Clearly from the title of this entry, I am still in love with Radiohead's "In Rainbows" album. Music is still one of my primary methods of psychospiritual convalescence, an emotional barometer of sorts in a variety of time signatures and major and minor keys.  Perhaps it always will be and that's not necessarily a bad thing.  In fact, I kind of like the way the soundtrack to my life has been editing itself lately.

There have been purposefully decided deletions of tunes reflecting my past realizations of other humans' potential for inflicting heartwounds, while almost completely disregarding common courtesies I erroneously assumed to be inherent to relational discourse. And then of course there have been blissful additions of lyrical expressions of romantic faith renewed. 

Indeed, there is a markedly misty theme to the song list at the present moment.  One could even say that I've found myself in a rosy-minded fuzz. Yup. An all out inhibition-shattering, swoon-inducing, "I don't care if we hold hands until my palms are sweaty," state of mind and action. 

So, as I consider the prospect (and near reality) of trusting him, I am enjoying the experience of emotional attentiveness and what could potentially be a dashing collection of romantic reparative moments, all while letting the music tell what my heart is beginning to realize.

01. Let the Distance Keep Us Together
02. Too Little Too Late
03. Apartment Story
04. I Like What You Say
05. There Goes the Fear
06. Downtown
07. House of Cards
08. Under Control
09. Starlight
10. Universally Speaking
11. Satisfy My Soul
12. I Want You
13. The Panties
14. Eau D'Bedroom Dancing
15. Here In My Room
16. The Sweetest Thing
17. Love Rain

And as simple as that, I exhaled.

Yesterday
she found herself in tears;
A real-life, color-by-numbers picture of pitifulness.
The burst of emotion came without warning
and she was ashamed.

Where was her rationality?
Resiliency?
Unflappable demeanor?

All defenses had been attacked
by one train of irrational thoughts
linked to her separation from him.

Feminist rhetoric pounded
from the recesses of her mind,
frantically trying to outscream
her acute sense of dissatisfaction,
but was promptly silenced
by a wave of longing.

Lately, not much could distract her
from fruitless ruminations about her future--
maybe leaving her current life behind,
factoring in his proximity when planning
her next move.

Sickening as it was, she thought of him
more often
than any modern, worldly woman
would dare to admit.

Why had she chosen him
with the overflowing passion
of some crazed zealot?
Deciding on a path that was so far-fetched
with a dizzyingly abstract timeline
was mockingly cruel to her sanity.
But, perhaps she was a glutton for misery.
That was the worst part.

The burden that was once trim and slim
seems to have let itself go.
Its unsightly and increasingly massive presence
disgusts her.
But, it has become her possession nonetheless.

So now daily she mutters
confused prayers for patience
and waits for peace
or selective amnesia
to set in.
                                                            -AVM

Some steps must be made alone

down a path meant

only to be traveled by one set of feet,

until each footfall gains its confidence,

the traveler now ready

to retrace her steps

and tell the pieces of her heart about the places she's been

and the treasure she's discovered just up yonder.

 

Silence translates to betrayal somewhat against our will.

 

Her mouth opens and closes,

as if the air were some culinary delight of which

she was trying to understand the flavor.

 

Her lips contort as she tries to find the words

to describe something she doesn't even understand

herself,

a blooming sapling with preternatural characteristics

she fears will disappear once

captured in the constraints

of human language,

similar to the magical land she visited

in her mind as a child, 

which she excitedly described to

older cousins whose imaginations had already been

stifled by logic and experience,

who laughed at her and brought her to realize

that the world was anything but fantastical.

 

Grow.

Up.

 

She knows that this time is different.

She just has to close her eyes and

experience it alone.

Manage doubts alone.

Feel heart flutters alone.

 

And so, she closes her eyes

and plants the seeds.

 

Kneed the soil.

Wait.

 

Bask in the sun.

Wait.

 

Water the ground.

Wait.

 

Open her eyes.

Admire the blooming life

around her.

 

She will then invite others,

those of her own heart,

to view her garden.

 

Wait.wait.wait.wait.

 

If they decide not to come,

the beauty of the garden will not die.

 

She will simply dry her tears,

cut the most gorgeous of the blossoms,

and create a bouquet to honor her loves

who interpreted malice where there was

only

a necessary sliver

of independence.

 

                                                                                    -AVM