My favorite word in the world is snazzy because I believe it sums up a specific emotion quite well. You know that feeling where you just smile and have this overwhelming sense of pride and happiness? That is because something or yourself is snazzy. Everything I post on here is something I believe to be snazzy. This can range from writings of mine, photos, quotes from my friends, or links. So go ahead, read, enjoy, and be snazzy.
We were sitting on your great grandfathers patio counting how many humming birds were at the bird feeders. Your whole family was talking at once, asking me varying questions. There were the polite, mundane questions: Where are you from? Who are your parents? How long have you been together? Then one of your cousins asked what every romantic wants to know—how did we meet? You explain that you were running late for work and ran out of the house without having a cup of coffee. By your lunch break, you were exhausted and needed to fuel your addiction to the bitter drink.
"I had just sat down when the small bell above the door rang, announcing someones arrival. I looked up and saw small shoes colored a striking blue step across the barrier, one after another, making a staccato note with each dainty fall against the stone flooring. That’s when I knew that I wanted to know you."
Your family smiled for us and you kissed the top of my head. Then you said as an after thought “If I weren’t addicted to coffee we never would have met.”
It was then that I wondered for the first time how many times we never met.
How often were we on the same subway, both sitting next to a stranger who would never be anything more than a stranger? Perhaps we passed each other on a weekly basis; just two people sharing the side walk. Do you remember when we found out that your mother and my grandfather were buried in the same cemetery, twelve bouquets of flowers apart? You visited her every Sunday before church. I visited him every Sunday after church. I wonder how many times we stood in the used bookstore on the corner of Pine, flipping through a book we knew we weren’t going to buy.
You said if it weren’t for coffee, we never would have met.
I’m not sure if I believe that though. I believe that soul mates are always crossing paths, because if two people are meant to know each other, they will find a way to meet. The period of your life that you meet them decides what they will be to you: a lover, friend or mentor. Maybe we only meet them when we are meant to. Maybe I could have been introduced to you a dozen times last Winter and we would have still parted as strangers, struggling to remember the others full name.
Perhaps we find our soul mates when we are able to fully appreciate their presence. Or maybe I’m wrong, and if it weren’t for the fact you wanted coffee we never would have met. Maybe my face would never have caught your eye. Maybe you would always been on the 7:30 bus, while I waited faithful for the 7:45. Maybe we would have never crossed paths.
I don’t believe that though.
I believe we have met over and over again, waiting for the day when we would meet and it would matter.
We stood by the ocean. He held my hand as though it were an after thought, like a pair of keys he forgot he was holding. The wind blew my dress up to my thighs, but I was too young to know about modesty. We watched the waves rush to meet the shoreline; my breathing was in sync with the oceans.
“Do you know what insanity is?” He asked.
“I think so.”
“What do you think it is?”
“Doing something over and over and over again.” I answered
I watched as the ocean kissed the shore and wondered why the beach never kissed back.
“Are you insane?” I asked.
“I’ll let you know.”
We hold the preciousness of the moment
In this empty parking lot of good-byes.
Between us are various components
That won’t let us admit what we’ve denied.
Even though we’re leaving for the last time,
I know our hearts will always be calling—
And until I run out of thoughts or rhyme,
I will write things to keep me from falling.
Sometimes I tell myself it wasn’t real;
But we both know I’m not someone to trust
There are times when I lie awake and feel
The physical space that was between us—
I suppose this will always be my curse;
I’ll love you as long as you say it first.
My services are no longer required;
It’s time for me to move on.
It’s clear now you’ll be unhappy,
Whether I’m here or gone—
You claim that you need me
As you’re walking away.
Why do you insist on calling
When you have nothing to say?
It’s funny how your need to be right
Used to be something I admired—
Sense I clearly can’t make you happy,
I suppose it’s time to retire.
Because even when you’re right your not content;
You’re not satisfied till you’re sure I know.
Cowering in the corner while you vent—
I’m weary from you’re mental blows.
My services are no longer required;
Lucky for you, anyone can take my place.
It won’t be hard to find another foolish face.
Someone who can stand there and take the blame
Whenever you’re in pain.
She’ll distract you by playing your favorite game;
The one where you both walk away screaming…
The one where there’s no gain, so you never stop playing.
Better hurry and fill the vacancy;
I wonder which fool you’ll hire.
It’s time for me to take my leave;
My services are no longer required.
I sat Indian style on the bed, naked with my mind stripped of thoughts. I stared up at the single light bulb that flickered above the bed and wondered why it just didn’t give into the darkness. I stole a glance at your bare back and watched your eyes in the mirror you were looking in. I whispered that I was sorry, and you gruffly asked what for. I replied for being sad. I looked down at the angry scars on my thighs and stomach and wished I could take back the night. You followed my eyes and scowled at the marks. “I thought you loved me.” “You know I do.” “Then why hurt yourself?” It was a valid question but one I could not answer without the use of a device that projected the vivid thoughts in my mind. I needed to show him the tangled knots inside of me that connected me to the world. The ones that wrapped around my veins and strangled them effortlessly. Why did I hurt myself? The same reason I got up in the morning; I had to. “I don’t know,” I answered. “I don’t know either. Can you stop?” Another reasonable question. It would have been so easy to say yes. I wanted to stop because I hated pain. I had no tolerance for it; paper cuts brought me to tears. But giving it up would have been giving up my control, and I’m sure I would have spiraled to an even darker state of mind. Why can’t I stop? Why can’t the lightbulb give in to the darkness? It’s the same question. “I don’t know,” I answered. I took the next few moments to compose myself. I told myself that I didn’t need him to be happy because I was never happy anyway. I walked out the door and with each step felt the string connecting him to me pull tighter. I listened closely for the sound of footsteps following but there were none. The only thing I can’t remember about that night is who was the first one to leave.
I’ve locked my mind in an attic, And I’ve thrown away the key. This may seem like a strange tactic, But it insures that you can’t get to me. Your voice echoes off the walls, Your footsteps pace downstairs. It’s no use; I will not answer your call I refuse to let you think I care. I’ve hidden my mind in an attic, To protect it from your lovely lies; Your voice is a constant static, On a station that plays only lullabies. This attic is small and cramped; Filled with dust and memories. The walls are cracked, the floors damp, It’s the only thing that keeps out your discrepancies. I’ve lost my mind in an attic, I can’t seem to fight out the sound Your voice makes me ecstatic, To you it seems I am ever bound. Your voice is sweet and tender, Your calls are just so tempting… No! To your “love” I will not surrender; There’s just too much pain that needs venting. I’ve locked my mind in an attic, And I’ve kept it away from pain. Oh! but my heart God dammit. Was left outside in the rain.
Everything is so simple when you’re young; There’s no vanity or jealousy to get in the way. No one cares about who you are or what you’re going to be. You’re just you, an innocent being in the world; a potential friend. As you get older though, people start to use your potential. Often it’s wasted on trying to be something you’re not. And feelings begin to get in the way. You start to feel things with more intensity and passion. Suddenly, something as simple as holding someone’s hand is new and complex. I use to have this music box in my room. It played a wordless melody and had a tiny ballerina twirling on her toes in the center; I use to lie in bed and imagine myself being that ballerina, waiting to have a boy come and take me out of my little box. Nothing’s that simple though. When I was a toddler, I met a boy at Nursery. He was sort of cute, for a four year old, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He even had a sweet little smile that I thought was magical. I didn’t learn how dangerous and deceiving a boy’s smile was until years later. He was in the sand pit and looked kind of lonely, so I crawled over to him and colored on his face. I was a strange child, even then. He laughed and drew on me. Soon we were in time out together and best friends. Simon became the most important thing in my life. We were together so often that soon our parents became friends, and they encouraged our relationship. We went through Elementary school together, not needing anyone else. Why would we? Simon was everything to me. Everything else in my life was insignificant. As long as I had him, I was happy. He felt the same, until we reached high school. Everything was going great. I had chorus and musical theatre, and all honors courses. I was going to be in the school play. Things were perfect. It started slowly; Simon started doing stuff without me. He joined the football team and made new friends there. I had no interest in football, so he became hard to talk to. Then he started to avoid me entirely. He started missing our weekly movie night and got too popular to pay attention to the glee geek that was me. A month later Simon and I wouldn’t even acknowledge each other in the halls. He’d moved on, so I had to too. He didn’t have much trouble doing it either. I mean, he was a guy, right? They could do anything without feeling guilt or caring what it did to other people. And I’ll be damned if I were to let him know his abandonment me affected me. I didn’t have any other friends though. And a lot of girls thought I was stuck up because of my dedication to my future acting career. I proved a few wrong though, and soon formed a group of true friends, who I would do anything for. Friends who would never leave me. I thought I had loved Simon. But it was probably just that I was too comfortable with the way we were that it had felt that way. What would I had known about love, anyway. If I’ve learned one thing in my life so far, it’s that you can never trust a guy. Being friends with one of them is just like riding a bike; they are unreliable and you always get hurt somewhere along the line, no matter how careful you are. There’s really no reason to risk the heartbreak. Having a guy best friend is complicated, because if they leave it means they are basically rejecting you in two ways; They don’t want to date you, and they don’t even like you enough to be friends. It is very difficult, despite what girls say, to not fall in love with a guy best friend. Who wouldn’t fall in love with a guy who knows everything about you, who you do everything with, and who seemingly cares about you? If you said you wouldn’t you’re lying to yourself. You may call me bitter, but that’s okay. Because I am. There was nothing sweet about leaving me for no reason. Am I suppose to forgive the guy who took everything and left me with nothing? I could forgive him. But the fact is I now love hating him too much to forgive him. Hating Simon Holt is almost as good as loving him.
Moments passed in November, Few of them worth keeping; Above all I remember, Kindred spirits meeting— Things yet to be admitted, Were shared those darkened days, To one another, we were addicted; We had so much to say— Our paths were rearranging: Crossing, weaving, exchanging. They delicately intertwined, Until your course was mine, Now forever our souls are tethered, And oh, how the rope is cruel; For whenever aren’t together, Ever tighter the pull— And you shall have my heart, Always in your keeping. And Though the sands of time will run, —A love like this is never done.