Tranquility

Her hair peeks at me shyly from under the covers.  With a smile, I pull the remainder of the covers around her, as she sleeps on.

The Sun is bright this Sunday afternoon.  Outside the balcony, I can see the leaves quivering slightly in the Santa Barbara breeze.  The streets wind along, spelling out an indecipherable soliloquy that embraces a still drowsy city.  Opening the glass door gingerly, as not to upset her sleep, I step outside, the slate cold against my bare feet.  With a sigh, I plop down on the deck chair, sinking deep into the cushions.  The breeze caresses my warm cheeks, brushing my hair aside.

It makes me remember the previous night, running hand-in-hand, yelling at the top of our lungs like children through the empty streets.  “1-2-3″ she yells before jumping onto me.  Surprised, I instinctively cradle her under my arms as she chuckles under her breath.  She leans up, kissing me on the cheek, before letting out a sedated sigh.

There were those times, where we sat solemnly on the swing under the willow, the drooping branches swaying as gently as we rocked back and forth.  The good times, I guess, where only the blood coursing excitedly throughout our veins took care of the talking.  Her spring time youth had a way of mollifying my tendency for rigidness, making the edges of my lips crease with smiles.

She understood my deepness without really understanding it.  Once upon a time, I thought myself a White Knight.  Once upon a time, I could save the world.  Once upon a time, I cared much more. I don’t want to save anyone.  I don’t want to change anyone’s life.  I don’t want to be a giver, without being a taker first.  In a way, I’m content with the here and now.  The future, they say, can wait.

She pt 2

I’m not a fair man, I know.  Sometimes I might take more than I give, but in it all, I hope she still knows I care.  I carry myself with this I DGAF attitude that sometimes puts others off, yes, but it’s the only way I know how to push aside the wrong things in life.

I’m romantically laconic, using that loaded word sparingly, and even then, uneasily.  I shy away from PDA, at times walking briskly one step ahead, as if I was trying to escape.  Affection and emotions cause me to tense up, widening my eyes wild with the next chance to bolt.  And it’s not that I don’t care to be leashed; I would prefer it to calm my endless wandering, as long as it’s a long leash that still gives me the freedom of movement.

I feel a bit sad that she might never see the high times that identified my early 20′s, because now I don’t care about those things anymore.  The last minute flights to Europe, just because I wanted to show a girl Paris.  The nights out dancing at a top floor nightclub, overlooking the city.  Swimming lazily in the azure waters of Costa Rica.  No, these things, the money and the who-has-what don’t matter to me, anymore.

But I can promise I’ll care in my own way.  It’s those small, seemingly insignificant gestures that light up my eyes and make me come to life.  We’ll share a deep understanding and introspective view of Life.  And I’ll value the tiniest of moments that others often overlook, quietly understanding her thoughts before she has to tell me so.

And when the wind is calm and quietness surrounds us, I’d still be astonished by her inherent beauty.  How her hair falls on her neck, the slight curves of her body, the subtlety of her light perfume.  Or maybe the corny way she laughs, because with it, her dimples seem to have a life of their own.  And, I think, sometimes words don’t need to be exchanged; most of the time, a smile is enough.

I hope she’d be willing to work as hard as I will, because I know I can’t do it alone.  To build something together that can be quantifiable and measured.  Maybe it won’t include riches, or fame, but those are meant to be afterthoughts, anyway.  There might be men who want the perfect trophy wife, the women who want a Prince Charming that doesn’t exist.  But me, I want to build something great, together, from nothing.  People tend to get caught up and want the prepackaged, and forget that a foundation of mutual respect and understanding is often more than enough.

Everybody seems to have a bulleted list of what they want in the other now, so this is my own.  Yes, the woman that haunts me in my dreams is different from those average girls out there.  She is a real woman.  Honest, encouraging, the firm strength behind my inherent weaknesses.  She’d bring class but won’t forget the sass.  But sometimes I wonder, does she even exist these days?

Don’t We All

There was a time when I felt like I understood myself, that I was sure of what I had to do in life.  When my worries were eased, my thoughts light-hearted.

In this world of 4.5 billion people, I always wonder if others strive to understand, too.  Even now, I find myself wandering, still.  Searching for meaning, trying to find the Truth.  And sometimes, it’s a daily struggle that I consciously choose to numb out through both my action or inaction.

Sometimes I wonder what exactly I’m searching for.  No…  It’s this clarity of soul.  It’s this ubiquity of desire.  It’s this essence of thought.  Beyond the rag-tag rabble of my daily life, that sometimes makes me forget what I’m looking for, in the quiet moments, I remember exactly.

Thing is, it feels so unbelievably hard to even connect with someone nowadays.  People live their lives, disembodied from their true selves, just drifting around in the uncaring void of consciousness.  It’s excruciating, but somehow we still stay alive, even if just on life-support.

But why…?

It’s like eating fine Mediterranean cuisine without tasting the crisp coarseness of the salt, the tangy olives, or the tart sun-dried tomatoes.  Like kissing a lover deeply, without smelling the subtle hint of her light perfume or the way her dress flows around her slender legs.  Or trying to understand someone, without first, listening.

Maybe I’m just the kind of guy who either puts it all in, or nothing at all.  Maybe that’s the wrong way to do it.  Maybe it’s right.  I don’t know myself.  All I can share is what’s my own, what I’ve seen, touched, smelt, tasted, experienced with my own senses.

And tomorrow’s always another day.  I still swear to myself that it gets better.

But for tonight, I still wander, not out of want, but out of necessity.

Within These Memories

And within these memories, you still inhabit so many of my dreams.  I suppose life has pushed us this way and that way, forced to take parallel, yet different paths.  It’s this intense connection that we probably will always have, for better or for worse, but still there is no congruency.  We’re consistently inconsistent, and I guess that was always our greatest pull towards each other.

You were so captivating.  I remember the first time we met; I was 15 and you were 14.  Already beautiful, but I was chasing other girls and gave you the cold shoulder.  But in the back of my mind I always thought about you.  Maybe I thought you were out of my league and I didn’t pursue you.  Funny how things turned out.

You were such a great dancer.  And then the first time we danced.  I’m not the greatest dancer, but I’m rather okay in my own right.  Your sisters pressured you to dance with me.  We both had that “whatever” attitude towards the other sex that for some reason attracts people, anyway.  And damn, were you a great dancer.  That night, we danced for hours, hiding away from the world at large.  We were in our own world, and it was nice.

You were so exquisite.  You always had this charm about you that drove me crazy.  Sensual, crazy sexy, yet so damn classy.  You were that girl that no man could have, and when I swept you off your feet, I really valued every moment.  The flowing dresses, that accentuated your lithe curves.  The trends that you set, one of the first girls to start the whole retro-scene again.  How your short bob fell around your neckline.

You understood my soul.  The quiet nights by the harbor still burn in my memories.  You understood my appreciation for the simple moments.  And in return, I always encouraged you to meet your goals.  I guess I’m a facilitator.  Beyond my outside outrageousness, I’m content with being the secret protector, nurturing possibility with quiet hope.

I don’t think anyone expected this.  Too bad no one will ever know, we two included.

So it’s a shame.

Nearly a year later, it’s still a shame.

On Goodbyes

The stars trace an inexplicable web across the night sky, like the milky dew drops resting on intricately spun silk early in the morning.  M. lays with her back to the bed of grass, and her chest heaves, taking in the brisk air.  My eyes are closed, absorbing the variable sounds and smells around me, slowly sighing one of those slightly happy sighs that almost whistle through my teeth.

She props herself up on one elbow, her hair cascading down, flowing like the river, in the valley between her breath.  Her face seems to shine with the intensity of Suns, the dimples bracketing her smile, her brows relaxed in thought.  My fingers lace into her hair, behind her ears, and I could feel the warmth radiating from her body into the cold night.

It’s this green meadow up high in the Hayward hills, across from CSU East Bay that we used to come out to, where you could see from San Francisco to Oakland, from bridge to bridge.  Here, the heavens seemed just that bit closer to our outstretched hands that reach out in earnest yearning.

I slowly roll the butt of my Dunhill between my fingertips, the smoke swirling upward like an opium-induced dream.  Within the thick clouds, the future seems to be well-defined, ethereal as it may seem.  Here, it was just us, and the worries of that time period were far away.  And I wondered, if the troubles made things worth it to work for.  It’s those split second decisions that really define our character, and who we are.

The moon wanes as the night creeps onward, as we too, waned.  Sometimes it gets past a certain point where even the light gets sucked into a black hole.  The last goodbyes are always the most bittersweet.