Influences (or Why I Write the Way I Do)

Natalie Goldberg (free-flowing writing)
Clarissa Pinkola Estes (wild woman writing)
Jane Hutchison (direct-to-the-point writing)
Ernest Hemingway (simple words writing)

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

The Unfolding

the social experiment continues.

i don't know what to feel. not that i ignore it. there's actually no distinct feeling. it is hard to describe what one cannot pinpoint.

what is confirmed is that feelings have never been black and white. that in its hues, one can choose to just get lost, and let go.

i need him, and i like him. an open persona shouting, 'this is what you get. but what i have is real.'

he admits to be at the twilight of his life. making up for lost time. speeding up unless his smoking, the habits that could not be reversed, slows him down. he admits, the wife and his family has been his first thought, after getting this recent job breakthrough. he admits, that he loves me, does not want to let me go but understands the one-way street he is getting into.

and i admit, i laugh at his foibles and misfits. i admit, dismissing the declarations of love because the heart has grown more cynical than believing.  and i admit, this heart is being opened to another experience with sadness again.  because the future is quite easy to foretell. that what we are getting into right now, runs the risk of being just another episode. but if the fates be kind, still, an outcast relationship that only he and i can comprehend.  a relationship that is always quite but not, almost real but hidden, almost complete but always wanting. perhaps, we should not want anymore, not think, and just let things be. just as he suggested, 'let's just be spontaneous.'

how does the line go, 'the wrong station may lead you to the right station...'   as my relationships with men have come and gone, from the oppressive to the promising, for me, the concept of the ideal type, the ideal relationship, the ideal man is just an illusion. it is not mine to deserve. as men do not come in neat little packages, so does love and the relationships springing from it, are not necessarily predictable or desirable at first glance.

so i wake up every day to the faith that the present just has to be lived. and that every ounce of kindness, attention, that tug in my heart whenever he reaches out, shares how his day and nights have been, asks, takes and gives advice, flirts, an unfolding of a love that could not be judged out of a man and his past. it is a love encouraged and acknowledged as coming out of a man, no longer missing this chance of a future with someone to trust. in time, i may learn to love, despite the possibilities of loss and resignation. in time, perhaps our love will be strong, unusually strong because it is not tied to false hopes. in time, perhaps, he, will leave the deeper, fuller, and indelible imprint. the bestfriend-lover who will tide me through this lifetime.

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