Sunday, April 30, 2017

Then there are the todays...

I was served with papers today. 


(What papers? What could this mean? Did we ever know?)

Have you ever known? I keep very little secret, but I write down less than I tell you.

I was served papers today. 

There is a sudden stillness in my life. What is the point and purpose? Who do I live for?

Myself! Of course I live for myself! I have always done so, and anything else would be degrading, but even I have not escaped the social ill that makes me believe that my life is only worthy as a reflection. 

I'll ask you if I'm pretty forty times a day if you let me.I'll believe you ever time. I'll believe your motives long before I really believe you. 

But I do so want to believe. 

Here I sit at the end of my life (she's forty and she already thinks it's the end of her life) and I wonder who I had the chance to be (she's barely forty and not even close to the end of her life and who the fuck does she thinks she is). 

Or maybe, I just want to be loved. 

Or maybe I am loved and I don't know what that means.

(I spent twenty years with the love of my life and in the end that was not enough, so how do I think I could possible be enough now). 

"If you never want to see me again I'll understand."  It would almost be funny if it weren't so banal that I say it to everyone I get close to after a time. The time varies, a week for some, a year for ohters. It's all about the intensity.

I have loved the world intensely (this is not a suicide note, there are far to many things I haven't done, if I die it's just bad circumstance.). 

I live in a real world that most cannot acknowledge (why live anything else). 

And I love...I can love...I have the capacity to love. While my heart breaks for what I have lost I am in love with at least four people right now...and I will love them for as long as it works. This has always been my rule. 

I am a woman of rules. 

Tonight I feel torn and in between places. 

Twenty years ago I stood in the room of a girl who would become my first sex partner. On the wall she had carved out on art paper, in four foot  print, across several panels, a single question.

She died three years ago. I have not recovered. 

One question. 

"Who am I?"

She dragged me into the room, once my own dorm room but now hers. 

:"Do you see it? Do you understand?" Gods I wish I had known then. At first I didn't even know the question running it together and making it rhyme with Jimanji. I was young. I was foolish. I stood next to the most beautiful woman I had ever met while she lived ina  crisis  of conscious and told her I didn't get it. I really wanted to get it. I tried so hard. The reality is I probably did, but articulated it differently

There is a desire to say it cannot be described, but it has been described by those that can describe it better than me. Read Nin. Listen to this. 




Today I got the papers that ended twenty years of my life. The pieces are all there.. Have always been there and have not gone anywhere, just moving and changing and forcing me to change. 

And so I must. 

Who. 

Am. 

I. 

It was a perfectly reasonable question. 

I was to young to understand then. 

I don't know if I fully understand now. 


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