afraid of happy endings

(no subject)

It's 2am, and I'm driving home after a night spent socializing with friends. The air is crisp, with a sharpness to it that I've only found in the midwest. I've been living at home for a few weeks now, after having moved away for a few years.

Occasionally I'll see another pair of headlights on the road, but not often. It's just me, my car, the open road and the stereo. After a bit, I turn off the stereo and settle back into my seat... I have another 20 miles until I'm home.

You can smell the farmland, the rich earth, and hear the distant rumble of a semi on I-80/90.

You've been questioning yourself, wondering if moving home was the right choice... moving back in with your parents, away from the city life. Turning down the country roads headed for home, the moon comes from behind a cloud. The trees that line the road reach for each other, for the sky and the moon and the clouds. You smile. You can't see this in the city. The moonlight sliding between the branches of the still-bare tree.

This is home. You made the right choice. This is peace. This is the land of laughter and love. Quiet drives in the country.

Just you, the moon, trees and the open road.
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a short story

joe is a boy i knew i was in love with. although i had never met him, i knew him well from stumbling across a weblog of his many years ago. from commenting to emails to text messages, we had become familiar despite the distance. i spent countless nights looking up directions to his house only to place them in the trash by morning. each week, a neverending supply of crumpled paper littered the floor.

this is the story of how i finally met joe. i drove over 500 miles on impulse alone. i just hopped in the car one night and left. instead of throwing it away, i took the scribbled directions and crammed them in my pocket. after miles and miles of road i arrived. i spotted joe sitting alone on his porch as he had described doing in his weblog most nights. calmly, i parked the car a block away, walked towards the house, and this time approached the face i had gazed at for hours from so far away.

i pretended to be a stranger. he had never seen my picture before. tonight i was nothing but a passerby in the middle of the night. "mind if i join you for a cigarette?"

he paused and looked at his watch. well past three o'clock am. "have a seat" he replied without reluctance.

i looked around at the empty seats. "what happened to all your friends?" as i chose the one next to him.

"they went to sleep a while ago."

i paused, looking for a good way to continue and tried, "well maybe i can be your friend".

was it too forward? he smiled at the challenge. "you?" he asked inquisitively, taking a cigarette lodged behind his ear and effortlessly lighting it.

i smiled. "well once we get to know each other a little better."

"ok, let's go."

we smoked and resmoked cigarettes while talking for hours. it was better than i had imagined. it was as if the universe decided to align our paths perfectly for only a brief moment. we both felt the connection. i hoped it was a taste of the future.

finally i looked out towards the slowly brightening sky. at this time of night i felt like i could ask anything. "what are your dreams?"

he wrinkled his nose and squinted as he thought. it took a while before he could come up with an answer. i couldn't believe he was taking it so seriously. taking a glance askew, i saw him pondering the question at face value as if it was the first time he had truly considered it. i felt that he was trying to come up with a noble answer. seeing his sincerity made me fall in love with him again. the silence was perfect. finally, "a dry brittle leaf. jumping in a pile of them like when i was a kid. you know, it sounds silly but i'd like to do that again someday."

next thing we knew we were side by side shaking the nearest tree trunk in sight. a pile of leaves land lightly over a moonlit pile of snow.

as i see myself impossibly making a leaf angel in the dead of winter, i think of how lucky i am to see a set of miracles in one day.

Beauty through my eyes

I wrote this a while ago. Forgive me if if it doesn't fit the proper criteria.

So, today, at like 7:30, I wake up to "C'mon Ty, I'm not gonna call you again. We have to go!" I respond with "Alk nyug doif"
Which, by the way, means nothing. It's one of those early morning languages. So I crawled out of bed, changed, and went down stairs. Then, it was off to the doctors office. For a good 'ol fashion But thats not whats important. See, heres the punch line of the entire story and title, as we were driving home I was much more awake then I had been when I left earlier. Now, I began to see. See all the beauty. It's been raining, as you know, and it has apparently, for the moment anyway, ceased. Now, everything glistens. Everything has that feel to it. Like God has given the world another chance. A clean slate. And it was cool out. Something very refreshing. So, as the sun filtered through the trees, and I took breath after exhilarating breath of this crisp, pure, air, as tears came to my eyes ,all I could do, was grin.

the Crows

It is a foggy morning in San Francisco. I am parking in an urban-depressing reservoir and walk up noticing that I am not thinking, just like I wasn't thinking  when I was a kid. When I was a kid I didn't quesion whether I like my school orfirst class in the morning - I just walked there, physically, breething cold air, looking in front of me, noticing movement of my body.
Almost out of reservoir, I start to see few crows flying over me. I look where they are heading and see a woman feeding the crows. There are no pigeons, no other birds, just about two dozens of big crows around, emerging from milky white fog. I didn't think, I just felt their presence: unthreatening, beautiful, alive...

i suggest we learn to love ourselves before its made illegal.

days like this are enthralling and hold the promise of neverending though the eventual relief when they do. if theres one thing ive realized its my deep abiding intrinsic love of people. the way the air between two faces shifts like a summer's heavy heat and the lovely stupor in those basements made of music. theres something about being so awake and knowing this is the time, this is the dark rooms and wailing headlights and the sound of rain on a solitary skylight. knowing that everyone has so many goddamn secrets and quirks waiting to be found and appreciated and all it takes is a transient sidesweep, an expectation that there is something powerful and abrasive hiding in the lace trim, in the inaudible bobs of heads. all of this came to the surface in my quick shower with the windows doors open and music echoing against each wall, flashing the illusion of sunspots.

the impossibility of description

I stood in the doorway. And then it struck.

Through the dusty off-white blinds that tried so vainly to hold back the beauty. A thin beam of pure orange essence: sunlight, that pierced cornea and took my breath. I stood there and felt every single sadness fall upon, impacting my heart and mind in such a small expanse of time such that tears brimmed instantly.

I missed love. And laughter. And the uncomplicated things.

Really it was an epiphany.
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    3 A.M. - Matchbox 2o

(no subject)

It was in the Fall of 2002. At work, there had been a drawing for tickets for a "Medieval Times" show, and I won. For the working university student I was then, free entertainment was more than welcome.

But what I've seen there was more than just entertainment. It was beauty itself, in the form of a knight, well, an actor.

There he was, rough and fair and the same time, a man from the North, riding his white horse. I gazed at his green eyes, his square jaw, and his long blond hair blown back by the cold October wind. The Norse God threw a flower in the crowd, but I didn't catch it. I was litterally falling on my knees, mesmerized. It was not a sight made for human eyes.

Oh, the hurt that it did... I will not tell you all the things that went on, and how my life has changed because of this, because this is not the place to do so. Many people said I was immature to love someone who didn't even know I existed and, when I finally got to talk to him and met him, he did not want me. Most people associate unrequited love with bimbo teenage girls. Well, was Quasimodo's love for Esmeralda immature? And Dante Alighieri, who wrote the Divine Comedy and Inferno for Beatrice, whom he had seen once when he was a child? Was he immature? This was not a little teenager crush. What I felt was even greated than love.

On October 19th 2002, I died, for I have seen an angel.

Rowena Morrill's 'Guardian Angel'

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    Corvus Corax - Stella Splendens

(no subject)

It is late, has to be around four in the morning. We've been lying together on the futon couch for the past two and a half hours or so, but I've moved to sit up because I'm paranoid that some parent would come downstairs and get angry with us (stupid society). It didn't matter much though. I was so drowsy at that point that I'd already fallen over onto your chest twice and fallen asleep there. Each sleep only lasted thirty seconds or so until my leg would jerk violently and I'd be awake. Every time I dreamt of trampolines, I would imagine because we had all been playing on one earlier and also because you had told me days before about the trampoline choreographers in Donnie Darko. The third time I woke up, I told you about my trampoline dreams. Rambled on about trampolines and choreographers and Donnie Darko for what had to be a minute or two before I stopped mid-sentence. I was leaning on your chest slightly, but at that point I sat straight up and looked you in the eyes (something I cannot do with many others).

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm talking about. I don't know what I was talking about. I don't know where I was going with that." You smile at me, that calm smile you get when you're talking to me that late. But instead of saying anything, you just brush my hair away from my face and pull me close to you, rubbing my arms and back.

nothing gold can stay

i had just gathered all of these flowers from a tree a couple of nights before and arranged them on this table. when i came back and saw them dying, i felt compelled to do something about it. so i spent the next two days making dozens of flowers out of duct tape and taping them to the branches of this tree. i don't really understand why i did it. i never brought anyone to the tree to show them my creation - it will probably go unnoticed. but i knew that it didn't matter. the world can use as much marginal beauty as it can get.
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