How foolish you are, little person. How completely blind you are to all around and in you. You dare to throw around words of love, when you have no idea what love is.
Love does not just come into being. Love is not just attraction or infatuation. Love is, when true and real, a force in itself. It must be, as it is battered and tested through time. It is hardened in a fire of conviction and commitment, yet you don’t consider this at all.
Your love is a clay. Moist and cool, you move and mold it into the shape that suits you now. Never fostered, never fired, it remains weak. A weakness you celebrate, for when love fails you, it makes it easy to ball up and restart.
You will never find a use for this love, though. It will add nothing to your life, as you add nothing to it. The clay will become dirty and dry, begin to crack. Each reforming becomes harder, until it resembles nothing at all, a pile of worthless dirty.
If only you could see beyond the initial flame of passion. You see love like a match. You strike it, and it bursts into flame. An ignition of heat and light, burning through whatever material you have for it. You can try to pile on fuel, but ultimately, fire dies. You remain, perhaps exhausted by your efforts, covered in ash.
It must be so lonely, it must be so maddening. You must be so frantic all the time. Those around you must shake their heads as you run to and fro, but how can they show you what you refuse to see, what you find yourself always to busy to contemplate. Perhaps those around you know no better themselves.
Sit down, little one. Breathe deep and slow, and consider what you want to build, not what you hope to find.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
Wedding Haze
I don’t believe you can go to a wedding at not think of your own. As I attended a friend’s ceremony this weekend, I was pulled back to mine. I remembered watching my own bride walk down the aisle, her tearing up as she read me her vows, and all that has happened since.
It was a beautiful day in a tragic love story. It is hard to think of that day and understand how it ended in such hurt, deceit and betrayal. Its hard to believe that just a few short years later, her passion and conviction of that day could have dissolved to nothing.
Standing amongst the guests at the reception, I hear people speaking of true love, of the glimmer in their eyes, the excitement in their faces, and I remember hearing those same words at my own. How many times were we told our vows were beautiful and moving, and so obviously from the heart? I stay quiet and drink my wine. I find a seat and try to stabilize my mind.
Another glass, I meet the people at my table. A singer/actor couple sits next to me. They were married the same summer as I, but I see affection between them. She looks at him with adoration as he speaks, and I can tell she is so proud of the man he is, the man she married. They are sweet and warm, and I speak little of myself. I smile and laugh and pretend I was never wed.
Dinner comes, conversations continue, several more glasses of wine are consumed. I listen to the toasts, the advice given to the newlyweds. None of it is unknown to me, no words I didn’t live by, no actions I didn’t do.
Their first dance, sweet, playful and impressive. We had practiced ours for weeks, taken lessons, put in so much effort. I didn’t dance before my bride, I had never been drawn to it. But she loved it, and so I had learned to love it.
They open up the dance floor for everyone else, and I come to a moment in myself. A choice of self to be made. I could sit in this chair, and wallow in her decisions, or I can make one for myself. Dancing may have been sparked by her, but tonight I will dance for me. I finish the wine in front of me and get up.
So few of us dancing for a wedding, but I don’t mind. Music with a beat, and I lose my mind in the movement. A blur of hours, faces, dancing with dozens of strangers, I laugh honestly as I realize I am having a good night.
Standing outside, snow falling heavy on me as I savor a cigarette, the bride and groom driven off through the night, I sigh with a calm contentedness. I can build within myself all I loved in her. I can be my own source of passion, happiness, and joy. I can dance the night away, and enjoy every minute of it, no matter who she decides to be.
It was a beautiful day in a tragic love story. It is hard to think of that day and understand how it ended in such hurt, deceit and betrayal. Its hard to believe that just a few short years later, her passion and conviction of that day could have dissolved to nothing.
Standing amongst the guests at the reception, I hear people speaking of true love, of the glimmer in their eyes, the excitement in their faces, and I remember hearing those same words at my own. How many times were we told our vows were beautiful and moving, and so obviously from the heart? I stay quiet and drink my wine. I find a seat and try to stabilize my mind.
Another glass, I meet the people at my table. A singer/actor couple sits next to me. They were married the same summer as I, but I see affection between them. She looks at him with adoration as he speaks, and I can tell she is so proud of the man he is, the man she married. They are sweet and warm, and I speak little of myself. I smile and laugh and pretend I was never wed.
Dinner comes, conversations continue, several more glasses of wine are consumed. I listen to the toasts, the advice given to the newlyweds. None of it is unknown to me, no words I didn’t live by, no actions I didn’t do.
Their first dance, sweet, playful and impressive. We had practiced ours for weeks, taken lessons, put in so much effort. I didn’t dance before my bride, I had never been drawn to it. But she loved it, and so I had learned to love it.
They open up the dance floor for everyone else, and I come to a moment in myself. A choice of self to be made. I could sit in this chair, and wallow in her decisions, or I can make one for myself. Dancing may have been sparked by her, but tonight I will dance for me. I finish the wine in front of me and get up.
So few of us dancing for a wedding, but I don’t mind. Music with a beat, and I lose my mind in the movement. A blur of hours, faces, dancing with dozens of strangers, I laugh honestly as I realize I am having a good night.
Standing outside, snow falling heavy on me as I savor a cigarette, the bride and groom driven off through the night, I sigh with a calm contentedness. I can build within myself all I loved in her. I can be my own source of passion, happiness, and joy. I can dance the night away, and enjoy every minute of it, no matter who she decides to be.
Friday, January 6, 2012
A Knight's Vindication part ii
The ground was glazed with frost as the three hooded horsemen rode into the village. The men were armed and clad in heavy leathers and furs, clearly warriors, and as the townsfolk noticed them, they retreated into their homes. There were few reasons soldiers would visit such a hamlet, none of which the citizens would want to be involved in.
The frozen earth crunched noisily under the horses’ hooves as they rode to the center of town. The largest building in town was the inn, and there the men dismounted and entered, walking tall and with purpose. Their boots sounded heavily on the wooden floors of the hall as they strode toward the keeper. The keeper was a small man, standing barely to the shoulders of the hooded men, and as they neared he seemed to shrink even further.
The tallest of the hooded men removed his cover, revealing his stern, weathered face. His eyes, gray as the churning seas, captivated the keeper, and as he stared back into them, he felt a powerful mixture of sorrow and fear.
“I am looking for the man named Decker”, they gray eyed man stated. The keeper stood, still transfixed under this stranger’s gaze for several seconds before responding.
“Decker? The painter?”
“Yes, that is the man I seek.”
“What do you want with him?”
“That is my business”, they gray eyed man’s words were calm, but still sent shivers of terror down the keepers spine.
“I-I... I can show you.” The keeper led them up the main lane for a ways, before stopping in front of a small home. Barely more than a shack, it was crudely fashioned, and was in ill repair.
“Go back to your inn, commoner”, one of the other hooded figures snapped. The keeper retreated back down to his lodge, not daring a backwards glance.
The three men stared at the house in silence for a time. The other two looked the the gray eyed man, who nodded silently to them and strode forth to the doorway. They understood the wordless command, and stood their ground on the road, waiting for their companion to complete what he had traveled so far to do. The gray eyed man pushed open the door, and disappeared inside.
Inside sat a thin man, haggard and bald. He sat up straight, and summoned the most determined look he could as he looked at the man who had invaded his home.
“I’ve been searching you for some time, Decker. You can not have thought you could evade me forever”, the gray eyed man’s voice remained as cold and empty as before.
“I always knew, Jaren. I never thought I would escape you”, Decker could not look into Jaren’s face, dropping his gaze to the floor. “But killing me will bring you no peace. It will not bring her back, and she wouldn’t want this.”
“Regardless, I am here. There is no peace for me anymore. The two of you took that from me”, Jaren stated, ever calmly.
Decker lunged forward, brandishing a short blade he pulled from behind. Jaren caught his sword arm by the wrist, stopping it mid swing. His face curled with anger as he stared into Decker’s eyes, inches from his own. In a single movement, Jaren stripped the blade from his opponent’s hand and kicked him back into the wall. Dust fell from the ceiling as the shack shuddered under the impact, and Decker coughed the breath out of his lungs. Before he could gasp another in, Jaren plunged the taken blade forth, spearing Decker through the shoulder, pinning him upright against the wall.
Jaren stepped back and stared at the man bleeding before him. The anger had left his face, replaced with the emptiness of before. Decker choked on fresh tears, and Jaren pondered if they were from his wound, or a deeper pain.
“All I did was love her! I loved her and she loved me!” Decker screamed through his tears.
“You don’t know what love is, and neither did she.” Jaren unsheathed his longsword slowly, letting the scabbard scratch dramatically against the blade.
“This serves no purpose! She is gone, and that is your fault! You should have let us be, you cou-” Jaren slashed the sword tip across Decker’s throat, what words remained came out only as a gurgle, a splutter of air and blood. Jaren stood in silence before the dying man. Waiting for the end, he was patient until all life had left, then turned and exited the hovel.
Jaren’s companions fell in stride behind him as he strode back toward the inn. They stayed a pace behind him, glancing between themselves with unhidden curiosity. Upon reaching the horses, Jaren quickly mounted and reined his steed around to leave the village.
“Is it over? She is avenged?” One of the men asked as he climbed upon his own mount.
“This was not vengeance. This was not wrath. What I did today was a mercy for a pitiful soul.” Snow began to fall, slow and softly as he spoke. Jaren looked up, letting it fall upon his face. The cold was soothing, it echoed all he knew.
They spoke no more as they rode away.
The frozen earth crunched noisily under the horses’ hooves as they rode to the center of town. The largest building in town was the inn, and there the men dismounted and entered, walking tall and with purpose. Their boots sounded heavily on the wooden floors of the hall as they strode toward the keeper. The keeper was a small man, standing barely to the shoulders of the hooded men, and as they neared he seemed to shrink even further.
The tallest of the hooded men removed his cover, revealing his stern, weathered face. His eyes, gray as the churning seas, captivated the keeper, and as he stared back into them, he felt a powerful mixture of sorrow and fear.
“I am looking for the man named Decker”, they gray eyed man stated. The keeper stood, still transfixed under this stranger’s gaze for several seconds before responding.
“Decker? The painter?”
“Yes, that is the man I seek.”
“What do you want with him?”
“That is my business”, they gray eyed man’s words were calm, but still sent shivers of terror down the keepers spine.
“I-I... I can show you.” The keeper led them up the main lane for a ways, before stopping in front of a small home. Barely more than a shack, it was crudely fashioned, and was in ill repair.
“Go back to your inn, commoner”, one of the other hooded figures snapped. The keeper retreated back down to his lodge, not daring a backwards glance.
The three men stared at the house in silence for a time. The other two looked the the gray eyed man, who nodded silently to them and strode forth to the doorway. They understood the wordless command, and stood their ground on the road, waiting for their companion to complete what he had traveled so far to do. The gray eyed man pushed open the door, and disappeared inside.
Inside sat a thin man, haggard and bald. He sat up straight, and summoned the most determined look he could as he looked at the man who had invaded his home.
“I’ve been searching you for some time, Decker. You can not have thought you could evade me forever”, the gray eyed man’s voice remained as cold and empty as before.
“I always knew, Jaren. I never thought I would escape you”, Decker could not look into Jaren’s face, dropping his gaze to the floor. “But killing me will bring you no peace. It will not bring her back, and she wouldn’t want this.”
“Regardless, I am here. There is no peace for me anymore. The two of you took that from me”, Jaren stated, ever calmly.
Decker lunged forward, brandishing a short blade he pulled from behind. Jaren caught his sword arm by the wrist, stopping it mid swing. His face curled with anger as he stared into Decker’s eyes, inches from his own. In a single movement, Jaren stripped the blade from his opponent’s hand and kicked him back into the wall. Dust fell from the ceiling as the shack shuddered under the impact, and Decker coughed the breath out of his lungs. Before he could gasp another in, Jaren plunged the taken blade forth, spearing Decker through the shoulder, pinning him upright against the wall.
Jaren stepped back and stared at the man bleeding before him. The anger had left his face, replaced with the emptiness of before. Decker choked on fresh tears, and Jaren pondered if they were from his wound, or a deeper pain.
“All I did was love her! I loved her and she loved me!” Decker screamed through his tears.
“You don’t know what love is, and neither did she.” Jaren unsheathed his longsword slowly, letting the scabbard scratch dramatically against the blade.
“This serves no purpose! She is gone, and that is your fault! You should have let us be, you cou-” Jaren slashed the sword tip across Decker’s throat, what words remained came out only as a gurgle, a splutter of air and blood. Jaren stood in silence before the dying man. Waiting for the end, he was patient until all life had left, then turned and exited the hovel.
Jaren’s companions fell in stride behind him as he strode back toward the inn. They stayed a pace behind him, glancing between themselves with unhidden curiosity. Upon reaching the horses, Jaren quickly mounted and reined his steed around to leave the village.
“Is it over? She is avenged?” One of the men asked as he climbed upon his own mount.
“This was not vengeance. This was not wrath. What I did today was a mercy for a pitiful soul.” Snow began to fall, slow and softly as he spoke. Jaren looked up, letting it fall upon his face. The cold was soothing, it echoed all he knew.
They spoke no more as they rode away.
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