she dreamed the same dream night after night~We are an orchestra of one, we are a majesty unveiling, we are newly born lovers, christening one another with mouths and hands and seeking tongues. We are everything and nothing~ Night is falling. night is falling. and I am drowning. in your arms. I am safe again. I am safe again. You surface me, and cling to me, night is falling and I am in my place again. above you, beneath you, wherever it pleases you so... oh my love, I am home again. My heart has been reborn again. the night is falling. and so am I . Falling for you ( into you, above you, through you). night is falling. night is falling. and so am i. so am i. always for you. for you.

blustarswendy3

~random vintage wendchymes~

prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08

2002-03-16 - 11:15 a.m.

I have found myself in the perplexing position of endless solitude, and the ramifacations of an insular life. My last social connection, leaves the country, in May and departs with, several overstuffed suitcases filled with the remnants of so many tangled up memories of seven years she spent here, along with a peculiar love for all things Barbeque, she also takes my one last fleeting chance for a social existense.

Not that it has been all that brilliant, we spent last night, flipping through the t.v. channels, both too exhausted from 16 hour work days, to even make a simple selection. I blame M.T.V. for my chronic inability to focus or have an attention span, what so ever. We landed on the woman's entertainment channel and our fingers could click on no more. They were showing Terms of endearment. We made it to the end of the movie, knowing full well, that the last 5 mins, were going to rip our hearts out. I am a masochist that way, I knew what was coming, and I did not click away. We perched on the sofa, our chinese take away, congealing in disturbing ways on the edges of the blue china plates, and as Debra Winger says goodbye to her children, she tells the older Boy, Tommy, that even though he is acting indifferent, she KNOWS that he loves her, and she needs him to understand that, because someday, he is going to feel bad, and she does not want him to think that she died, without knowing that he loved her.

I was a wreck, with copious stinging tears, before the scene was even midway through. I was crying for that little boy, I was crying for the idea of a mother having to say goodbye to her child, I was crying for a mother having to watch her dying daughter slip away from the clutching reaches of the savage maternal protective instinct, but mostly I was crying for myself. I was crying for all these messed up reasons.

I was crying because I am not a mother. I was crying, because we are all dying. I was crying because I have no one to leave behind. I was crying because I do not ever want to be left behind. My children only exist in my imagination. Maybe that is a perfect place for them to be. I carry them with me always, wherever I go, they are right here with me, tucked into the scarlet recesses of my cavernous heart.

and I was crying, because it is hard to be stuck in winter, in the unforgiving passage of time. Spring is coming, and I am still frozen. Lilacs are waiting to be christened, the lingering scent delicately sways in the velvet breeze. Sweet little tender tulips are pushing up through the thawing cradles where they slumber until the sun comes for them. Yesterday our backyard was filled with so many flitting robins, that the green green blades of grass, framed them in a living patchwork quilt. I let the dog out, and he was a fluffy white blur of speed, chasing and barking and suddenly there was this soundless fluttering of 100 robins lifting heavenwards into the azured sky, some taking victorius bits of straw and plump spiral earthworms with them. The cycle of life surrounds me. Everything is fertile, and ripe with newness. Nature heals and repairs itself.

I feel so left out. I no longer have the energy or the interest to meet new people. To many times, I have played that game. I used to be funny. I used to be amusing. I guess I used to be alive.

another saturday, with nowhere to go, and noone to answer too. My closet mocks me with the 3,207 different outfit combinations possible, and morrissey rambles in the background, I sing along to the irony that my life has become " i would go out tonight, but i haven't got a stitch to wear" hmm, well mozzer, I have plenty to wear, and not a soul to go out with.

oh god, is this what happens if you listen to the Smiths for far far too long? your life becomes a composite of Morrissey's every sullen heart achingly beautiful song?

well, I wonder~

Well I wonder

do you hear me when you sleep ?

I hoarsely cry

Well I wonder

do you see me when we pass ?

I half-die

Please keep me in mind

please keep me in mind

Gasping - but somehow still alive

this is the fierce last stand of all I am

Gasping - dying - but somehow still alive

this is the final stand of all I am

Please keep me in mind

old starlight - new starbright

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