Ice

The shiver which coated my spine will long remain in my memory, even after the ink fades and the edges of the paper begin to wrinkle and turn to dust.
I never expected such a look, so full of malice and ill will that my soul didn't at first register the unmistakable ice of hatred.
Strangely I find myself longing for the hot sort of hatred, the one filled with passion - for at least in that kind of anger there is a feeling behind it, a soul which still pervades the surrounding air.
Alas, in this tomb of slick coldness I feel nothing, no sliver of the soul to which I once felt so connected. It has frozen to death in the icy tundra, leaving no remnant of who I once knew.
The weight of the knowledge that no good deed goes unpunished crushes my spirit and pricks my heart as if with a dull pin, causing me to cry out with a beseeching plea...will someone put back his spirit and eradicate my heart of pain.
I never meant to hurt him so. It was not a plan of vengeance or an act of rage which motivated my actions. On the contrary, it was borne out of deep pity, a compassion which ached to curl lovingly around a lost soul and point the way out of the darkness and to the light.
Instead, the warm fingers of love and mercy were displaced, somehow morphed into icicles of misunderstanding and unbridled anger - those very daggers the ones he bore into me with his gaze that night.
There is no mistaking his feelings towards me now.. It has haunted me again and again, black eyes searing through the hazy window, a spiderweb of frost snaking across the distorted glass.
My life could resume, my spirit breathe once more if only he would say, "I do not hate you."
Something tells me not to hope. Thank goodness my coffin is comfortable.


"Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."
- Robert Frost

A Heartfelt Plea

Julian,

Go on, laugh if you want to. Yes, I’m writing you a letter, a means of communication at which I know you scoff. However, there have been some things heavy on my mind lately and I cannot toil onward without letting you know the concerns which incessantly plague me. This is not an attempt to lure you back, or rekindle any sort of relationship. I just thought you should know what’s on my mind.
The reason behind my choice to end my friendship completely with you has nothing to do with who you are or are not dating, although I know you think my coldness stems from pure jealousy. On the contrary, I have pity for her because if she knew what I have come to realize, she would do well to stop dating you.
I cannot trust you, Julian. Therein lies the epitome of our demise. You always asked me why I didn’t trust you, reiterating the question, “Why would I lie to you?” My question is why WOULDN’T you? Honestly, I ask that, without a hint of irony. You know for a fact all the yarns you spun, the tall tales you relayed as I listened wide-eyed, the rotten lies slipping over your tongue like silk.
It is quite disparaging, the voracity with which you lie. You are a liar, Julian. There is no other way to put it. You may think your little “stories” are funny, and you may pride yourself on your slick ability to mislead even the most unbelieving individual into falling for your lies, but the truth of the matter is that they are not witty, amusing, or a talent upon which to expound – they are a dangerous trade which should be avoided at all costs.
Haven’t you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf? I rue the day when you will have need of help and no one will come to your aid for fear of being made the fool once more. Lying your way through life will only hurt you in the end, inevitably leaving you alone, with no friends, nothing but your hazy memories, doubting your own mind, not even knowing whether to believe yourself.
I’m not sure why it finally clicked that I was making a HUGE mistake by allowing someone I cannot trust to remain in my life in such an intimate way. I guess it was the day you supposedly got “sick” and stood me up when we were to meet for lunch. The next Tuesday you came to my house, fooled around with me, and said, “If that doesn’t prove to you that I’ve not been with anyone else, I don’t know what will.” I KNEW in my heart you were sleeping with her, even then, and I knew somehow deep down that you were lying to my face. The realization struck me with such a crippling blow to know that I’d given you SO MUCH of me and received so little – if anything – of you in return. I couldn’t fathom how you could so blatantly lie to my face and then claim you still believed honesty was the best policy.
As hindsight is 20/20, it didn’t take long for all the red flags, all the gut screams I’d ignored throughout our relationship to come flooding back, leaving me to wallow in my incredible stupidity, to trust where I knew in my heart trust should never have been placed.
I don’t understand what causes someone to make up their entire life – perhaps you feel the truth isn’t “exciting” or “cool” enough. You have said countless times that you don’t care what people think of you, but we both know that is the exact opposite of reality. You care tremendously what people think. Well, here’s what I think.
You are WASTING your life, Julian. I’m tired of standing by and not saying anything for fear of offending you. I have nothing to lose as I did before. I see how smart you can be when you talk about mechanics and cars and such and I think, “Wow, if only he had the AMBITION to be more than he is, he would really make something of himself.” But no, you decide to be a FOOL and make stupid decisions to indulge in black habits which you know deep down are killing you, no matter how you try to justify your actions. I am angry with you for endangering the lives of innocent people every time you deign to be selfish and drive while under the influence. Have you no care for those who you may potentially scar with the tragedy of early death?
You said you cared about me, that you never wanted anything bad to chance upon my path, but even THAT is hard for me to believe now. I will never slander your name and say you ever did anything to make me feel uncomfortable – as far as sex goes – and you never forced me to do anything I wasn’t ready for. That alone proves to me that somewhere underneath your bad-ass-wannabe exterior, you have a good side. I think that perhaps you enjoy escaping the responsibilities of life too much, though, to let that good part of you take over and create a new man, even though you have said with your own mouth that you WANT to change.
You’re afraid of losing friends you think you have if you were to give up your life of addiction and temporary pleasure. You know what, Julian? They are NOT your friends. They only want you around because misery loves company, but if you were to ever want to change, they would cast you out because where there is darkness there cannot also be light.
A true friend tells you when you fuck up and that is precisely what I am doing. I KNOW that I care for you a thousand times more, that my heart bleeds in ways theirs never would when I think of the irrevocable harm you may one day incite upon yourself. Until you decide you’re a strong enough person to be DIFFERENT, and stay confident in that nonconformity, you will never prosper.
You disrespected me countless times, but most of all was when you would come into MY home and do your thing, not even caring that it tore me apart, even when you knew it did. The drug and alcohol usage I tried to ignore, trying to explain my reservations away, wanting to please you at the expense of my own soul’s happiness. I’m not blaming you for the choices I made, but I was deeply saddened that you made me HAVE to choose between losing you or losing myself.
What about our trips to the beach? Did you so loathe my company that you had to get wasted, trashed, or tipsy just to endure me? Or did you miss your marijuana high with such intensity that you had to be cajoled with another mind-altering drug? How do you think that made me feel? I will never understand how you could blame ME for our arguments when all you had to do was refrain from getting drunk for one damn day. It wasn’t that you couldn’t understand my point of view – it’s that you didn’t WANT to.
How DARE you get angry with me for being “smarter” than you. I’ll never forget that night you indulged in a drunken diatribe, telling me how STUPID I made you feel just by being who I am. That was one of the most hurtful conversations we ever had – I never, ever endeavored to wound your spirit the way you wounded mine that night. It was all because you were being an insecure asshole and decided to take it out on me, even though your unhappiness and anger was against your own heart.
I know it freaked you out that I am like your mother, too. I’m sure you subconsciously thought I would make you feel the way she did. It hurt me that you so railed against me becoming a “part of the family” as if I were a monster to be loathed and reviled. If nothing else it would have given me a new friend in your mom, with or without you.
I’m not asking for a response. I won’t say I’m sorry, or that I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings, or that I hope I wasn’t too harsh. Honestly, I WANT this letter to dig deep, to thrust a barbed thorn in your side that you cannot ignore. I am angry that I allowed myself to be lured into your web of deceit so effortlessly, giving into things I LOATHE to the bottom of my soul just because of a pretty face. I thought perhaps you were right, that I wasn’t “open-minded” enough, that I was missing out on some grand adventure of life. But the way I see it, it’s YOU who are missing out.
You admitted it yourself, saying, “Twenty-two was a great year – but I don’t remember much of it.” I pity you. For what is a life without a treasury of vivid memories? They are part of what shapes us into the people we shall one day be at the end of a long life.
I believe in people and I want to believe in you. I KNOW that you can become a better man and go to school and expound upon the talents and mind God has blessed you with. You can get your act together and grow up, you just have to buckle down and DO IT. I will be honest and say that I have tried to hate you so that this whole thing would be easier. But the thing is, I care too much about you and your well being too much to allow hot hatred to rule in your place in my heart.
I love you, Julian, I do, and that is why I am telling you all these things you need to hear with nothing to deaden the pain of the truth. Even after all my hard words know this – I love you and I want the best for you, maybe more than anyone you have ever known, although you may deem me haughty for such a claim.
I wish I could say I’ll be there if you need me, but I think that our time is at an end. There is a reason I said yes to you, a moral behind our chance meeting. I may not know the full answer for years, if ever, but I feel confident that our interlude was not in vain.
I wish you the best, Julian, my dear “Romeo,” and I have faith that one day you will become the man I know is knocking on the wall of your heart, waiting to be brought to full fruition.

Seriously, her life should be a soap opera

It was over; she knew it and embraced it and could feel the joy bubbling up from her very soul that she was So. Through. With. Him.
Still, like at the end of all relationships, there was leftover baggage to be dealt with – in this case literally. She had no reason to hold on to his shirt although a good friend had suggested she burn it while laughing maniacally and chanting a death hex. She nixed the Hocus Pocus scene early on.
No, she would be civil and see him face to face one last time. She wanted it, anyway, that thing called “closure” that so many women claim to need after the demise of any relationship. Well, at least meeting him at the airport this way she would be forced to employ the KISS method – Keep It Short and Sweet.
And so, she called him. He agreed to meet her on the jetbridge minutes before her flight was to depart. His voice was syrupy sweet when he gently intoned, “Yeah, I really wanna see you.” She bit her tongue against a sharp remark, merely saying, see you soon, as she hung up.
She waited anxiously, her hands shaking and her pulse pounding in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since his plethora of lies she had been unknowingly wallowing in became frighteningly apparent and she had cut him off cold turkey a week ago. And then, there he was, his face freshly shaven for which she allowed herself a moment’s lust. No more. He pulled her into a hug and lowered his nose to her neck, softly inhaling her skin.
“You smell good,” he murmured.
“Yeah, and you smell like sweat and fuel,” she quickly dissed him. She hoped he hadn’t seen the flush rise on her neck when he purposely leaned in to tease her. Damn her hormones!
“Sorry,” he said, looking pained at her flippant reaction. “So, what did you bring me?”
He sifted through the contents of the bag trying to joke with her as she stoically stood by.
“So, when are we hanging out?” he said with a slight grin.
“We’re not.”
His face fell.
“Why not?”
She balked at his audacity. Oh, I don’t know, she wanted to scream at him, maybe just the fact that I have NO idea who are you because you have lied to me for the past three months about everything, including the fact that you’ve been sleeping with a girl who you swore was a mere friend. If it weren’t for a good friend who let me in on your deception with a warning to RUN far away, I may still be believing your bullshit!
Instead, she merely looked him dead in the eye and said, "You know why."
He kept her gaze a moment more before conceding.
"I know," he said quietly, as his gaze moved to stare at his shuffling feet.
"Well, but we can still be friends, right?" he queried hopefully, lifting his woeful eyes to hers.
She smiled inside, so proud of her strength - a week earlier and that puppy dog act might have leashed her, no pun intended.
"No...no, we can't."
He studied her one last time. "Give me a call sometime, okay?"
She almost felt bad for him. Almost.
"Nope," she said sweetly, lifting her hand into a wave as she turned her back on him and didn't once glance over her shoulder as she reboarded the plane to California.

Soon she came to find out that quite a different version of what happened was being perpetuated to many a soul. Wong called, the same friend who had warned her of Julian's compulsive lying in the first place, to tell her he'd heard something interesting.
When Julian had returned to the break room at work sporting the bag she'd returned his junk in, Wong questioned its contents.
"Ah, Ali was just giving me my stuff back...man, I just had to tell her to stop calling me and shit. I told her I was banging Ambretta now, so she just needs to move on. I said she could give me a call sometime but if she does I'm just gonna ignore her. She just needs to get over me."
As Wong related this treacherous account, Ali could hardly breathe.
"H-he said that? But it isn't true!" she sputtered, hurriedly telling Wong what really happened.
"I know, Ali, because I know you and I know him and I knew the entire time that it was just another of his lies. See, it's amazing the stuff he makes up."
She hung up the phone and stared blankly at the wall wondering if there were any cure for a disease such as his. She couldn't fathom his behavior. Of course she had lied in her lifetime but never to the extent of creating bogus stories which even the most gullible find hard to believe.

Later in the night she was gathering her things to switch from one plane to another in Atlanta before she finished her day with a flight to New York. Since finding out he had been with another flight attendant she'd had a sinking feeling that she would see them together in the airport...she just didn't bet on it being so soon. As she walked across the floor to the adjacent gate where she would be awaiting the arrival of her flight, she glimpsed the back of someone's head, a set of familiar raven locks, eerily similar to the first day she'd ever seen him. She turned her gaze more fully toward where he sat facing away from her, her eyes widening as she saw it was indeed him. With HER.
She felt hot and cold at the same time, the edges of her vision tunneling so that she had to grab the handle of her suitcase to steady herself. She turned around to block them from her sight, clutching her stomach as she mentally studied her options.
1) Charge at them both in Mel Gibson "Braveheart" fashion, declaring them traitors to love and demanding their heads in reparation.
2) The death hex she'd earlier decided against seemed a good idea at the moment, but unfortunately she'd left her spell book at home
3) She DID have connections to higher places in the company and dirt on both parties so why not just have both their jobs this very moment?

But no, she couldn't stand there pretending she could do anything but go over there, it was her gate and her crew and dammit, she would NOT run away. She was the stronger woman, the better person here and she would not stoop to his level. Lifting her chin and clenching her jaw against the molten anger that raced through her blood, and walked past where they sat, passing right in front of them both, vaguely registering through the haze of her emotions that they were basically canoodling, right there, in uniform, in front of countless passengers.
Brazen hussy. Pathetically, she expected as much from him.
She watched in guilty pleasure as his jaw hit the floor upon seeing her.
"Hi Julian!" she waved.
"Uh hey! Uh, what- what are you doing here?"
Hmmm...flight attendant, suitcase, planes, airport. She felt like saying, "Oh, I'm preparing for the synchronized swimming competition at the Olympics."
Ugh, he was such an incompetent fink.
"My flight leaves from this gate." DUH.
And she kept walking. Afterwards she realized she'd never even made eye contact with Ambretta. As she sat far away from the soap opera right in front her eyes, she reached with shaking hands to call her friend. She noticed with a sigh that he was doing his best to turn completely in his seat so that his back was to her and conveniently blocking her view of Ambretta and vice versa.

Two days later she finally had to send him the "it's over, we aren't friends anymore" cliche text because he was determined to have his cake and eat it too by sweet "texting" his way back in. She would have none of it and stonily ignored his embellished adjectives, knowing that she couldn't really believe anything he ever said, then and now.
Well, at least it was over. The drama couldn't get much worse. Oh, of course there was a possibility that this girl might fly on a trip with her, but she reasoned the chances were slim with over 2,000 flight attendants in the company.
Still, one chance in a million is still a chance.
She isn't quite sure how she will react if she is unlucky enough to win such a lottery...but she can be sure it will create quite a magnificent story.
And like any decent writer, that gives her a smug satisfaction.
;-)

A Rose By Any Other Name

"So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title."

The End is nigh.
Ah, once upon a time I referred to him as Romeo...now, however, I realize that such a name could never be applied to one such as he, for Romeo at least lived and died for True Love.
Nay, I would now deem him a Casanova who was, of course, a libertine usurped by venereal disease.
Not that I'm implying anything. ;-)

Five Yards Equals A First Down...Right?

Yes, I honestly used to believe that it was an accumulation of five yards on that green turf that equaled a first down. Of course, that was a few months after I actually understood what a "down" WAS. I'm not sure how the daughter of a head football coach manages to be so unaware of seemingly simple rules. Perhaps it stems from the day when I was six years old and caught in the middle of an eighth-grade boys' basketball scrimmage. Needless to say I had a knot on the top of my head where the orange ball almost twice my size pummeled me when the game got a little rougher than I expected. Ever since that incident I've been a little standoffish to things concerning balls. Take that how you will.
Below I've related a few funny stories about my "blond moments," I suppose, concerning my least favorite subject next to math - sports.

Nothing makes a girl hunt for a conversation starter more than a hunky boy. Such was my dilemma several years ago when I attended my first professional sporting event. The Braves were playing at Turner Field in the ATL, and I went with my church youth group. I arrived at the church and quickly scanned the group for my current crush - SCORE! Those baby blues sparkled in the sunlight as he flashed a grin at me; every girl can relate to my ecstatic joy when I was placed in a carpool with him and his hot friend - AND I got to sit in the middle!
So, game. I believe the Braves played the Padres. In my defense I had NO IDEA about baseball - even less than football, which was already next to nothing. The only thing I remember about baseball in highschool was Tony Bellew in those TIGHT pants and Katie explaining that the net was there to catch stray balls. I didn't believe her, however, until the first foul ball would have given me a concussion had the net been absent.
But here I am, getting off track. I used my small knowledge of baseball combined with a mean flirty blink and sheepish grin to keep my crush chatting with me the entire game. He was a photographer and I also feigned being able to get a good shot so he would offer to help me; he did, and I'm pretty sure I framed the picture he took...of the baseball field. Towards the end of the game I had to pee so badly my bladder was threatening to kill my family and burn down my house should I wait any longer. I just knew if I got up my seat next to him would be unavailable when I returned. Alas, it was, but thankfully it was near the end of the game. The Braves beat the Padres but of the exact score I am less sure. Like I said, my attention was - not surprisingly - spent elsewhere.

Seat 1C. Cute? Yes. His tow-colored mop curled impishly about his ears, highlighting his hazel eyes and warm mouth. He grinned at me, his teeth dazzling – I’ll give him that. His pink shirt was pitted with holes which resembled a mouse in his laundry, and his khaki shorts were faded but comfortable looking. Still, nothing to write home about. But, you ask, aren’t I doing just that? Ah, yes, but you see, this story is a bit more interesting than just another pretty face.
I officially met my first “famous” person.
He asked for a Diet Coke…something about a British accent gets me every time. Owners of such an accent could call me a warty, frog-faced dog and somehow it would still sound endearing. But, I digress.
Through a course of events, he made his way to the galley to ask for a refill to top off his drink. He stayed to chat, intrigued, I’m sure, by my enthralling beauty. Okay, wake up, Meredith. In reality, he wanted to know about our job, how exciting it was, which entitled us to ask about his. He meandered around the question, prolonging our conversation and inevitably making me fall more in love with his adorable accent. Finally, we got the answer we were searching for, “I’m actually going to Boston for work…I’m in the PGA.”
Now, before I go any further, let me apologize in advance to any golf fans. I do not – nor ever will – take an interest in or watch the sport for leisure. My next comment was a serious lapse of common sense which caused me to greatly question my powers of observation. I understand this.
“So,” I asked. “You’re good at golf?”
Sara, my friend who was flying the trip with me, looked at me incredulously, as if I’d just insulted George W. Bush by asking who he was.
“Meredith,” she said, with a tone of YOU IDIOT, “he’s in the PGA.”
I think I started looking for a hole somewhere that I could crawl into. Sheepishly, I apologized for my obviously stupid comment, but he only grinned at me and said, “Yeah, you might say I’ve got a talent for hitting balls.”
He proceeded to tell us about his life as a golf star; all the while, I still had no idea who this man was. When he got to the story about renting an entire race track in Paris for him and his friends to race their race cars, I kind of got the idea that maybe he made a lot of money.
“What’s your favorite city?” he asked me.
“Seattle,” I answered in the next second. “But I couldn’t afford to live there right now. Maybe one day.”
“But why not? Just get you a sugar-daddy and you could have it all. Let’s see…you could be with Bill Gates!” He suggested emphatically.
My face must have produced his next answer – “Oh my god, could you imagine, shaggin’ Bill Gates?”
At which, of course, we all burst into embarrassed laughter.
At one point, he returned to his seat to retrieve a paper – I hurriedly checked the manifest to see his name, making a note to Google him later.
Ian Poulter. According to his website stats, he is ranked twenty-seven in the world, making close to $10,000,000 this year alone. He is also the famous wearer of the “crazy outfits,” according to our pilots who later found out he’d been on our flight. Indeed he did own quite a few outrageous pairs of pants - from ones sporting the American Flag to Fleur de Lis, even snakeskin and Celtic plaid paraded throughout his eccentric wardrobe.
At the time Mr. Poulter was telling us of his plan to launch a new line of golf-wear for fellow players. I met him about a year ago, and according to his website, in April of this year he launched his line world wide in seventeen countries and his designs are being worn by young golf stars everywhere. Not that I'm an advert for him at all, lol.
It was quite the experience.

Seattle, Washington – a place near and dear to my heart. As I sat in the gate area waiting to board the flight I was to take with my best friend, we both gasped and spotted tall, dark, and handsome at ten o’clock. Ironically that was the time of day as well. As my friend and I were standby, we unfortunately sat on pins and needles through the two hour delay, not even sure we would make it to Seattle that night.
Sighing with relief when the gate agent finally called our names, I boarded the plane and made my way to the last row of seats. Getting ready to sigh inwardly as I realized I was – of course – trapped in the middle, my sigh turned into an, “Oh…” as I saw the handsome stranger in the seat next to me. Flashing him one my biggest grins, I settled into the once-loathed middle seat with a smile of satisfaction. Well, as the saying goes, when God closes a door, he always gives you a piece of hot-ass man candy to drool over. Or something like that.
Casually I made conversation whilst staring into his velvet browns.
“Yes, I live in Seattle.”
I was almost certain I heard him ask me to marry him and move there, too, but you know how loud the plane engines are, so I could be wrong. Still further research landed me in the middle of a foreign playing field – sports. Pun intended. “Yeah, I actually play for the Seattle Seahawks.”
Seahawks, seahawks…Is that a bird? I’d never heard of it before. I recall my mother once mentioning there was no such thing. What was worse, I had NO idea what sport this team belonged to.
I realized I was probably staring at him dumbly, so I smiled and nodded, “Wow, that’s so cool!”
But like Little George Washington, I cannot tell a lie, and so I piped up a moment later.
“I’m sorry that I have to ask you this, but what sport do you play?”
Twisting my face into what I hoped appeared to be remorse at so indelicately wounding his pride, I was relieved to see him smile back assuredly and say, “It’s okay, the Seahawks are actually a football team.” He seemed to enjoy the fact that someone wouldn’t be plaguing him for stats the entire five hour flight.
I noticed he’d brought along a DVD, The 13th Warrior, starring the notable Antonio Banderas. I recalled the day during senior year in Mrs. Harper’s joke of an English class when the famous substitute, Mrs. Brown, was surreptitiously duped into believing that our teacher actually left Monty Python and the Holy Grail as our movie assignment as opposed to a film concerning our current literature piece, Beowulf - enter The 13th Warrior, which I never chanced to see.
Smiling inwardly I mentioned that it was a good movie – in hopes, of course, that I would be invited to watch it with him on his DVD player. One heartbeat later he queried, “You wanna join me?” as he held up an extra set of headphones.
Did I ever!
When the film ended I could only hope he wouldn’t judge me by my apparent lack of taste in movies. The 13th Warrior was one of the most corny, horribly-acted, lame-scripted movies I’d seen in a very long time. And he actually thought I LIKED the movie! That was probably worse than him finding out I fibbed about having seen it..
As the story obviously goes, Mr. Seahawk didn’t ask for my hand in marriage or offer to sail a thousand seas for a token of my love, but I mustn’t give up hope.
Note to self: destroy all copies of The 13th Warrior to save thousands of girls potential embarrassment.

The Murder of Doing the Right Thing

About three months ago I met a boy, one whose full name shall remain a mystery. I was on a plane awaiting boarding, parked at gate C12. I stood in the cockpit swapping jokes with the first officer when through the windows I spied a mop of curly, jet-black locks on the ramp below the aircraft. Having always been a sucker for such a head of hair, I hurried to the open R1 door to see if this creature had any potential loveliness of features. As he raised his head to see the foolish girl leaning dangerously out of the open door with nothing but hard concrete twelve feet below, I fell with no handhold into his golden autumn eyes. Metaphorically, of course. Grinning at me, his brown eyes twinkling, he joked, “You’d better not fall out of that plane!” I smiled coyly at him, raising an eyebrow as mock seriousness edged my tone, “If I do then you’ll just have to catch me.”
Thus a conversation ensued about where we lived and upon discovering that we inhabited the vicinity near one another I proposed that we hang out. He concurred and as I found myself writing my name and number on a scrap of paper, I realized that I knew not his name. I wondered what possessed me to embark on such an adventure, but quickly shrugged it off in the name of Carpe Diem. Kneeling to hand the paper with my contact information to him through the door, I asked his name.
“Dave?” I questioned, not hearing him well the first time.
“No, Daniel,” he said, more loudly. I liked his name. A lot.
Later that night as I was in my hotel room in West Palm Beach, Florida, I told another of my flight attendant friends about my mystery boy. Anna, as it turned out, had already met him and quickly deduced from his conversation that he was quite a partier, which information she turned over to me to do with as I so chose.

What I SHOULD have done with it and what I DID do with it may have changed my life forever in a myriad of ways.
So here I am three months later and feeling the inevitable distance between us slowly beginning. So much has happened that I don’t know if I could remember all of it were I to try, but suffice it to say that he is just like EVERY OTHER GUY I’ve ever had a crush on, the typical saga of “bad boy” and “good girl”, although at this point I’m not so sure I can call myself that anymore.
While I’ve maintained a technical “virginity” of body, my mind has been fucked to no end and my soul penetrated in a thousand ways I never thought possible. He is such a bad influence, and while I’ve not necessarily embarked upon recreational activities such as getting wasted or high, I’ve been privy to many a session with him and his friends and the entire time I’ve felt wretched in my heart because it’s not me. I feel that I’ve compromised a part of who I am and I can blame none but myself. I thought that maybe since I’d never experience certain things before that I just didn’t know what I was “missing”, as the cliché rings. But I can’t really say that I DID miss anything. Mindless nights that are so often forgotten by the over-indulgence of black habits are not exactly something I wish to cherish for all time.

It’s a tragedy to admit but it must be done all the same for one must see the reality of a situation before reaching a resolution…I have begun to become the girl I have always sworn against morphing into. That girl who slowly begins to doubt her self worth and allows things she never before would have pandered to because she feels that perhaps SHE is the one who needs a lesson in life. The complacency with which I accepted each blow to the person I am and standards I uphold astounded me, even as I watched the placid lake that was my world turn into a crashing ocean storm, the person I have striven to become slowly being obliterated as I helplessly stood by.
Thankfully I have not yet reached the break down, but should I continue to swirl in this vortex of a relationship I will remain nothing but a shattered vestige of the person I once was.

Am I in love with him? I think not. Certainly I care for him and would never wish any harm to befall him. Still, with the life he leads I can’t help but think a catastrophic demise awaits my broken hero.
Oh of course he can be quite the gentleman, his caring words and thoughtful gestures blinding me momentarily, like when sunlight slices through a dark cloud and hope ensues that perhaps the sun will stay, that the brightness will not be hidden behind the gray confusion of the brooding storm.

I will miss his full lips and the perfection of his kiss, the soft way he caressed my face, the gentle chocolate brown of his eyes smiling into mine. I will cling to the memory of his warm body cradled about me, the way we fit so perfectly together achingly seared into my dreams. His resonant laugh will haunt my thoughts and the way he softened his tone and adoringly called me “Beautiful” will not quickly be forgotten. I will cherish the conversations we shared, the many mornings we eluded sleep until the birds of dawn serenaded us outside the window. My nose will never forget the lingering scent he oftentimes left on my pillow, an exhilarating mix of deep earth tinged with salty sweat reminiscent of a hard day’s work.I will smile to myself as I recall how careful he was with me, how fragile he made me seem at times, how he watched over my well being. The nights of pizza, Jack Daniels, and Mary Jane shared on a summer porch with friends will be looked back upon with mixed feelings as my spirit felt torn in times such as those, but I will never forget the laughs we shared as the full moon shone down upon us. I will always remember his hands, the beauty of their sleek, dark elegance demanding my awe every time my eyes were privileged to rest upon them, and the way his silky curls wound round my fingers as I lazily ravaged them will be a delightful memory indeed. I will soon find myself wishing again for the warmth of his skin against mine as he embraced me, burying his head in the crook of my neck, his sweet breath leaving traces of moisture. The longing for how comfortable he made me feel in my own skin will remain even after he is gone. The way I could transmit a thought into his mind and have it answered even before I spoke a word will forever amaze me; I know I must find someone with which I experience that connection if I am to be truly happy. I will miss his frustrating insecurities, the ones he didn’t even know he had, the ones that caused so much of our discord, yet things that I could never tell him – they are those things one must discover of their own accord lest the chance to revolutionize their life may be missed, oftentimes in denial of what an objective view point might mean to their current lifestyle should it be a correct assertion.

I do not want to do this thing I must do. I wish to continue a relationship with him, to have intimacy with someone as I have sustained with him, to feel that connection and bond that we have had over the past two months for a while longer.

But as I said from the beginning of this entry, we are growing apart. He is not satisfied to be with only me at this point in his life and well, so be it. Life is full of dissenting opinions and there is really no reason to stay where one is not fully wanted. I am giving him his freedom but I am also freeing myself, my spirit, and my heart to go back to what they know and believe, although my experiences with this man will never be forgotten.

And though I’m not sure I can say I’ve been changed for the better, because I knew him, I have been changed for good.

"Por la luz de la luna"

An autobiographical tale of my recent life. =)
Yes, be jealous all.


They walked along the white sands at dusk, watching the orange glow of the sun fade in the distance, the twilight grey settling like a goose down cloak around the two. She ran squealing into the icy waves, taunting him all the while for refusing to join her.
"You're such a baby!" she laughed. "It isn't THAT cold!"
She ran towards where he stood on the water's edge, playfully splashing waves in his direction. Grabbing her hand he pulled her into the warmth of his chest and she inhaled deeply, taking in his musky scent. He smelled like deep forests, of fresh pine and dark earth. She so loved breathing him in.
They walked a little further along the wet sands, feeling the slight chill of the wind as the last bit of sun slipped from the horizon and out of sight, on to bring day to the other half of the world. He sat on a nearby bank of sand, pulling her down beside him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She swung her legs over his, cuddling closer to the warmth of his body.
The pair sat in silence for a time and then began pointing out constellations, laughingly arguing over which stars formed the big and little dippers. The moon was nowhere in sight, but as her eyes scanned the inky black horizon, she gasped and pointed.
"There..."
He turned to see what so took her breath away and murmured a word of awe.
A perfect circle of hot pink hung low in the sky, the edge of the midnight waters cutting the sphere in half. They watched the moon slowly rise as if pulled by an unseen hand, higher and higher over the ocean until the fiery orange light glinted off the dark Atlantic.
She felt him nuzzling her neck, his dark hands softly caressing her bare legs, and sighed in contentment. He kissed her chin, turning her face to his with his finger. She felt the sweet warmth of his breath on her cheek, feeling the sea-dampened air around them lit as if with an electric current.
And then, oh then, he kissed her.
It was a maddening flurry of frenzied kisses, the built up tension of an entire month released in an instant. She splayed her hand on the back of his warm neck, his silky black curls tickling her fingertips. His strong fingers tightly grasped her leg, his other hand finding solace in pulling her closer to him.
His full lips enveloped hers perfectly, the taste of chocolate mint lingered on his tongue. Flames licked at her veins and that delicious burning fire she had longed for settled low in her belly.
All too quickly the kiss ended, and they pulled away, breathless, staring into each other's eyes. Their faces were inches apart, smiles touching their ravished lips.

It couldn't have been a more perfect first kiss...well, except for maybe a soundtrack. =)