Archive for the ‘Clumsy Cuz I’m Falling’ Category

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You ask me what my favorite memory is.

And I laugh and say that there aren’t many to choose from. It was meant to be a light joke, but I’m somber all of a sudden at the truth of the statement. There aren’t many and I doubt there will be many more.

It’s doubt that’s the enemy, isn’t it?

I tell myself to have faith. To believe. To hope.

But no, Buddha was right when he said:

There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.

But I do. I doubt. And it kills me.

You hear it in my voice and soon I hear it in yours. If I can’t have faith, how do I expect you to believe in me? If I refuse to believe in you, how can I expect you to stay?

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Is that your way of acknowledging that I’m pulling away? Is that you saying goodbye?

I close my eyes and sigh.

It’s the way you always curve your arm around my waist every time you walk by me. Whether I’m brushing my teeth or getting a glass of water, you pass by and your arm snakes around my waist slightly, then your hand runs across the small of my back before you continue on with wherever you’re going. It’s the way you give me that teasing look on your face when I get scared. You laugh and whisper encouragement but you always say, “Don’t look at me with those scared eyes.” You somehow know just how to bring the fearless out of me.

It’s the way you make me feel flawless.

It’s the way you lace your fingers with mine as we sit and talk with your friends, or when we’re sitting at the dinner table drinking our wine; it’s the way you squeeze my hand so hard I can feel your bones fuse with mine just before I say goodbye.

You ask me what my favorite memory is, and I want to say, “You are.”

But I can’t.

And so, someday, I know I’ll sit in front of the sunset feeling the sand slip right through my fingers and I’ll miss you, too.

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It’s slightly out of rhythm at the thought of you.

My hands shake–they never shake.

I take in the beauty of you in bits and pieces, like looking through a viewfinder of a camera. I pan from the thick curls of your hair, the dark gold glint of the scruff of your jaw. My eyes trace the collarbone all the way to the simple sculpted V where the muscle of your shoulder joins your bicep.  I focus on the veins just beneath your skin, cording around your arms, disappearing as my eyes slowly find your fingers wrapped tightly over my wrist.

It’s thundering.

You can feel it, can’t you? The pulse just beneath the paper thin stretch of skin pounding against your fingertips.

You smile at me, I smile back as you slowly release my wrist and thread your fingers with mine. Then you pull me against you and we watch the sun rise, turning shadows into light, clearing the fog over the ocean.

You lean in and kiss the pulse just beneath my jaw.

“This is crazy.” You steal the words right out of me.

Yes, I know. Can’t you hear the beating of my heart?

The sun breaks through and the water is impossibly blue.

Blue. Impossibly blue. Like the belly of the ocean.I could fall into them and never find my damn way out. You know what I’m talking about.

You laugh suddenly, and I don’t know why, but now I’m laughing, too.

Because this is too damn crazy. I look down at your arms wrapped around me and I marvel at the way the dusting of light gold hair contrasts with the tan. I trace my fingers along your arm and carefully rest them over your pulse. I feel your smile over my shoulder.

And this is the sound of my heart beating.

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The problem with keeping someone at a distance is that it makes communication really hard. It’s like you’re always yelling over this white noise of empty space. It creates an illusion of safety–like being wrapped in a bubble. But then it all becomes a game of who gains the upper hand. He said, she said, he says wha-?, she says huh?

Ain’t none of us gonna make that step closer to burst that bubble.

Definitely doesn’t help when I’m talking about more than one.

In the end, it’s a conundrum. To move forward and make plans, we gotta communicate. To communicate, we gotta make at the very least the tiniest bit of commitment. To commit, we gotta take a step closer. To get close, we gotta let it happen. To let it happen, we gotta want it.

Not sure that I want it, though. But I do want to make plans. But mostly, I just think I’m bored.

What a conundrum.

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First of all: Love Kid Cudi. Love David Guetta. Love this song.

That song would probably be what best describes my weekend. I definitely did make all the crazy/beautiful decisions this weekend and I know that they will be tucked away under the file of “Best Memories.”

The best of the best part of the weekend? It dawned on me sometime after midnight on Friday night that I was happy. I was really, really happy. My life is awesome.

I can’t put my finger on it.

Maybe it’s because San Francisco just makes me feel amazing. I love this city, the nooks and crannies, the hopping on the train to bar hop, the art galleries/bars, the after-parties, the being able to walk through the streets and breathe real air, the people I know in this place, the people I meet at every turn…I’m just absolutely loving it.

Maybe it’s because I feel like the old me again. I don’t know if LA changed me or if my experiences in LA changed me that much. But I can go dancing at a club here just for the sake of dancing. In my jeans, sweater and boots, my hair in a ponytail, a Blue Moon in my hand…I feel like me in my own skin.

Maybe it’s the friends and loves who visit me. Maybe it’s the old-school hip-hop pounding out of the speakers. Maybe it’s walking through the city streets holding hands. Maybe it’s take-my-breath-away kisses and throw-my-head-back laughter on a bench at the Metreon. Maybe it’s frozen yogurt and Halloween stories. Maybe it’s old friends who still call me by my old name. Maybe it’s being around people who knew and remember my father that remind me of who I was meant to be. Maybe it’s whispers and lame jokes at night. Maybe it’s everything about everything right now.

I’m just happy. Let me be.

*For those who have the Password…Read on in Memories Part Deux*

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Your body is my hobby. I love the hot toddy.

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