This can’t be about me. It can’t be anything about me. But it is. I can’t help it. I’m the artist; I’m the painter, the sculptor, the magician. I can’t release this unless I make it about me.
I look around at the shambles that is my apartment. I haven’t cleaned in far too long. There’s that last load of laundry waiting to be folded, the unmade bed, the stuff that needs to be put away. I’ve gotta buckle down and get this shit cleaned. I chuckle disgustingly at the metaphor. This place is a lot like my life. Disheveled, unkempt, chaotic.
I’m lost most of the time. I switch between the loving Being that I used to know before and the cold, angry slob that I believe saved me from so much bullshit. I don’t know who I am or what the fuck I’m doing here. I have this one light I see in the wilderness of mess swirling around me and most of the time I fuck with that to the point it nearly goes out. My kids love me beyond reason, even though most of the time I can’t figure out why besides the fact they were born to me. They are untouchable to me, but even as I play the role of good dad I don’t feel like I am anything close. I lose my patience, I judge. I demand and I tell them how I would do it. Christ, I even know that is my fucking ego talking. I give my kids the best of me. I let them do things, make choices, and figure stuff out on their own. They love me because I love them, unconditionally and without question. I want them to grow, be strong, and be able to leave me someday without fear and without the self-doubt that has plagued me my entire life.
So, why do I think I am bad? Fuck if I know. Probably because that is what I was taught, and it is a painful experience to leave behind. You’d think I’d want to run from it as fast as I could, but when that thought has been a guiding force in your life you learn to use it and make it work. Soon, you forget how to make anything else work.
Fuck it. I’m pissed at me. I know better. I’ve seen better. I’ve done better. I am better. I just fucking want to growl.
Then there is her, that anonymous moniker I give to the woman I love. That light in the wilderness I keep trying to find ways to extinguish. That wonderful bundle of energy that I simply can’t seem to live without. Yeah, her. She’s real and a dream, and she gives my heart a reason to sing while showing me she is not the cause. I wait for her…I want her…I love her.
I can’t be all bad, because she loves me too. We’ve sailed some rough seas, as two passionate and independent people try to mix their luggage and lives into some semblance of a puzzle that fits together. This isn’t as easy as it sounds given our situations, but we try. I often lose sight of her in the shit-hole of my mind as the dark forest closes in and I block out the light. Yet, she’s still there, trying hard to shine and guide me while I kick and scream and pretend not to see her. Sometimes I think I am just a fucking moron, giving up those parts of me that sing for those parts of me that bite, gnaw and then shit out their dinner.
I’ll debate for about an hour on whether or not I should post this. I don’t want a pity party or a compliment debate. I simply want to vent, tell this truth as I see it, and get it the fuck out of me before it eats me away from the inside out. I don’t want to hear a thing from anyone, I simply want to vomit, purge and leave the good stuff that’s left to its own devices. Please, allow me that dignity even if I don’t often feel I deserve it.
See, I am not broken. Actually, I fixed. Fixed to the point that I know what’s broken. Aware to the darkness because of one bright light that refuses to fade. To what I owe this light I will never be able to know, or describe, or repay. What I do know in this moment is that I need to stop being a whiny baby and start being her man, a man she can be proud of and a man that she can look to with respect, honor and a raging lust to which I will gladly succumb.
So this canvas I’ve just painted is the continuance of a love story that began with a simple statement of a simple truth that led two people into each other’s arms. It’s the journey of truth that took the deep fires of passion into a cold desert to melt the icicles that had formed around my heart. These last two weeks have been torturous hell for two people who love each other deeply but walked away in order to get here. I nearly lost the fire for good, and in my attempts to numb the pain I nearly lost the light as well. I’m not strong enough to leave love behind, and I’m not strong enough to cast aside the feeling that I get when she’s in my arms, kissing me, talking to me, guiding me. I’m not strong enough to let this go, and I’m not strong enough to move on.
I take that back. Of course I’m strong enough. I’m strong enough to stay right where I belong. I’m strong enough to hold onto the feeling I get when she’s in my arms even during the long moments apart. I’m strong enough to grasp this bolt of lightning and never let it go. I’m strong enough to say I’m sorry when I am, and strong enough to look at myself in the mirror and know what I want to do. I’m also strong enough to do it.
I truly have no clue what I am doing right now. I just know I need to do it. I want to growl but for a different reason. She knows what I mean. All lovers know what I mean. I tell you what. If you are lucky enough to have your love near you, go make love to her. Take her in your arms and kiss her passionately. Rub her, touch her, make her tingle. Kiss her everywhere, and don’t stop until she begs you to. Then make love to her like you mean it, like she deserves it, and like God Herself tells you to. Don’t stop until you can’t breathe and can’t move another muscle. Then, fall together into that clichéd heap on the bed and don’t move until the Sun reminds you that you can do it all over again. Then do it. Don’t stop…ever.
Make love to her with your eyes, with your hands, with every word that you whisper into her Soul. I know that hard part is remembering, but try. Give it every bit of energy you’d normally put into proving you are the man. I promise you, you aren’t “the man” without her. She completes you. She makes the world revolve and the Sun rise. You’re just a lost boy in the dark woods looking for a light to guide you home. She will if you let her, if she is your Lover, so just fucking put down the script and improvise a wonderful life with her.
I had better remember that if I am blessed with that chance. I will kick my own ass if I don’t.