Candid Glory

Diamond moonlight highlights the contours of his face; the luminescent glow touches his sculpted cheek bones, the reflection flung into his chartreuse-green eyes. The edges of his sensual mouth turn down, thoughts playing across his features, his emotions so alive they almost burn in the air.
His averts his intense stare to the navy ceiling of stars above.
At last, she is free to turn a shameless gaze upon his countenance, basking in his quiet beauty.
The raven blackness of his hair glistens iridescent in the moonlight; her eyes widen in wonder as colors leap out at her, magical hues of purple and blue-green. She notices faint lines reminiscent of a difficult life marking his smooth forehead, the pure alabaster gleam of his skin untainted by blemishes. In worshipful admiration she breathes silently, catching sight of his eyes, certainly his crowning glory. The pearl of the midnight moon appears in the black sea of his pupil, and stormy green waves wrap round in perfect symmetry. Honey-swept lashes lie against his skin, their tips curled to a natural perfection any woman would surely envy.
The sloping angle of his long nose gives him a dignified air, coming to a point above his impeccable mouth. Oh, his mouth. She casts a longing glance upon his lips, sensual and voluptuous, tinted flawless pink as if by an artist's brush. Firecrackers sparkle through her veins at vivid memories unconsciously summoned.

And then she knows.
INSPIRATION.
With a desire she almost cannot contain she aches to capture his essence, forever holding his beauty as a tangible photograph of memory. This is deserving of her creative soul, this man and this fleeting second in time and she stifles a cry of glee in her throat, afraid to speak for surely she shall shatter the dream of the moment.

It shall never be more than here and now and she realizes that...and yet, she is infinitely happy.
She will find someone to make her soul live.

Daybreak

*Note* To those interested in knowing if this blog is based on real life - NO! One can only dream! Lol...no, actually, I wrote this while in training for my newest job during my leave from AirTran. I was BORED out of my mind while sitting in front of a computer for eight hours straight, so our frenzied, passionate lovers were my only solace.
You can't really blame me. ;-)


Lazy fingers on sun-washed skin, the rays of January day-star warm the white room, wrapping the newlyweds in saffron. Crystal prisms dance on the wall, their diamond glow cast off the silver ring adorning her left hand as she marvels at the strange and thrilling weight of it. Bright eyes blink open; a sheepish grin spreads across features in lieu of last night's memory. She recalls the blaze of flames which burn but do not scar as they seared through her veins during the bliss of midnight's escapade.
A small sigh escapes her lips, our maiden unaware that her knight lies listening to her soft breath as he revels in the silky touch of her fingertips on his golden-bathed back. Ocean wave beats on white sands, the hum of serenity floating through the window as the breeze makes love to feather-light curtains.
She inhales the salt-spray air, the aroma of his mingling scent arousing her body and reaching to the darkest edges of her soul. The beauty of recent hours shattered her world of disbelief that such paradise could exist outside of heaven.
A flash of cerulean and she catches his gaze as he casts a worshipful glance upon her delicate features; she ducks her head in self-conscious awareness, the desire to likewise regard him so unabashedly surprising her with its strength. Her chestnut lake of voluminous tresses entices his beautiful hands, their form so exquisite they might have been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.
Puffs of vanilla clouds surround the lovers like a cocoon, the warmth of the blankets a perfect accompaniment to the cool morning wind sighing through the open window.
They speak with their eyes, azure sky and clover sea meet on a perfect horizon, clear and pristine, free of dark clouds which cast shadows of doubt.
Strawberry lips on creamy neck elicit an involuntary gasp. Lithe as a tiger he sweeps her light frame beneath the delicious weight of his, sinking with her into the snowy jungle of pillows, as together they acquiesce into the quicksands of desire, reliving the fantasies of midnight at dawn.

Inspiration Negotiation

I rarely take a photograph unless something inspires me. It must be something about the place, the moment or people I am with, or perhaps it’s a memory I feel with inherent passion must be marked forever as a snapshot, capturing the essence of the pervading emotion at that second, be it awe, happiness, sorrow, whimsy, or even anger.
I always took my camera on our trips together - my beautiful, expensive camera which boasts pristine shots with the ability to be life-size if I so choose. The thing I have lately come to realize, though, is that I never took any pictures of us together, or even him alone for that matter. One photo remains as evidence that he and I ever existed, but I have my friend and HER camera to thank for that, - not mine. The only picture I ever took was of the sunrise in Florida early one morning mere hours after our first kiss.
But sadly, even then, he didn’t inspire me.
He never did.
I see their pictures together and the snapshots of their memories and I am strangely thankful that I have no such images with him. Maybe deep down I never found him a deserving subject for my magnificent lens to behold. Perhaps subconsciously I knew it was a short-lived adventure, and not one I would relish as I reminisced.
As always, the heart and soul speak in ways we sometimes don’t recognize until it’s far too late.
His presence never inspired my pen, either; ironically it was his absence which provoked my muse and brought forth lavish words on his behalf. While I have written numerous accounts based on certain notorious character, I never wrote anything for him as a way of expressing the depth of my feelings. He accidentally happened upon the one entry I wrote while we were together; much to my chagrin he neither comprehended nor appreciated it, choosing instead to mock my earnest admission of happiness.
I realize now that subconsciously my art is an intimate part of my soul and if a man does not arouse the artist in my spirit, then I shall know that he is nor ever will be the One for me.
I do not easily or quickly wish away a person or circumstance from my life - rather I chalk it up to experience and acknowledge that it creates who I become.
Still, I know with bone-deep certainty that if I was given the choice to return to April 19th, 2008 and do things differently, I wouldn’t consider it even for a millisecond.

I’d just ask for a Time Machine.

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. ;-)