Monthly Archives: November 2011

mY tHaNksGivinG, mY GratiTudE

She sits on the double sofa watching the movie on the screen.  “Australia” is playing.  It is actually a really great movie, and truth be told, if the situation were different, this night would have been a perfect one.  Instead, she sits in silence.  Her breathing is calm.

He sits to her right, but she never turns to acknowledge him.  She can only assume he faces forward too, but unlike her, she is convinced his mind is far away, puzzling over the decision he has just made.

She smiles, fully appreciating the masterpiece that is the Baz Luhrmanns movie.

A tear falls down her cheek, followed by another, and then another.  Tears of a shattered heart, a heart she is sure will never recover.  You see, it has not even been 48 hours since he uttered the words “it’s over.  There’ll be no wedding.”

Yes, this would have been the perfect night, and the film, most highly recommended.

It is funny what can happen in a year or two…so much, and yet seemingly so little.  For that year, she crawled through the gutters of life.  Each time she looked up, she was confronted by the feet of those who walked tall and inhaled the fresh air around them.  They were alive, she was sinking, crawling to her inevitable end.  No hope in sight, until one day, the owner of one of these feet noticed her, knelt down and crawled with her.  Before she knew it, others did the same.  Why were they doing this?

They pulled her along with them and before she realised it, she could raise her head and breathe the new air, slowly standing up tall with the others.

That’s why they did this, “I want to see you smile again.”

And smile she did.  The smile of a recovering heart.

Looking back at the gutter trail, she cries the tears of a grateful soul.  Her helpers smile back at her.  She has done it.  She’s come through, and she’s the better for it… and this is her thanks.

“There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature.  A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with.” (Harry Crews)

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pLasTic sMiLEs & pLasTic fAcEs

I stand alone where I am, in this foyer, in this square, in this city.

I wonder if people know what I am thinking.  I look around me, I am by myself, and yet, I am surrounded by so many.  Is this loneliness? Am I forlorn?

I look to the corner of the room, I see a couple kissing, people walking around them like they are surrounded by an invisible wall.

A shriek from the opposite corner, it is a shriek of laughter from a group of people.  A joke is shared amongst themselves.  Yet more laughter.  I look at them and wonder how many of these people are genuine in their emotions.  Someone else joins the party and a lot of “how are you’s?” are exchanged.  The responses are an overwhelmingly unanimous : AWESOME, BRILLIANT, NEVER BETTER.  All followed by more laughter.

How much of that is fake?  I don’t like fake.  It irks me.

Another groups is walking, and they are walking my way… I know them.  They stop in front of me and begin their own customary “How are you’s?”  It would seem that my group is also filled with those whose lives epitomise awesomeness. It then falls on me to deliver my answer.  I look to the right corner, the couple kiss still.  How is that possible?  He must be off to war.  To the left corner, the other group remain, their chuckling still singing in the air.

I look at those in front of me…can I really pretend I’m ok, when clearly I’m not…

“I’m AWESOME, BRILLIANT, NEVER BEEN BETTER..”

Apparently I can.


i’M MeeTiNg HeR foR cOfFeE

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She’s blonde, I’m not.  She’s pretty, I’m…well, I refrain from describing myself.

She has ambition, a dream, the drive to get herself there.  I will say we have this, at least, in common…I also have a dream.

She is waiting for me.  I have yet to arrive.  Running to meet her.

So many people on the road.  Don’t they know I’m on a mission?  Why are they here?  Running to meet her.

Pushing past woman with baby; “Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t see your baby.”

Falling behind tourists, looking for an opening.  Got it, move past and STOP.  Gorgeous guy in front.  Yes, a welcome distraction. Must keep moving, but steal a glance behind.  Did he do the same?  Can’t see, the people are back, obscuring view.  Sigh.  Running to meet her.

Outside destination.  Walk in, down the stairs.

She’s still here, waiting.

She’s blonde, I’m not.  She’s pretty.


arE yOu PrOud oF whO i aM?

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I look at what I’ve done with myself and think of what you see when you look at me.  I don’t always see great things when I look at me.  When I look at what I’ve done with the life given me.

I search your face and sometimes wonder, “what are your eyes seeing?”

I don’t want to know the answer, in case it turns out to be true, that you don’t think much of me.

When you glance at other people with those same eyes, do your eyes sparkle with joy?  Do they become dull and dim when they see me?

It would mean everything if I knew you sparkled when you looked at me.  If you looked at me and thought, “now there’s someone who is capable of great things.  There’s someone who will do wonders.”

I would rather not know what you think.  I would rather not ask, in case it turns out my fear is true…you are ashamed of me.  The ironic thing is that, if it turned out you were proud of me, and you told me there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, then there is no dream I wouldn’t aim to reach.