Thursday, October 20, 2011

Two writings


She waits with confidence, observing everything, witnessing the paths that stretch out before time, fully aware of all the intricate choices necessary. In conversation she is more often the listener than the speaker, watching with a soft, quiet, knowing smile, at once calming and infuriating. 

When finally her thoughts are vocalized, her voice is clear and unhurried, with the confidence of one who has all the time in the world, and her words are concise, each chosen for its efficiency as well as its meaning.

She is femininity in the truest sense, with soft curves that defy boundaries; no beginning and no end. Ever-expectant, she constantly waits for the next event, her sense of anticipation exuding from every pore. Her clothing is elegant and feminine, but understated, made of colors that constantly transition, subtle earthy hues that open to the next shade like gates lying in wait between gardens. 

Under her watchful gaze we all trip, and at times stumble, eliciting a slightly more pronounced smile on that wise face as we again find our footing.

Weather Formations (working title)

There have been times I believed I could do anything.

I could make the wind blow if I wanted. One day I even stopped the rain.

I visualized the rain clouds passing overhead and dropping their moisture on the

next unfortunate place – but oh no, not here, not here where I am standing strong,
where I am powerful, where I am in direct communication with nature and she is
being lenient about the execution of her plans.

There was a power in me, one that could sense changes of energy and respond to
them, one that felt heat others could not perceive.

And there have been moments so fortuitous that I felt that the world had a plan
specifically for me, that I was walking on a predetermined path, and on occasion
that there were road signs confirming my direction, moments when there were such
revelations of perfection that the concept of coincidence was rendered absurd.

Our friendship has been one of these.

One evening, the nighttime was suddenly filled with fireworks unlimited in color,
and it was humid like a warm night in North Carolina. We were two hand-holding
silhouettes, lost in the ephemera of the moment, marveling that we were standing
there together in our early twenties, witnessing a moment that makes life worth
living. The people around us milled around like centipedes, and we didn’t care, in
fact we barely noticed their movement attempting to interfere with our perfection,
failing to distract us from the light that danced in front of us.

I miss that girl, and that time, the unyielding optimism so inherent in both of us,
before it got lost along the way. I wish I could see her and cuddle with her and laugh
with her and be close to this girl who became like my sister, who helped define who
I am, with whom no amount of time could ever be considered too much.