Opening lines

The tickle of your words in my ear allows me forget about the endless clutter of my days. I know you . . . and you me. I relish the past that includes us. I hope you know . . . . You are as lost as I; it comforts me. I swore I would save you, but fear I am the cause of your demise. The next words on the page will not be easy to digest. It would have been epic, if only . . . . I changed for you and you consumed it, me, and my future. The curtain will be drawn, and my pain will be hidden behind. A savior I am not. Show me the way. I need you to be strong. The heart is incapable of surviving a passion this devastating. It is unbecoming to lose ones mind at this age. At what point did I become a thorn in your eye? You haunt my days, yet pleasure my nights. I could explain it all, but you would not understand. I am much worse than I appear.*

* When I write, I formulate a central sentence, then I build around it. This is not an exact science, and a lot of deleting takes place. Instead of scrapping the wasted many, I decided to forgo the actual story, and to put them together. The above was tonight's castoffs. Each sentence was intended to be a theme of its own.

Open arms

I hope, beyond all else, that I never forget the generosity that those around this globe have shown me throughout my many travels. It would be easy for all of you, many much less fortunate than I, to write me off as a spoiled American traipsing through your country on a holiday without a care in the world. Instead, I have been welcomed in with open arms and treated as an open mind, desperate to learn all that you have to offer. There is no way to adequately thank you all, but please know that I, a privileged human, will do all I can to return the favor if and when the opportunity arises.

Inspiration

There was girl, who inspired a boy, to want to be more than he was. He saw in her perfection, a life worth being close to, and a person he wanted to be present in his everyday. She radiated greatness, perseverance, and love. Could tackle a challenge at any given moment, and prevail with the success that many only dream of. Now this is not to say that she did not have her moments where she doubted her ability, lashed out at the world, and longed for the simple. But the boy admired this, for it was a sign that she was human, and did not think she was “better” than those around her, which of course, the boy thought she was. And while maddening, the boy appreciated that she would not always accept his praise, admiration, and fawning, for she too questioned her prowess. In her, a goddess he saw, and it made him want to be a god of equal proportion.

Sunday Scribblings (Mess)

This week's word is Mess:

His suit is pressed, shirt ironed, tie perfectly in place and matching, shoes shined, and cufflinks polished. The eyes sparkle, smile radiant, laugh gentle and reassuring, and the walk is purposeful. His speech inspires confidence, his written words are admired, and he is held in high esteem by his peers. His athletic prowess, while weird, and seemingly insane, does nothing to hurt his reputation. In fact, a google search turns up a litany of accomplishments and no failures to speak of. Nonetheless, he lacks focus, desire, and the ability to see past tomorrow. He agonizes about the attire, stresses about his word choice, loses sleep over his inability to connect on a personal level with those around him, and fears that his body will break at any given moment. The faith that a person such as him should have in his ability is nonexistent, and the thought of failing, for that first time, is a weight he cannot shake. Instead of striking out, and possibly showing the world what he is potentially possible of, he will suffer with the mundane, avoiding any “real” challenge, out of a lifelong fear of being exposed as a nothing. He is a beautifully adorned book that has never been opened to reveal his true contents He is, at his core, a complete and utter mess.