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When the sun rose that morning Emma stepped out onto the creaky, wood porch of their mining camp home. The air was crisp and cold, clear and the sky was glowing of fire. She stood there long enough to acknowledge that that day would be the first of many alone. He was gone, burried the day before, slain by brigands and their rounds. She had cried herself to sleep, having not the desire to cover herself in the cooling night, nor the strength to light the fireplace wood. But what good would it have done? the most important part of her life was taken from her as though some stranger had given her a box with her own heart inside and forced her to burry it. What hope was there?
The tears of the night had left visible marks on her cheeks, once soft and smiling, now distraught and confused, lost. Her funeral dress of black still clad upon her trembling frame. The street was empty. Friends had offered to keep her company through the night, the first night but she refused insisting, "No. Please, tonight I must be alone."
As she went home that night, they all watched, fearful of what the next day would bring, fearful that she would not last the night, in the darkness with her sorrow. And she shut the door before them, they watched over the house through the night. No light was lit from within. No sound was heard from without. A young boy recounted that he had heard crying inside when he passed by the darkened house, "Mama, why is Miss Emma crying?" He understood nothing of death in his young life. But all those standing watch fell away as sleep took them one by one and they returned to their own homes.
And there she stood. There was no need to make coffee. There was no need to cook breakfast. There was no need to clean. There was no desire. Emma could do nothing. She let the cold permeate her body. The thoughts of him drifted into her vision. And soon they flooded her memory to the point that she was soon overwhelmed and fear and anguish and terror took her and the tears began broke their dam.
She held out her empty hands, wrists bordered with black lace, and saw them, empty. Her eyes screamed skyward so loud that the other townsfolk were awakened, startled. Screaming into the burning sky with her empty and quivering, outstretch fingers she fell to her knees. Soon she was nothing more than a sobbing heap on the porch, outside in the cold...
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
the flimsy poem is the life half lived
The flimsy poem is a life half lived
And that may be due to this
The life lived through the other eyes
A life left to only its imagination
Gazing out the windows
Of an active procrastination
The tired hand wields weakly
A tired pen upon worn pages
The futile words of others tales
A short poem from a tired imagination
Frail ink upon loose leafs
Brings forth no culmination
Have I written such a poem?
A poem of no significance?
Have I failed to tell my tale?
Used more than my imagination?
To tell of something true
To describe my fascination?
Now I tell my tale
Of something that lingers
Not in the dark of course
But beyond my imagination
To a place where the raven tells
My soul’s story of emancipation.
Into the desert high up
sitting is a sandstone cliff
dwelling is the breath of echos
My soul ties me to imagination
As I wonder about this thing
This place of great creation.
It lingers still
This thought of my venture
Upon fresh sheets of white
Traversing my imagination
Through hand to pen
thought’s purposeful articulation
And that may be due to this
The life lived through the other eyes
A life left to only its imagination
Gazing out the windows
Of an active procrastination
The tired hand wields weakly
A tired pen upon worn pages
The futile words of others tales
A short poem from a tired imagination
Frail ink upon loose leafs
Brings forth no culmination
Have I written such a poem?
A poem of no significance?
Have I failed to tell my tale?
Used more than my imagination?
To tell of something true
To describe my fascination?
Now I tell my tale
Of something that lingers
Not in the dark of course
But beyond my imagination
To a place where the raven tells
My soul’s story of emancipation.
Into the desert high up
sitting is a sandstone cliff
dwelling is the breath of echos
My soul ties me to imagination
As I wonder about this thing
This place of great creation.
It lingers still
This thought of my venture
Upon fresh sheets of white
Traversing my imagination
Through hand to pen
thought’s purposeful articulation
a friend passes
tonight, when i got home, my nephew told me of the death of a class mate. I graduated with many people, approximately two hundred and fifty. One down. Two hundred fortynine to go. I will miss this existence. People vanish into thin air. People die. People will follow their will into oblivion. I will ocntinue my useless course through this dispensation of time. I cannot comprehend the horrible trauma constricted upon my friend. I understand he had been broadsided in an intersection in the valley of Salt Lake City a few days ago. He could not hold on any longer and left this world with a goodbye.
So what of him now. He will have a death ceremony. His life will depart into another realm of existence. We will all do that one day. Maybe not as quickly as he, but in our own due time and our own fitting demise. I will never understand life as well as those whom have passed along into the vultures crow because it is far easier to decipher something from a standpoint having nothing to do with it.
Mister Tyrel Demon, though an adopted child, was no outcast. He had his friends. He had his peculiarities. He was a person of his own mark, of course, ideally the same as us all, material wants and physical desires. I cannot end his life in a mere few words and sentences, but some where in my writings I will immortalize all the deceased I have known.
So what of him now. He will have a death ceremony. His life will depart into another realm of existence. We will all do that one day. Maybe not as quickly as he, but in our own due time and our own fitting demise. I will never understand life as well as those whom have passed along into the vultures crow because it is far easier to decipher something from a standpoint having nothing to do with it.
Mister Tyrel Demon, though an adopted child, was no outcast. He had his friends. He had his peculiarities. He was a person of his own mark, of course, ideally the same as us all, material wants and physical desires. I cannot end his life in a mere few words and sentences, but some where in my writings I will immortalize all the deceased I have known.
barista notes
Sometimes I talk to people about what is going on in their day. It seems as though the only people I talk to are working, going to or coming from work. But when these conversations take place I am working. I am serving coffee. This is a wonderful thing, coffee conversations. I have come to know many people and faces of those who have disappeared. I have grown to care for them all. They have become part of my life whether they know it; whether I like it or not. I hear incredible stories. I think incredible things. I wish I could get all of everything on paper, on screen. All these thought and conversations have increased my social apparatus.
The echo of stories told to me linger when I think of a person. One man stands alone. He has told me of things magnificent and extraordinary in his life. I like to listen. I have taken a liking to this character. I look up to him and I see him as an inspiration. He gives me knowledge, I give him coffee. A simple exchange of things. But this man is not the only person I have come to know well.
Collette, a British girl, beautiful and as mystical as the beautiful woman in black who stands alone in the distance.
The echo of stories told to me linger when I think of a person. One man stands alone. He has told me of things magnificent and extraordinary in his life. I like to listen. I have taken a liking to this character. I look up to him and I see him as an inspiration. He gives me knowledge, I give him coffee. A simple exchange of things. But this man is not the only person I have come to know well.
Collette, a British girl, beautiful and as mystical as the beautiful woman in black who stands alone in the distance.
desert short 3
It may be the answer to many of life’s issues, dilemma’s, and conflicts. But unfortunately it was distorted in the beginning and confused with other things. Resulting were indulgence, indolence, and wars. If there were anything that had been so misunderstood it would have little consequence beside the matter of this one thing.
When the voices of the past echo across the plains and the grasses ripple as though they were a collective mass of water… I feel it.
… when the red walls look down upon me.. I feel it.
.. when the rain bathes me and I have no inhibitions to laughing at the chaos of nature I feel it.
Down one of Ed Abbey’s canyons that he never wrote about… down with the ghost of the man Everett Ruess… in the care of a friend… in the state of wonder… enveloped by everything dear.
There are a million places to feel it but there is one place, the place I want to be most to feel it. And there are places that I know the direction to, but to this one, who knows for the destination is unknown. It seems left to the winds and the sands and the rains and the chaos. But all seek it. All want it. None can live without it.
It sustains hope… it sustains life… it is there. But how to find it? Maybe after the wars and the pride, after the deals and the success, it will be the only thing. We will start anew?
When the voices of the past echo across the plains and the grasses ripple as though they were a collective mass of water… I feel it.
… when the red walls look down upon me.. I feel it.
.. when the rain bathes me and I have no inhibitions to laughing at the chaos of nature I feel it.
Down one of Ed Abbey’s canyons that he never wrote about… down with the ghost of the man Everett Ruess… in the care of a friend… in the state of wonder… enveloped by everything dear.
There are a million places to feel it but there is one place, the place I want to be most to feel it. And there are places that I know the direction to, but to this one, who knows for the destination is unknown. It seems left to the winds and the sands and the rains and the chaos. But all seek it. All want it. None can live without it.
It sustains hope… it sustains life… it is there. But how to find it? Maybe after the wars and the pride, after the deals and the success, it will be the only thing. We will start anew?
desert short 2
There’s an aching in my soul. I have one remedy. There is none other. Everett Ruess knows it. Edward Abbey wrote about it. It is an echo of a whisper of an ancient voice. Its source is somewhere in the country of blue shale and red stone. It is not found in the mountain or on the plains, nor on the ocean or underground; to the city it is a foreign voice with no meaning. To most it is nothing. They will never feel it.
The call of the desert has been with me since I was young. My earlier writings reflect it although my fascination at that time was with Jack London’s escapades in Alaska and the Yukon Territory and his stories there. As it was I still wrote about the desert. I long for its beauty, its romance, its unparalleled indifference toward man and his ways. The desert is patient. With her yellow and blue sands underfoot I trod lightly in search of adventure.
Before me she has painted the walls in the colors of war. Black streaks and red bodies on monoliths of stone ward off the faint of heart. In the distance she has heaved up the stone to appear as the teeth of a beast. And there, few venture. In early days the inhabitants forsook the land. Later, men who sought wealth also went there way out of the desert deceived. Today, on certain oases peopled by few there is trace of civilization and all that that means. But after a time they too will leave.
And the voice of the desert will tempt more men to come. They shall. Will they also leave? Will they also leave their trace? Will there be a day when the desert exists alone and sole as an outcast of the rest of the world? It seems that no civilization can abide its torrid patience.
But to those of us who are called by the echo of the ancient whisper there will be no other place of peace, solace, and security. We would die there than live without. The days of late have been especially trying because survival in this world has its requirements. Those demands have kept me here indolent to the echoes. But soon, to the desert I go again seeking that which cannot be found, only peace and fulfillment will I find. Neither of which can be found here.
The call of the desert has been with me since I was young. My earlier writings reflect it although my fascination at that time was with Jack London’s escapades in Alaska and the Yukon Territory and his stories there. As it was I still wrote about the desert. I long for its beauty, its romance, its unparalleled indifference toward man and his ways. The desert is patient. With her yellow and blue sands underfoot I trod lightly in search of adventure.
Before me she has painted the walls in the colors of war. Black streaks and red bodies on monoliths of stone ward off the faint of heart. In the distance she has heaved up the stone to appear as the teeth of a beast. And there, few venture. In early days the inhabitants forsook the land. Later, men who sought wealth also went there way out of the desert deceived. Today, on certain oases peopled by few there is trace of civilization and all that that means. But after a time they too will leave.
And the voice of the desert will tempt more men to come. They shall. Will they also leave? Will they also leave their trace? Will there be a day when the desert exists alone and sole as an outcast of the rest of the world? It seems that no civilization can abide its torrid patience.
But to those of us who are called by the echo of the ancient whisper there will be no other place of peace, solace, and security. We would die there than live without. The days of late have been especially trying because survival in this world has its requirements. Those demands have kept me here indolent to the echoes. But soon, to the desert I go again seeking that which cannot be found, only peace and fulfillment will I find. Neither of which can be found here.
letters to Lauren Vest, age 16
Journal of written but unsent letters to Lauren
9-24-98
Today I started this for you. Today I spent lunch with you.
Today you had play practice. I tell everyone about you, how you are so amazing, so tough. I'm going to write on this everyday now until, well you know, I have to give it to you. Last night I spoke to you on the phone and read you some of my journal, when I heard you cry and wished I could have been there by your side. This is the poem (unforgotten) but never showed it to you.
9-25-81
We, you and I, came to my house after school trying to see if we could use my car. Nope. I gave you a back massage and you fell asleep. Then we got to your house and started watching titanic after riding in the car with your mom, saying you sold the house and now I know you're leaving. We went to adams house and had our birthday party.
Dear Lauren,
this may be early, but I rather be that than late. Happy Birthday!! But this is not all. I wanted to surprise you like I hoped you were when you opened your locker. I could not find a "care-bear" but I found one that smiles back at you.
This bear is to remind you of me, hopefully and whether or not you go to boulder, I'll be by your side all the way. I'll be this little teddy bear that sits in your room and smiles at you.
Ans every time you should need a hug, this little bear will take any hug and hug you back. (I sort of borrowed the "love box" idea, hope you don't mind). HAPPY BIRTHDAY (a little early). I'll see you at 7pm tonight.
Love
Eric s.
11-20-98
I write to you today because I am thinking of you, all of you. How i'm loosing you in a few days, how I feel like i'm loosing you anyway, sometimes I feel like my nightmare of us is coming true and siobhan's little lie didn't help any for me. It seems you have so much to do that all I can do is sit quietly and maybe say "hi" or something dumb. I do not feel as close to you anymore, as much as I used to. But when we are together I feel like all I do is hurt you. I don't feel like i've done all I can for you. I always feel like I fell short of meeting your expectations. Like your standards are so high that there is no way to match myself to that of [yours]. Sometimes it seems like you don't want me around, sometimesit seems that you've got so much on your mind I feel forgotten. All this hurts me more that you can ever imagine. You continue to confuse me.
it hurts me to see us drifting apart as you are about to leave my side anyway. right now I have this overwhelming sorrow consuming me and all I want to do is cry. I can't handle this. All this is the way I see it, you may not think anything is wrong, but I see a change in us and it makes me sad. I've never been here before, it's something I don't want to face and do it never again. I am so lost wandering inside myself wondering what I can do to help us be closer. It never seems like you're happy anymore, which makes me sad. I don't care about anything except healing us. So I forc myself to school so I have something else to think about but it doesn't work. All I think about is making these next couple of days very memorable. I have no ideas of what we could do. As long as you want to be with me.
maybe i'm just being stupid, but I don't feel wanted anymore. Don't take it as an insult, please, I know you've got a lot to do. But you're so worried about school and you're leaving in three days. Your friends don't get a lot of time together with you.
Love
Eric s.
12-7-98 11:10pm
Lauren,
how are you? You said you would call today. You did not. I cannot afford to keep calling you. I have been reading through the few letters from you. All of which I have. A poem, "angel boy," birthday card, "love box" letter; late last night wondering, 2 short letters, one long one on trust. You wrote:
"I'm sorry that I can't trust you like you trust me. I hate myself for it. I know that without this trust I will be skeptical, but I promise you with all my heart, mind, might, and soul that my love for you is true."
Even as I was with you, I will always be with you; your move has not been incredibly hard on me. But, now I realize the foolishness of our ongoing long-distance-relationship. It's going to be six months before we are together again. I want to be one of your best friends in p.c.. One that you can call anythime, come visit, a forever friend. I think that keeping this relationship is binding us. We are too obligated to each other. Don't take that wrong, I actually love it, but it's not healthy for us to be constantly worrying about [the] other. We are supposed to be free. We have enough restrictions.
The fact of the matter will always be that I love you. I will love you always. That you'll always be first pick for anything I choose. Right now I work harder in school, so in the future I can be with you. You always come first in my dreams. This is an everlasting vow. I live and die for you.
If anyone messes with you, find I out, they'll be the sorriest $&^%*(^& that ever lived. You are tops in my dreams, it's where they top out. You'll be there.
I believe in your. I have hope for you. I exist for you. I respect you and your decision, no matter what. Here is the must: I want you in my life. I would say this would have happened anyway. We must stop this long-distance non-sense. My heart aches to write these words. I have come to many conclusions about this. It is hurting me to be bound to you and you tobe bound to me.
You'll always be my baby, always in the largest part of my heart. I still want to go to prom with you. Your pictures will remain on my wall.
"always remember, whatever happens, whether it is between you and me, or we are torn apart, if the tragedy of life becomes fulfilled, or we live on together and forever happy and in harmony; in my heart you will always remain, unforgotten." -from another letter.
I think of you everyday. Every time I make chocolate ate work and that chocolate dust cloud surrounds me, I think of you, I am reminded of you, and inside I cry. I cry for you to be with me. I cry to see your face. To have stayed together anyway might have been bad for us, even if you did not move. This time in our life is not the time to be settling down.
I always want to be your prince charming. I always want you to be that angel in the wind watching over me. I look into the sky every time I go snowboarding and look for you, I see the clouds create you. And I know you are alive and well in Tucson, ARIZONA. I will drive down to see you next summer.
I have frolicked in the woods and came into a meadow and found you. Our love grew strong and travels with us wherever we go. I now return to frolic in the woods. I take with me your love. I will always love you. All that you have given me. I have counted that which you have given me. Endless. Good. Bad. Great.
"I came here alone, and I'm going to leave by myself..." - ani difranco.
I will never say good-bye to you. That is a promise I will never break. And I will never date your best friends. I am running from Amy as I write this. I would love it if you would let me fly free once again. I once soared among the worlds of other and I landed on your perch. I fell in love. This love hurt me both goodly and badly. I will not fly free if you do not let go. You must realize I will return to your perch. Maybe to stay, for eternity. We are yet young and we must both fly free. I will constantly love you.
I will return to your perch. I think I have already made a reservation.
December 8th, 1998 Tuesday 10:37pm
Again I went to work and no less expected, you called. I guess around 8:20pm, I hate missing your calls. I try to talk to you as best I can but can never get you to say anything.
It snowed today. You would have been mad at me if you saw me snowboarding in Jupiter. The trees tried to hit my, but I dodged them. I went fast in the trees and new powder while I was warm at 25 degrees F. Everyone is missing you. I gave Carrey your address and phone number. She liked that. I do not think I am going to this dance on Friday. I asked my best friend Piper and the last Saturday, she blew out her knee skiing. She crashed and tore her MCL.
I wanted to go with you. I think you would have gone. No you probably would not have. Basketball is going out of town. This is a semi-final Christmas dance that Travis devoy is coordinating.
12-13-98 Sunday
To Lauren:
I just wanted to tell you that I do not want to break up. I love you too much. I am in love with you. I am sorry I hurt you. I did not want to make you feel bad. I know not where the doubt came from. But If I had wanted truly to break up then I would have said it. I would never want to lose you. Whatever I was thinking is now gone. If I feell I hang out with my friends, I will deal with it, it's not my problem. I'll change my perspective. I do not like making you sad. You have become my motivation. I have these letters from you when you were here, I hold them so highly. I don't know where I don't know where to put them.
Dec. 24, 1998
Dear Lauren,
I just got off the phone with you. It was an argument about throwing away books. I made you feel bad. Iguess all I do is make you feel bad. That's all I do to you. I'm sorry, because I don't want to makeyou fell bad, I don't want you to shed tears over me, so I'm not going to call you anymore. I'll believe what I want to. You will what you will. I'm sorry I made youfeel bad. I'll send your gifts, when the last one gets here.
I sit here listening to 2pac who I haven't listened to for a long time. Ilook outside at the dark sky. I see the christmas tree out the corner of my eye, but no person.
Knowing Christmas has been perverted into a gift season, buy things for people. Give, give, give, but we are giving the wrong thing. However good, we still give material things.
I think about your house here in P.C. And picture this young couple with two children who now inhabit that space. I think about a family in Tuscon and try to picture the house they inhabit. My life has fallen apart. I don't know what to do with half the time.
I'll call you while I'm in Cali. That will be the last time I'll call. I'll learn to keep my mouth shut. It seems to get me in to trouble whenever I say my honest opinion. By becoming more and more truthful, I am hurting people. Books are too important, time does not exist. I'll no longer try to defend my opinion with you. I'll say if I agree or not. And you have to take no heed. Forget all our time together. When you moved, we started another relationship. Mind and person with mind and person. I'll remember what you told Heather Barnes that chris overheard: "when I move, de don't have to break up, it's more like see ya later...." Great thing for you to say. Siobhan did not know anything about it. Itrust Chris. He would not lie about it. You told me you didn't say it. Like I said, "it all falls apart." I don't believe anyone. I listen, I have learned to mistrust people. Park City has bred it up inside my mind. I've learned to love you like a sister. All we can do istalk. Once earlier I wrote to you about our roads being different. Our opinions are where they start. You'll live a defferent life than I; I from you. My road goes where no human has been before. Yours sounds different. It looks different.
My Christmas tree has ten presents, how's yours? My toe nails are red. Myself in other people's dreams. My own philosophical thoughts replace my own dreams. Never dreaming but having dreams anyway. To hold onto those dreams, not to be lost. Others' dreams written down and lost alond the way. Dreams of unconscious thought prevail.
My words will never ruin another day of yours or others. You still put up with me anyway. Always seeming to piss you off. And I love you. All thses things bringing me closer to you than lovers be. Lovers hide things from each other. I hate lies. I am disgusted by liars. The truth is the friend of man in form of hurt or joy. Siobhan is no longer my friend. She lies too much.
Be certain that anything can happen. I am. Whether you want it or not. Whatever it will be . Anything can happen. As long as truth is there, you'll be alright.
I know why the doctrine of our church does not suggest getting into relationships: because they too attached to each other. I'll deny that left and right, but mostly forward. I love you, but I don't want you to deel bad. I have come to the conclusion that life is a never ending unwritten story and always changing. The good things in life, chocolate, mac + cheese, friends, God, thought, truth, change.
Be sure that always, I will be here/there for you. I'll send you all my unwritten letters to you, since I value truth.
9-24-98
Today I started this for you. Today I spent lunch with you.
Today you had play practice. I tell everyone about you, how you are so amazing, so tough. I'm going to write on this everyday now until, well you know, I have to give it to you. Last night I spoke to you on the phone and read you some of my journal, when I heard you cry and wished I could have been there by your side. This is the poem (unforgotten) but never showed it to you.
9-25-81
We, you and I, came to my house after school trying to see if we could use my car. Nope. I gave you a back massage and you fell asleep. Then we got to your house and started watching titanic after riding in the car with your mom, saying you sold the house and now I know you're leaving. We went to adams house and had our birthday party.
Dear Lauren,
this may be early, but I rather be that than late. Happy Birthday!! But this is not all. I wanted to surprise you like I hoped you were when you opened your locker. I could not find a "care-bear" but I found one that smiles back at you.
This bear is to remind you of me, hopefully and whether or not you go to boulder, I'll be by your side all the way. I'll be this little teddy bear that sits in your room and smiles at you.
Ans every time you should need a hug, this little bear will take any hug and hug you back. (I sort of borrowed the "love box" idea, hope you don't mind). HAPPY BIRTHDAY (a little early). I'll see you at 7pm tonight.
Love
Eric s.
11-20-98
I write to you today because I am thinking of you, all of you. How i'm loosing you in a few days, how I feel like i'm loosing you anyway, sometimes I feel like my nightmare of us is coming true and siobhan's little lie didn't help any for me. It seems you have so much to do that all I can do is sit quietly and maybe say "hi" or something dumb. I do not feel as close to you anymore, as much as I used to. But when we are together I feel like all I do is hurt you. I don't feel like i've done all I can for you. I always feel like I fell short of meeting your expectations. Like your standards are so high that there is no way to match myself to that of [yours]. Sometimes it seems like you don't want me around, sometimesit seems that you've got so much on your mind I feel forgotten. All this hurts me more that you can ever imagine. You continue to confuse me.
it hurts me to see us drifting apart as you are about to leave my side anyway. right now I have this overwhelming sorrow consuming me and all I want to do is cry. I can't handle this. All this is the way I see it, you may not think anything is wrong, but I see a change in us and it makes me sad. I've never been here before, it's something I don't want to face and do it never again. I am so lost wandering inside myself wondering what I can do to help us be closer. It never seems like you're happy anymore, which makes me sad. I don't care about anything except healing us. So I forc myself to school so I have something else to think about but it doesn't work. All I think about is making these next couple of days very memorable. I have no ideas of what we could do. As long as you want to be with me.
maybe i'm just being stupid, but I don't feel wanted anymore. Don't take it as an insult, please, I know you've got a lot to do. But you're so worried about school and you're leaving in three days. Your friends don't get a lot of time together with you.
Love
Eric s.
12-7-98 11:10pm
Lauren,
how are you? You said you would call today. You did not. I cannot afford to keep calling you. I have been reading through the few letters from you. All of which I have. A poem, "angel boy," birthday card, "love box" letter; late last night wondering, 2 short letters, one long one on trust. You wrote:
"I'm sorry that I can't trust you like you trust me. I hate myself for it. I know that without this trust I will be skeptical, but I promise you with all my heart, mind, might, and soul that my love for you is true."
Even as I was with you, I will always be with you; your move has not been incredibly hard on me. But, now I realize the foolishness of our ongoing long-distance-relationship. It's going to be six months before we are together again. I want to be one of your best friends in p.c.. One that you can call anythime, come visit, a forever friend. I think that keeping this relationship is binding us. We are too obligated to each other. Don't take that wrong, I actually love it, but it's not healthy for us to be constantly worrying about [the] other. We are supposed to be free. We have enough restrictions.
The fact of the matter will always be that I love you. I will love you always. That you'll always be first pick for anything I choose. Right now I work harder in school, so in the future I can be with you. You always come first in my dreams. This is an everlasting vow. I live and die for you.
If anyone messes with you, find I out, they'll be the sorriest $&^%*(^& that ever lived. You are tops in my dreams, it's where they top out. You'll be there.
I believe in your. I have hope for you. I exist for you. I respect you and your decision, no matter what. Here is the must: I want you in my life. I would say this would have happened anyway. We must stop this long-distance non-sense. My heart aches to write these words. I have come to many conclusions about this. It is hurting me to be bound to you and you tobe bound to me.
You'll always be my baby, always in the largest part of my heart. I still want to go to prom with you. Your pictures will remain on my wall.
"always remember, whatever happens, whether it is between you and me, or we are torn apart, if the tragedy of life becomes fulfilled, or we live on together and forever happy and in harmony; in my heart you will always remain, unforgotten." -from another letter.
I think of you everyday. Every time I make chocolate ate work and that chocolate dust cloud surrounds me, I think of you, I am reminded of you, and inside I cry. I cry for you to be with me. I cry to see your face. To have stayed together anyway might have been bad for us, even if you did not move. This time in our life is not the time to be settling down.
I always want to be your prince charming. I always want you to be that angel in the wind watching over me. I look into the sky every time I go snowboarding and look for you, I see the clouds create you. And I know you are alive and well in Tucson, ARIZONA. I will drive down to see you next summer.
I have frolicked in the woods and came into a meadow and found you. Our love grew strong and travels with us wherever we go. I now return to frolic in the woods. I take with me your love. I will always love you. All that you have given me. I have counted that which you have given me. Endless. Good. Bad. Great.
"I came here alone, and I'm going to leave by myself..." - ani difranco.
I will never say good-bye to you. That is a promise I will never break. And I will never date your best friends. I am running from Amy as I write this. I would love it if you would let me fly free once again. I once soared among the worlds of other and I landed on your perch. I fell in love. This love hurt me both goodly and badly. I will not fly free if you do not let go. You must realize I will return to your perch. Maybe to stay, for eternity. We are yet young and we must both fly free. I will constantly love you.
I will return to your perch. I think I have already made a reservation.
December 8th, 1998 Tuesday 10:37pm
Again I went to work and no less expected, you called. I guess around 8:20pm, I hate missing your calls. I try to talk to you as best I can but can never get you to say anything.
It snowed today. You would have been mad at me if you saw me snowboarding in Jupiter. The trees tried to hit my, but I dodged them. I went fast in the trees and new powder while I was warm at 25 degrees F. Everyone is missing you. I gave Carrey your address and phone number. She liked that. I do not think I am going to this dance on Friday. I asked my best friend Piper and the last Saturday, she blew out her knee skiing. She crashed and tore her MCL.
I wanted to go with you. I think you would have gone. No you probably would not have. Basketball is going out of town. This is a semi-final Christmas dance that Travis devoy is coordinating.
12-13-98 Sunday
To Lauren:
I just wanted to tell you that I do not want to break up. I love you too much. I am in love with you. I am sorry I hurt you. I did not want to make you feel bad. I know not where the doubt came from. But If I had wanted truly to break up then I would have said it. I would never want to lose you. Whatever I was thinking is now gone. If I feell I hang out with my friends, I will deal with it, it's not my problem. I'll change my perspective. I do not like making you sad. You have become my motivation. I have these letters from you when you were here, I hold them so highly. I don't know where I don't know where to put them.
Dec. 24, 1998
Dear Lauren,
I just got off the phone with you. It was an argument about throwing away books. I made you feel bad. Iguess all I do is make you feel bad. That's all I do to you. I'm sorry, because I don't want to makeyou fell bad, I don't want you to shed tears over me, so I'm not going to call you anymore. I'll believe what I want to. You will what you will. I'm sorry I made youfeel bad. I'll send your gifts, when the last one gets here.
I sit here listening to 2pac who I haven't listened to for a long time. Ilook outside at the dark sky. I see the christmas tree out the corner of my eye, but no person.
Knowing Christmas has been perverted into a gift season, buy things for people. Give, give, give, but we are giving the wrong thing. However good, we still give material things.
I think about your house here in P.C. And picture this young couple with two children who now inhabit that space. I think about a family in Tuscon and try to picture the house they inhabit. My life has fallen apart. I don't know what to do with half the time.
I'll call you while I'm in Cali. That will be the last time I'll call. I'll learn to keep my mouth shut. It seems to get me in to trouble whenever I say my honest opinion. By becoming more and more truthful, I am hurting people. Books are too important, time does not exist. I'll no longer try to defend my opinion with you. I'll say if I agree or not. And you have to take no heed. Forget all our time together. When you moved, we started another relationship. Mind and person with mind and person. I'll remember what you told Heather Barnes that chris overheard: "when I move, de don't have to break up, it's more like see ya later...." Great thing for you to say. Siobhan did not know anything about it. Itrust Chris. He would not lie about it. You told me you didn't say it. Like I said, "it all falls apart." I don't believe anyone. I listen, I have learned to mistrust people. Park City has bred it up inside my mind. I've learned to love you like a sister. All we can do istalk. Once earlier I wrote to you about our roads being different. Our opinions are where they start. You'll live a defferent life than I; I from you. My road goes where no human has been before. Yours sounds different. It looks different.
My Christmas tree has ten presents, how's yours? My toe nails are red. Myself in other people's dreams. My own philosophical thoughts replace my own dreams. Never dreaming but having dreams anyway. To hold onto those dreams, not to be lost. Others' dreams written down and lost alond the way. Dreams of unconscious thought prevail.
My words will never ruin another day of yours or others. You still put up with me anyway. Always seeming to piss you off. And I love you. All thses things bringing me closer to you than lovers be. Lovers hide things from each other. I hate lies. I am disgusted by liars. The truth is the friend of man in form of hurt or joy. Siobhan is no longer my friend. She lies too much.
Be certain that anything can happen. I am. Whether you want it or not. Whatever it will be . Anything can happen. As long as truth is there, you'll be alright.
I know why the doctrine of our church does not suggest getting into relationships: because they too attached to each other. I'll deny that left and right, but mostly forward. I love you, but I don't want you to deel bad. I have come to the conclusion that life is a never ending unwritten story and always changing. The good things in life, chocolate, mac + cheese, friends, God, thought, truth, change.
Be sure that always, I will be here/there for you. I'll send you all my unwritten letters to you, since I value truth.
desert short 1
A place forsaken by most and forgotten by nature and tormented by sun now occupies my mind and thought and memory. The history of the place is shrouded by many mysteries of the disappeared. It is nearly void of vegetation and life. Rare is water that can be used. But it is alive and beautiful and flourishing. If I were to disappear there I would not be troubled. I wouldn’t even complain. I know of few who cherish the place. I dare to venture there when I seek adventure. No other place fills me so completely with awe and wonder as the deserts of the southwest.
There are traces of man that remain. But no man stayed very long. He left his mark and departed, as it were, with the wind. Only the echoes without voices remain. They resemble tunnels dug and roads cuts and structures built only to be abandoned by their makers. All these have their story. It is up to me to speculate and build a story for it. Looking at the echoes traces me to the past. To whose past? Well, that’s all part of the story.
Aside from the devices of men and the folklore of the natives, there are places of unspeakable beauty that have yet to be discovered or have been forgotten as the treasures of yesteryear. What nature has cut from the stone is truly remarkable. So remarkable in fact that the very description of one thing cannot be generalized as that of another. It is truly a place of mystery and awe.
Walking my way through the brush and the washes I follow friends into an unknown country. Leading us was a fellow who didn’t truly recall the locale of our trail. He had forgotten. I was route finding by studying the geography of the desert that I had come to understand over the years. I wasn’t agreeing with where we were. I couldn’t tell except that he had led us in a proper direction and I knew our destination when I saw it.
There are traces of man that remain. But no man stayed very long. He left his mark and departed, as it were, with the wind. Only the echoes without voices remain. They resemble tunnels dug and roads cuts and structures built only to be abandoned by their makers. All these have their story. It is up to me to speculate and build a story for it. Looking at the echoes traces me to the past. To whose past? Well, that’s all part of the story.
Aside from the devices of men and the folklore of the natives, there are places of unspeakable beauty that have yet to be discovered or have been forgotten as the treasures of yesteryear. What nature has cut from the stone is truly remarkable. So remarkable in fact that the very description of one thing cannot be generalized as that of another. It is truly a place of mystery and awe.
Walking my way through the brush and the washes I follow friends into an unknown country. Leading us was a fellow who didn’t truly recall the locale of our trail. He had forgotten. I was route finding by studying the geography of the desert that I had come to understand over the years. I wasn’t agreeing with where we were. I couldn’t tell except that he had led us in a proper direction and I knew our destination when I saw it.
a letter from the olden days
It starts by seeing the mysterious eyes of one; those eyes that lead to thoughts of mysterious places and distant people. The same mystery that leads men to the tops of great mountains and into desert places. The same mystery which taps the endless body of curiosity from which mankind has rarely defied indulgence.
I found it amazing, the wonderings and wanderings of my mind in the first weeks of learning who you were. I wondered what it was about, our meeting. I wondered why. But it had something more to do with the incessant smile of your eyes and the excitement of life upon your lips. I think there was something stirring me to my curiosity in your favor. I think it may have been that your hands seemed so much more useful than others I had seen. I think that your skin was soft upon my eyes.
I wonder if your ability to grasp me will cause me to grow. I see in you things for which I have longed. The life of your spirit is genuinely cunning. I see a hope in your eyes and a strength in your heart that pulls me toward you. There is so much of you with which I feel familiar, but there is much that I do not know.
I am left often with enchanting and mysterious eyes; enchanting lips of a desirable flavor. Why is it so?
Why do I feel drawn to you and sense a connection to you while there is yet little I know of you? What an interesting sensation. And yet of what you have told me of your life, I have not much seen; as you describe it to me, I am fascinated by it.
The security that you carry in your person inspires a confidence that causes even me feel whole, which is to say that all worries fade: those of the past and those of the future.
When, if ever will you appear again between my arms? How long will all of this last? Will we scare each other away? Will there be “too many things?” somehow, I don’t see any of that.
How will your lips taste next time? How will you touch me next time? And will it be but a dream?
Here’s a secret, only you may use it….. no, better not, I should wait… I have many mysteries of my own, and maybe many more than you have already counted. But this one you cannot know yet….
Meanwhile I will dream of nights with you, by your side with you in my arms. While a kiss is satiating and exhilarating, having you in my arms is all I desire, and all I need to feel.
My love, you are who you are, do not change it for me and my style, but leave it be that I might ever be fascinated by who you are. I now retire. I do see your mysterious eyes from here.
I found it amazing, the wonderings and wanderings of my mind in the first weeks of learning who you were. I wondered what it was about, our meeting. I wondered why. But it had something more to do with the incessant smile of your eyes and the excitement of life upon your lips. I think there was something stirring me to my curiosity in your favor. I think it may have been that your hands seemed so much more useful than others I had seen. I think that your skin was soft upon my eyes.
I wonder if your ability to grasp me will cause me to grow. I see in you things for which I have longed. The life of your spirit is genuinely cunning. I see a hope in your eyes and a strength in your heart that pulls me toward you. There is so much of you with which I feel familiar, but there is much that I do not know.
I am left often with enchanting and mysterious eyes; enchanting lips of a desirable flavor. Why is it so?
Why do I feel drawn to you and sense a connection to you while there is yet little I know of you? What an interesting sensation. And yet of what you have told me of your life, I have not much seen; as you describe it to me, I am fascinated by it.
The security that you carry in your person inspires a confidence that causes even me feel whole, which is to say that all worries fade: those of the past and those of the future.
When, if ever will you appear again between my arms? How long will all of this last? Will we scare each other away? Will there be “too many things?” somehow, I don’t see any of that.
How will your lips taste next time? How will you touch me next time? And will it be but a dream?
Here’s a secret, only you may use it….. no, better not, I should wait… I have many mysteries of my own, and maybe many more than you have already counted. But this one you cannot know yet….
Meanwhile I will dream of nights with you, by your side with you in my arms. While a kiss is satiating and exhilarating, having you in my arms is all I desire, and all I need to feel.
My love, you are who you are, do not change it for me and my style, but leave it be that I might ever be fascinated by who you are. I now retire. I do see your mysterious eyes from here.
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