in the back room lately. If my paw gets stepped on by accident does it hurt less than if it was on purpose? I got hurt this week. It's nobody's business, really. But celebrating the beauty of love seems like so much schmaltz. Keeping cards close to your chest sounds like wisdom. There are no guarantees. No shit. If there's a lesson I've learned, that's the one. So why do I keep believing that Lucy's not gonna pull that ball? Why believe I'm not gonna end up on my back this next time? What's the matter with me? A bottle of champagne and some music, a little writing, these are fine things and should content me. Is that simple, peaceful life still calling? The one with no ventures but no hurt feelings either? ( Read more... )