Lullaby on the Wind

Shhh, I know what you're going to say.
You don't need to though.
I understand that you need me.
That goes without saying.

When you looked at me with those eyes,
I knew to come to you.
The way you hold yourself has changed
and the way you hold my hand is different.

Why didn't you come sooner?
Didn't you know I would catch you
before you hit the bottom of this pit?
I'm here, now.

See the color of the water in the fountain,
it's calling your name.
Listen, the wind is singing you a lullaby
to remind you that all is not lost.

In you I am found
and by me you are revealed.

Bang Bang

Guns shots!

Where those gun shots?! Heaven help us all. Sara and Jared were in front of me, what are the chances that he got them both? Are they alive? Where will he go next? Breathe, Abby, breathe. What do I do now? We're on the learning side of the hospital so thankfully it's evening and no one is here, but what if he goes to the patient side? He could kill any of them and they would be defenseless to stop him. How do you know what a murderer is capable of? If my gut is right and he shot Sara, he just shot the girl he claimed to love; what kind of love are murderers capable of?

Oh my gosh! Sara. Do I run for help to save other innocent lives, or do I try to find out if Sara and Jared are okay? There were two shots fired. That doesn't mean they were intended for different people. He could have shot Jared twice and taken Sara hostage.

How could he have known where we were, or that Sara had decided to turn on him? She'd just made the decision 45 seconds ago as Jared and I were standing, discussing Chinese food. How could he have known?

He was following her. He was in the elevator and must have seen Sara follow me out into the stairwell. That means I've seen him. Think, Abby, think. Who were the people on the elevator? I know you were emotionally compromised, but people's lives are at risk! Where was he?!

Walking in the elevator there was the couple right in front holding hands, gazing. To the right of them were Sara's sisters (are they safe somewhere now?! Focus!), along with a tall brunette woman carrying a medical chart. In the middle in the back was a doctor I've seen many times before, and to the left of the couple was a patient.

THERE HE IS! On the left in the corner, almost invisible as it were. He's looking down, pretending to be focused on the carpet squares beneath his feet; that has to be him! Okay, focus in. What was he wearing? Grey wife beater with blue sweats (he must have had the gun in his pocket), skater tennis shoes, new, hardly worn.

Wait, they were brand new...

Morning time

I love mornings - a little too much I think.

I just can't bring myself to get out of bed sometimes. I love waking up and taking my time to really be apart of the world again. I love opening my eyes of my own free will and just smiling. Then turning on one of my favorite songs to either continue relishing the still-near-sleep state I'm in or to get up and twirl on my way to the bathroom to begin getting ready for the day (it is almost never the latter).

And at that I typically will come back to my bed after getting ready to sit and to ponder if I really am ready to leave my room and start life again.

I think that somewhere along the way I realized that when I leave my room, life begins, but if I stay in my room I get to pretend that life isn't really started and there is still so much beauty, mystery, excitement, and potential about the day ahead, instead of reality.

Hmmm, blogging about this and seeing it in front of me is making me think that I should probably work on this situation - maybe I will, and maybe I won't.

I also at some point love listening to my favorite songs and singing and dancing so much that going out in the freezing cold to catch the bus becomes less and less appealing. Then I rush to grab everything I need at the last possible moment and end up missing the bus by 27 seconds. It really seems to be a giant joke that I still think I'm going to make it every time, and continually get upset when I consistently miss it.

No one is perfect, right?

Who wants to bet that I miss the bus again this morning because I wanted to blog about the morning time more than get ready for life this morning?

Whatever.

Goodnight, dear void.

I can't

I don't want to talk to you. How can I tell you that without breaking your heart? You keep messaging me, but what am I supposed to say? You were always the one with the words, so you've always expected me to have words to say back. I try to tell you that I have none; you never find that answer valid or acceptable. I guess it isn't that I don't want to talk to you, it's that I don't know how to. I want you in my life but things won't be any different for you than they are now. And I know that you want different. I can't give it to you though. So what then? What happens when I disappoint you all over again; you know I will. You are always so strong and so alive. I used to pretend to be strong, for your sake. I've never been alive.

Stars

Burning light creating life
flashes in space as time emerges

Busy people rushing to somewhere
leave behind the place they're in

Leaves on trees are blown and gone,
longing for a place to rest

Winter sees Spring behind him,
She waiting patiently

In the quiet moments of my life
I see the cracks where I have fallen

Hills and valleys where I've traveled
make the plateau I stand on tremble

That which governs stars above
has a place in ticking pieces

It speaks of worlds unnumbered
and a home we once had known

Summer fades as Autumn chases
memories of warmth away

As stars created in an instant
so again we, too, return one day

Realm of Deity, The

The amount of planning that had to happen in order for me to be in this place at this time, having access to the information that I acquired two years ago - combined with the experience I had three years ago - so that I could be in a position to discuss that information with someone else who was actually an earlier piece of information and the amount of crazy maneuvers that had to bring that someone into line with this someone to share that information in the way it was shared tonight speaks of something much larger than the realm of chance and happenstance, it even exceeds the realm of coincidence and enters the realm of Deity where is cannot be denied it need not have left in the first place.

Life is crazy and it is messy.
I believe that there is a plan.
Life just has a way of working out.

Goodnight, dear void.

Spartacus

I love living a life that was meant to be loved. I don't even care if that sentence didn't even make sense. Who cares. Life is such an amazing and wondrous experience. One of the best parts of that life being the ability to remember the life that has already gone by. Memories are such a beautiful piece of the puzzle. I cannot count on all my fingers and toes the number of nights that I have gotten side tracked from sleeping by my memories. And seven hours later I think, holy moly I am awesome! And my life is ridiculous; I love it!!! Between reading old blog posts and looking at photos from years gone by I get caught up in laughing over and over again about crazy things I did in my past or silly things that somehow came into existence. Like the time my friends buried my in the sand and this photo happened, or when Mari and I went to the Festival of Colors and this happened to our faces. Or how about the time Jenni and I made balloon hats that were beyond epic? Or when Gordon showed me Dividend and we became friends? Or NatAsha's Christmas, Star Trek, 20, engagement ring cake?! The list could go on and on.

From all of this evidence, I draw one simply fantastic conclusion:

I. Am. Awesome.

Goodnight, dear void.

Tribute to and 80 year old Grandpa

Grandpappy dear,
Turning 80 is no reason to fear.
People have told me that with age
Certain things may begin to fade.
However your rhyming ever will be true
So keep the couplets coming two by two.
These may in effect keep you young in mind,
Though not as much may be said of your behind.
Colorful vocabulary may too be at fault
For keeping your age in the eternal vault.
Consequently this new age should cause no fret
But just in case, I’ll be around to keep the rhyming up yet!

Running from her eyes

He'd run away. It had been such a long time, and he hardly ever looked back; he hardly remembered those days. Now they were staring right back at him in those eyes of hers. Why did she have to have those eyes? Eyes that were deep and longing. Eyes that held pain and anguish, like he'd only ever seen reflected in his own eyes when he looked at himself in the mirror. Her eyes scared him. Eyes filled with questions, searching for answers. Was this what she saw looking into his eyes. Did she ever find answers to her questions in his eyes they way he sometimes found in hers? Ultimately though he wasn't looking for answers to his questions, so much as he was looking for a place where it was okay to have unanswered questions; a place he didn't have to run from because he didn't have all the answers. That place didn't seem to be in her eyes, so he would start running...

All Along

Have you ever missed someone and you don't really know why?
Ever loved someone and you didn't know how to tell them?
What do you do when you feel so vulnerable, but they don't see?
How do you show them the way they make you feel?
The light shines through the window and catches his hair.
The tables around them are filled with chattering voices.
His eyes look deep into hers as if he is looking for something he still cannot find.
When in his eyes she finds all she will ever need.
Dinner conversation is dying out but he doesn't want things to end.
He tries to prolong the inevitable but there is no other way for things to be.
No matter how he tries he will never love her.
No matter how she tries she cannot ever let him in
to see that what he has been looking for has been there all along.

If I were a Red Sweater

There's a red sweater on my floor. It speaks to me and tells me a story of a life I haven't known. Sometimes when I try to imagine the things I might say if I were the same red sweater; they would be different. What would the red sweater say if it were me? Would it highlight the same areas of my story as I do? Would it tell of Latin and Greek and English and French, or would it choose to focus on the colors of my story - red, blue, Yellow, green, pink, black? Life looks very different in the eyes of a sweater. Suddenly my life is not a story of events, it is a catalog of simplicity and wonder much like a one year old's perception where time and events are not the center of focus, rather colors and sounds - blue sky, green grass, yellow sun, train, airplane, bird, Mom. It's amazing how life changes when you look through the eyes of a read sweater.