Ms. Undecided

There are Mr.Tall & Mr. Cool. They are both tall and cool, but Mr. Tall is taller, and Mr. Cool is cooler. Sorry, I am having fun here. I guess I could say her heart is spit in two, but she’s not sure if any of this is deep all the way to the heart. Her mind said it was too busy to process new drama.

She misses Mr. Tall, thinking about him every now and then. He messed up (they all do sooner or later), but apparently not enough to cross out the good parts. He drops her a line every now and then to remind her of his existence. It’s interesting that he always drops her a line when she starts thinking about him. I guess saying there is a cosmic connection of some sort would equal to her believing in fairies. But it’s good to fool yourself sometimes; it makes for sweeter dreams at night, you know.

She is talking to Mr. Cool. He’s a master of masking emotions, so she practices that skill as well. She gave up a while ago trying to guess what he feels and why. He’s different, and she likes different. She doesn’t like being teased for no reason though. I don’t think he knows whether or not he has a good reason. There’s physical attraction, but anything beyond that is foggy. They are like two kids in a sandbox, building castles grain by grain, afraid to destroy the structure by throwing in too much sand at once.

Mr. Cool has no idea Mr. Tall can steal her from under his nose. Mr. Tall has no idea she saved a spot for him in the sandbox. Unless he gets the cosmic vibe too, which would be his pass to the weird club. But hey, she likes different.

Neither of them bothers me as much, however, as Ms. Undecided. And it’s not her ridiculous name that worries me. It’s her inability to live without the tall and the cool types in her life. It’s her failure to reinforce the foundation before building more unstable structures that look good today, but will crush her tomorrow. Dig deeper, Ms. Undecided. Dig inside of you to find what you are looking for.

Image credit: m0thyyku
Listening to Life is Real by Ayo

The great below

Sometimes memories come out of nowhere. In a pure world, certain ones would have been marked with guilt. In real life, there's often no sorry close enough to reach for. Then again, maybe it's better to stay pure of fake regrets.

A night like this pulls me out onto a dim porch, makes a spark in the darkness and points to the concrete jungle below. That's when the thoughts of him come knocking into my forehead. I don't know why and where they come from. I don't seek them, I swear. I don't want to lose the one I have in my life. I don't want to distance a close friend either. Sometimes I only have to picture the faces of those two to stop thinking these thoughts.

But there is something about him that I can not forget. It could be that contagious laughter at his own joke. It could be his sweet embrace. Or it could be the look that I felt on my cheek while deep into some random story, to turn around and meet his eyes. I still feel that look in a dream here and there, snuggling between our vibrant conversations or cutting into the silence that had no tension in it.

So is it OK to still have these thoughts every now and then? Sometimes I think, no, because the stakes are too high. And sometimes I think, yes, because I'm alive.

Image credit: kubica
Listening to Marley's Concrete Jungle

The clouds reflected in my eyes

The ripples run into the sun
And your smile blends with the clouds
that flutter by me
As I sit on the edge of a dream
What do I see? What do I see?

Why do I write so much when I'm sad, and so little when happy? Am I incapable of describing happiness? Am I afraid to spook it with clumsy words? Or am I too busy being happy, to write?

I saw a Russian movie the other day and this dialog got stuck in my head.

Katia: "I admire how you can always joke... I can't do that when I am sad."
Lena: "Are you ever sad? Aren't you the happy one?"
Katia: "So what, I am sad very often. See, happiness is a state; one moment it's there and the next one it's gone. So when it's there, you always expect it to disappear any moment, and that makes you sad."
Lena: "So... according to you, when there is no happiness, you can laugh all you want?"
Katia: "Well, when you have nothing to lose, why would you be sad?"
Lena: "That's an interesting way to look at it."

I think I feel Katia on this. I am holding on to that fragile emotion, trying not to blink, afraid that when I open my eyes again it won't be there. People notice it. He notices it. He says the clouds are reflected in my eyes, and I can't hide them by looking away. He shines along on the days I shine. What am so I afraid of? Why can't I trust him completely? Why can't I chase away the thought that all happiness is fleeting? I hope it's a matter of time... I hope one day I can run faster than those clouds, leaving them where they belong - in the past.

And here comes the morning sun
I wonder if my dream will really come
As I site on the edge of a dream
That's what I see! That's what I see!

Listening to Minnie Riperton's The Edge of a Dream
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