Wednesday, February 27th, 2008
pachuca sunrise.
This is strange; I can’t think of anything negative or sorrowful to write about. This isn’t like me. I usually can conjure up some sad little story about past lovers & how I wish I could have given them a reason to stay. I usually have these things on my mind no matter what the situation is… even if I am happily married. Not saying that I pine over lost lovers. I don’t. I think I am just a girl who doesn’t know how to fully let go. Let go of things that don’t even matter anymore, that don’t even effect my life now. I still hold onto things that are pointless & ludicrous because I feel like it’s still a part of me, even though it has happened years & years ago. I’d like to find someone who is an emotional pack rat like I am. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a loser. Because, really, only losers live in the past & wish that life could be how it was “back then.” Am I the only person that does this? I remember how wonderful it was to be a child, playing in the mud, climbing trees, listening to the stories my mother used to tell us. How I wish I could be back to those places again. Not physically, mind you, but emotionally. To be in such a state of serenity & comfort — almost like a dream — that nothing matters. There is no crime. There are no bills. There is nothing else in the world but what you know best; or, rather, what I knew best. My mother, my father, my sister & all the toys I held dear to me. That’s all that mattered. Love was defined by my family back then. Not boys or even music. When I was young, I would hear that word Love & instantly see my mother or my sister. They are still Love.
I think of Love now & I see many, many faces. & things. When I think of Love, I think of my husband, I think of my doggie, Sofie. When I think of Love, I think about rainy days spent only inside, underneath blankets & sheets, whispering & wishing & making promises. When I think of Love, I think of Death Cab for Cutie, I think of monkey bread & I think of candles; lots & lots of candles. When I think of Love, I think of my adult baby sister in Texas… I think of my aging, searching father & my forever young & faithful mother. I especially think of them in overwhelming happiness & sorrow. I wish that I could say that when I think of love… I think of my family. But I don’t. I think of them, individually. In their own lives, with their own plans, with their own definitions of Love. It’s very hard to see things in this way. It’s hard to see Love change throughout your life, even if it’s better that way. I have always thought that love was unchangeable.
on Wednesday, February 27th, 2008 at 8:26 pm:
You add that personal human warmth to your blog and I would love to visit your blog daily.
Excellent work!
on Friday, February 29th, 2008 at 7:35 am:
dear eve, if you´d like to get rid of those past strings still inside of you, try phyllis krystal: cutting the ties that bind.
and for the artist, try julia cameron: riding the dragon - the artist way at work.
kindest regards, veryheaven