Love or something like it

One of life’s most intriguing mysteries, is why do we fall in love with the one that is not for us?

Some dream of the moment love will happen to them, but not everyone. Some intentionally turn that part of possibly one of life’s greatest pleasures, off. Based on fear, of course, fear of loss, pain from that loss and fear of getting out of control.

Then it happens and the one that held onto the thought of never falling, falls the hardest. The fall is so hard it’s almost violent, like if you can step outside of your body you will see that your body is in pieces, smashed beyond any recognition. You find yourself not asking, “Why did I wait so long?” but instead you scream, “No, please God, no!”

You find yourself doing things you never thought you would do, like staying up 24/7 if that person needs you for 5 minutes out of each day.  And yet, you are afraid to be around them for any length of time because this may be the day that you lose your senses and tell them that you want them so much that the feeling suffocates you. That you would be so fucked up one day that words of love would come streaming from your lips when for years you have held them back with an iron resolve. Oh the love of your life has heard the words of love from you and they may even think that you have expressed yourself very well, but little do they know that the love they have experienced with you is only the tip of a very big iceberg, one that runs so deep into frigid waters that a nuclear bomb couldn’t move it.

And as cheesy as it may sound,  a smell that lingers on your mind, reminds you of them, even if you don’t know their scent, it’s just  something about it that made your heart skip as they do. You find yourself touching the softest blanket on your bed and wishing it was their skin. And music…damn, every love song is about them, how can you find original words when it seems the writers of every love word you hear or see has already spoken the words you most wanna say. That if you had 3 wishes one of them would be to spend  your life with them. That as days and nights would pass me by, I tell myself that I was waiting for a sign, then she appeared, a love so fine, my valentine. That I will love her for life and I will never let a day go by without remembering the reason why she makes me certain that I can fly. That I wouldn’t beg for water but I’ll get down on my knees for you. Stay with me, forever won’t you stay with me.  All I got to do is to love you, all I got to be is be happy. These arms of mine, they are yearning, yearning from wanting you and if you would just let me hold you, how grateful I would be. A little pain in my heart, just won’t let me be, I wake up on a restless night, lord and I can’t even sleep. You’ve got me in your hands, why can’t you understand, that I love you, honey, more than words can say. For you I will try to pick up those broken pieces until I’m bleeding if that will make you mine. Hear you’re gone, but your goodness still stays on, and I thank you for these precious memories for without them it just ain’t worth living. Love is what it does and our love’s doing nothing, with all the time we spent it must be good for something, please forgive all the disturbance I’m creating, but you’ve got a lot to learn if you think that I’m not waiting for you.

But not all love, no matter how real, how strong, how cosmic, means that you should be with the person that your heart has stopped for.  Something, it could be one little small, infinitesimal thing, that is very clear to you both, that makes it an impossible situation and so your love goes denied. And you realize, it isn’t better to have loved then to not have loved at all, whoever came up with that concept was never in love truly. It’s the difference between having a surgeon open your chest and carefully remove your heart out while you sleep or having a walking zombie just come along and rip your heart out and bite into it while it’s still beating and you’re watching. Sometimes the greatest love means you let them go, especially if you are not good for them in the moment. It’s a cruel time indeed when you come into the knowledge of knowing you are not the best thing that could happen to them in this life. So if something causes you to lose touch and somehow it feels like a blessing in disguise, although your insides are tearing up, then it may just be time to set love free.

And yet still you know: I’d have to be strong
Stronger than a mountain baby
To not crumble at the touch of your hand
I’d have to stop time
To stop this love inside me baby
To not reach each night for you
To not need you like I do
I could possess all the greatest powers baby
I could hold the whole world here
In my hands
And still I would be powerless to leave you baby
‘Cause your touch is just too sweet
And I’m in this love so deep

I’d have to be super human
Made out of stone, made out of steel
To not feel what i’m feeling
To not love you baby, love you baby
I’d have to have the strength of 10 men
To ever resist a love strong as this
To not care like I do
I’d have to be, have to be super human

…or something like it.

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yes, no, I mean maybe…

Watch your mouth, hold your tongue, because you’re running out of
breath, running out of time before every careless word that you utter
renders you utterly useless.

now you’re drowning in your own saliva trying to speak yourself to the top of your empty world, well keep on talking just keep on rambling, you’ve got your mouth full

listen here’s the pleasant
part you and I we fell apart, listen here’s the pleasant part, you and I
we fell apart

why can’t you make up your mind? why can’t you make up your mind? shut your mouth, burn your bridges, throw your words like an attack and stab me in the.. wait a second, wait a second, what’s that I just heard, nevermind, it’s obviously worthless

now you’re standing on your soapbox yelling from the rooftops everything you say is a lie. a lie a lie. lie,lie
Yeah! here’s the clever one who speaks before his thoughts are
done. listen here’s the clever one who speaks before his thoughts are
done

why can’t you make up your mind, why can’t you make up your mind
your mind, watch your mouth some things are better
left unsaid, some things are better left unsaid.

now i hope you’re pleased,you got your prize and tongue
dance between your words,right before you fall….RIGHT BEFORE
YOU FALL, why dont’ you say that to my face? I had a rip down
torn out So many things. everything you, everytime you, every word you
say.If I told you this was killing me, would you , would you Stop?  

If I Told You This Was Killing Me – Juliana Theory

hurry up and wait shut up I’m listening be honest but don’t tell me the truth the devil is in the details

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At Dawn’s Early Light (tentative title)

  Early Autumn morning, the day dawns, and as the light from the rising sun moves across Fisherman’s Wharf, over in a shadowy corner rarely viewed by the many tourists that visit’s the more popular sites on the wharf, as the sun moves to lighten every corner, it reveals a horror show, a dead body has been found and has attracted a small crowd of onlookers as police dressed in their blues, roped the scene off from closer inspection by the onlookers. As is the usual routine, the CSI and homicide detectives arrived at the scene to assess the situation. It’s clear at first view of the scene by the four detectives that have arrived, that it’s a murder case.

 

 The body, though dressed in a beautiful and obviously expensive designer dress, was grotesquely twisted with both hands and feet tied together behind the victim’s body. The victim’s long shiny black hair hid her face from view, once the CSI team had finished with their pictures and evidence collecting, one of the detectives, the senior most one of the group of four, carefully moved the hair from the face of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. That was brought home even more when you consider that this senior detective had been a cop for over 36 years and had seen a lot in this beautiful city of San Francisco, his hometown.

 

 As he grimaced at seeing such a waste of a beautiful young lady, who to his experienced eyes show she was not a tourist and not the average person you would find in this exact area, this crowded place. She looked like a well to do housewive that just came from one of those fancy shmancy business dinners that her husband may have forced her to attend. The senior detective, George Leitman, checked the fingers of the beautiful victim and found no evidence of her ever having worn a wedding ring, now or in her immediate past. The dress she wore was a gorgeous, royal blue short skirted dress. Her face was so well made up it looked like a professional painted her picturesque face. The shoes she wore silver and blue 4 inch heels, perfectly matching her dress.

 

 Det, George Leitman was soon satisfied with what he had viewed of the body and the scene, and once his fellow detectives were done with their observations and search of the scene, they allowed the body to be removed from the site. But, the detectives knew that their work had just begun. Since Det, Leitman was in charge at the scene of a possible murder, he could either take the case and he and his partner of the past ten years, Randall Bobbitt, would handle it or assign it to the two younnger detectives at the scene. Det. Leitman could tell that this case was going to take a lot of interviewing witnesses and even more legwork, so for him his decision was easy to make, he handed the case off to the two younger detectives.

 

 The two younger detectives weren’t your ordinary homicide detectives. These two had a reputation for being completely inept. They always seemed to close there cases, though, somehow they always seem to be in the right place at the right time, or wrong time if you asked the perpetrators they’ve sent to prison. Let’s take for instance how these two actually became detectives.

 

 Beanie Frick and Frank Frack started out their careers in the same police academy, where they immediately became fast friends. They always seemed to get paired off with each other, which worked out great for the two fast friends. They had been on their very first beat together for little over a week when Beanie, driving their assigned police unit, went the wrong way up a one way street, maybe you’ve heard of it? Lombard Street, one of the most famous one way streets in the country, apparently this is the one cop that didn’t know, at least not until his partner began to scream like he was one of the girls that Michael Myers from the horror movie, Halloween, was after.

 

 It turned out all good, they ended up running smack into the car of a couple of kidnappers that had just taken the Mayor’s, not missed yet,  daughter. The Mayor was so happy that he turned into Frick and Frack’s genie for a day and granted them any wish that they so desired. They both wished for homicide detective shields and so their wish was granted.

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Self Portrait

Have you ever thought of painting a picture of how you see yourself, in your head?
I have, both how others may see me and how I see myself. Well, actually, how I
believe others may see me according to how I am towards them.
 
Here’s an example, one of the kids I have been involved with, I see myself as
a teacher to and a distant aunt that she can talk to when she can’t say what
she feels, to her parents. That’s how I think she sees me, my portrait, the
one I paint in my head, in regards to her, is of the character, of the little
old lady that lived in the shoe that had so many kids she didn’t know what
to do, cept love them.
 
That portrat doesn’t stay the same for everyone I have had the
fortune, or misfortune, to chat with over the years.  Sometimes,
a few times, I have been dead wrong with how some of the ones
I had become close to over several years time, actually see me. It’s
not wholly my fault, I mean the relationships always start off
with, ‘be honest, say anything, I like it when people are honest.’
That’s how they always start off, but what I find out later is
not every relationship that I covet or the people I love
unconditionally, are prepared to love me the same way.
 
It’s like this, when we talked for many hours and laughed
for many more, and while we were in the heat of ‘friendship’,
the things we said to each other was okay, it took everything
we was to each other to another level, like peeling an
artichoke to get to the heart. Then years later you find your
heart was revealed but theirs, not so much. All of a sudden
the words you used caused sadness, all of a sudden the
words you used caused pain and hurt, all of a sudden the
words you used was poisionous.
 
You find out you were suppposed to hold back, ‘see
no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’, the part of your
character that did was unwanted and therefore bad.
 
Not everybody can love unconditionally, more importantly,
not everyone wants you to. Anyway, there was this kid that
painted a ‘mama’ portrat to me. I didn’t ask her to, she
was bound and determined to no matter what I said. When
we first met, she was in a bad place both in her heart and
in her head, she cut, she was heading towards anorexia, she
was not clear on what the future held for her. Now she is like
night and day, she has done well for herself, she has a
handsome, little boy and from what I know (it isn’t much nowadays)
she’s pretty happy and her future is lit up like her smile. Now I’m
poison to her, according to her, but I do get pictures and updates
every now and then. It’s appropriate, pictures are just images
with no depth, which is what our relationship has turned out
to be. The thing is, once she revealed my heart it stayed
revealed, so I still love her the same, but contact with
poison is limited. I am left with the words, ‘there’s new
pictures.’
 
So it has occured again that someone else has revealed to
me that the portrait of me that she sees is harmful, poisonous.
For her, the portrait wasn’t of her as a kid, or me as ‘mama’. I tried
to keep it just as ‘someone’ over the internet, but I didn’t, so
a portrait was formed, I always thought she saw me as a
librarian, she would come use my thoughts when they
were useful and when they weren’t, silence, basically. My feelings
aren’t important at this point, I think both view me as having none,
other than hate. Anyway, I was given the portrait she painted of
me, and it was as a ‘hope killer’, she’s a dreamer, so I am
probably a dream killer too. Sometimes, I think to be nice, some
people feel that not saying anything is better then being
blunt or upfront, it’s more polite, but actually, if your
actions are already saying it,  it’s not my choice and hurts
just the same, no, I’m wrong, it hurts a lot more. And again,
I am left with the words, ‘there’s new pictures’.
 
I painted another portrait of myself in my head, and it
is of a window pane with rolling raindrops running slowly
down the window’s pane of glass. Raindrops because it’s
the closest things to teardrops to me.
 
As a warning to others, you may wanna avoid me too
just in case I become just as poisonous to you. It is what
it is, love means not looking after your own interests. It’s
like if I was gangrene, which is poison to the body, you
would cut away the limb to save the body. I regret that
this is how someone I care deeply for sees me, but I
don’t regret anything I’ve ever said, I’m sorry they do.
 
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Mon Chéri

 
  Mon Chéri and several of her closest friends, always
spent their birthdays together. The self-proclaimed,
Mr Right, had never been to any of their parties, 
not just because he was never invited, but also
because he didn’t celebrate birthdays, not even his
own. He would always call and wish Mon Chéri a very
happy birthday, to him, it was the most important day
on his calendar, after all, it is the day his love was
born and for him, it was the day his world began
to spin.
 
  The self-proclaimed Mr. Right worked hard at
being invisible to Mon Chéri, the fear of having her
find out how deeply he loved her was far stronger
then his wish to have her near. He knew if she was
nearer to him, he would not be able to hide what
he felt. Any time they did come into contact with
one another, he held himself back to the point
that Mon Chéri was oten left thinking that he
was a cold and unfeeling man. Though that
did bother Mr. Right, he felt that to relax his 
guard around her, would spell doom for the
little relationship that they did have,
 
  He turned into the jack of all trades for her,
if she needed help with her teacher’s
assignments, he gave it, if she needed her
drain unclogged, he was there, if she needed
a listening ear, he gladly listened. It was as
if, doing for her was all that he aspired to do.
In fact, having his love returned was something
he never allowed himself to dream, for that
would be false hope. It would just have to be
enough that she allowed him to stand on
the outskirts of her life. Pathetic though it
sounded, fear dictated his actions, so it
had to be just as it was.
 
  Mon Chéri never knew the thoughts
running through her friend’s head, to her
he was just a good listener, a filler for
boredom when she wasn’t doing things
with her close friends or her dates, or her
school kids, or her library students. Even
though he had been in her life for many,
years she knew practically nothing about him,
if someone was to ask her to describe him
she would just say, "He’s nice, sweet, and
cute, I suppose."
 
  Each of them, the self-proclaimed
Mr. Right and Mon Chéri, viewed love
differently. Mon Chéri viewed love as
getting everything in a guy that she desires.
The guy that was mr. right for her, would
fit her list of requirements to perfection.
For Mr. Right, love for him was freedom,
in a very spirtual way. It made him feel
superhuman, the colors that he saw were
brighter, the flowers that he passed,
smelled sweeter, he felt that he could
walk on sand and not leave a footprint,
because love had given him wings. Love
enpowered  him to do greater things,
like thinking of someone else’s happiness
not just his own, whether that person
will be with him are not.
 
  The day finally came that Mr. Right had
dreaded for years,  Mon Chéri had found
the perfect guy, he fit everything on her list.
She knew he was the ONE, the guy she
could finally use the words, "I love you" on.
 
  Although, Mr. Right’s thoughts screamed,
‘TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL, MAN !!" 
 
  He quietly congratulated her and disappeared
from her life and in his prayers he wished
for her, HIS wife, all the good things life
could find. It would be yet another party
he would not attend. Not that he was ever
invited.
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Mon Chéri

  A child was born from love, a little bundle of joy held
in her proud parents’ arms. Mon Chéri, they named her,
to fondly remind them of the place she was concieved.
  On Mon Chéri’s second day of birth, she was taken
to her sweet little home, where she would grow into
the beautiful young woman she is today. As it turns
out, Mon Chéri’s parents were unable to add any
more bundles of joy to their loving family, leaving
Mon Chéri an only child. Mon Chéri was loved
and yet, not spoiled. She was kind, honest, and
loving, with a sweet disposition. Everyone that 
met her, smiled, because this sweet young
woman, seemed to carry the sun around in
her smiles.
  Mon Chéri worked as a elementary
teacher. Although to her, it was far from
work, she loved being a part of the growth 
of all the children she taught. The children
loved her just as much. She was 
overwhelmed, at times, with gifts that the
children insisted upon giving her, just so
that she would know how happy they
were to have her as their teacher. 
  Also, for three days a week after 
teaching in school, she would teach
after school, in a little room at the
public library. To Mon Chéri,
teaching adults that had not yet
learned to read, was a fulfillment
in it’s own way.
  Even though Mon Chéri, walked
with a happy bounce in her step
and a heavenly smile on her face,
everyone that she knew or met all 
wished for the same thing on her
behalf, they all wished that  Mon Chéri
would find, Mr. Right and settle down.
Mon Chéri’s parents were so insistent
upon it, that Mon Chéri would often
regret walking into her sweet family
home when she visited. Although she 
adored her loving parents, it hurt her 
her soft heart that no one could see
what she already knew, that the joys
in life wasn’t from being a couple,
but in knowing  who you are and being 
great at being yourself, rather with 
a mate or not. Regardless, Mon Chéri
knew, that when the time came it 
would not be something she would 
force, it would come in due time, 
meanwhile, she would continue to
enjoy life and all it held for her.
   Of course, all the guys that came 
into contact with her wanted to be
THE guy, so she had many dates 
to choose from, but none so far
were Mr. Right. So in the meantime,
she had a ball being the gorgeous,
flirty single woman that she was.
  Mon Chéri’s  life was full, full
of love, family, friends, and work.
All were things that she loved and
gave her all too. But what she didn’t 
know was that one of her dear friends
loved her in a way that went beyond
friendship. He knew for him, she 
was THE ONE, and to him, he
was her Mr. Right. This presented
a dilemma for him, does he tell
her and risk the friendship being
ruined with the disgust she may feel
at hearing his love being put into 
words or does he continue to keep his
love, painful though it is, locked 
up in a far away place. 
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