Superman

We loved each-other with an intensity that was unmatched by others. It was young giggly love. It was passionate and exciting love. We loved each-other until it smothered us. It was love that brought explicit joy, deep and unwavering commitment, timeless satisfaction, but slow and powerful resentment, disappointment, neediness, and at the very end, our love formed a painful truth. We were unable to be without each other but unable to live our own lives with each-other. We were meant to be forever, never. He was my kryptonite. And that was a problem, because it meant, to some extent, for the rest of my life, I would have a connection with him, a bond, that is permanent and essentially helped write the history of who I am. So I owed him. Because without kryptonite, there is no Superman. I do not know how else to love, than how I loved him. It is all I know, and at times, all I want to know. Because our love felt like a miracle. I believed in love, and he believed in me. And that was enough. Until it wasn’t.

Black

You visit the wine country a lot now. I suppose much hasn't changed. Your hair is shorter, and you wear a black watch on your left hand. You have permanently shaved the goatee that I loved so much. Maybe a lot has changed. You do visit the wine country a lot now... You live in San Fransisco and people know you make money because of your car, and because you tell them. Did she get the better part of you? I wonder that sometimes. Is he changed now? Is he a joy to be around when he drinks? Is he more generous, and compromising with his emotions and his wallet? Does she laugh with him like I did? God could we laugh. And dance. I loved the way we danced. Can I make it rain with anger, and turn the world upside down and paint it black? Can I scream to you in just above a whisper that you ruined me. That you ruined us. And that as more time passes, the harder it becomes to mourn the loss of us, because I am losing me. Losing focus. Maybe that is because the world is black now. Maybe It's because you visit the wine country a lot now. With her.

A Dead Heart

I know. Trust me I know.
I know the pain you are in right now.
You are in it. Deep.
You are soaked in love for a man who has left dust on your boots, skidding out of a parking lot, beer in one hand, steering wheel in the other.
The pain is unbearable and each minute is a purposeful moment in time you are using to simply survive.
You are not there yet. You are in the thick of it, but you are getting there.
Freedom.
You are almost there. Free of the locks and chains you have put around your heart, in an effort to save it just for him.
You are not willing to accept that there is someone special in this universe waiting to love just you. But he's waiting to love you, and he will love you leaps and bounds ahead of what your past could never give you.
I know. Trust me I know.

Born on the Red Carpet

I lied. I always said Colorado is home. When I am away, I am only a visitor, in the city, in the state, in the place I temporarily occupy. I lied. I traveled home a couple of days ago. I stayed in the house that held all my childhood memories. They were like little treasures I found as I walked through the remodeled house. We built forts. My cousins and I built forts using the old wooden piano as cover. The piano moved along with everything else. But, the house, it still smelled the same. I love that smell. I adore that smell. I decided to jog around the neighborhood of Pacific Palisades and quickly remembered what their sidewalks looked like. Broken. Divided. Different sheets of concrete raised up due to quakes, sometimes in the middle of the night. I never could get used to the earthquakes as a little girl. But I have a feeling I would be more terrified now. Adulthood does that to you. Each house unique, built with character. "Miniature castles" my uncle would say. I raised my head to the branches sprawled against the gray sky. A humid sun forcing its way on to my face. The leaves were reds, oranges,and greens. Color never died in California. Unlike Colorado. For the first time, in a long time, I thought to myself, I belong. I belong here, in this moment, in this place. And it was as if I never left. I was supposed to be famous. I was supposed to be a star. I was born to be on the red carpet. But they don't have any in this rocky mountain state. My acting coach would say, "if they don't have one, make one up." But I was supposed to be famous, don't you see?

California. Imagined.

It was while I was driving on the 405, it caught my attention as quickly as a bolt of lightning on a clear day. It was this beautiful white house sitting on top of one of their many rolling hills. Tears quickly flooded my vision and my chest tightened up in the best way possible. I had this clear vision of our family living there, playing in the swimming pool. Our two little girls running barefooted with sun kissed tans. The vision tasted as sweet as cotton candy and dissolved just as quickly.

The Mourning

I mourn for the childless.
I mourn for the parent-less infants.
I mourn for the ones who can't see a marmalade sunset.
I mourn for the ones who can't hear the sound of laughter, or a musical composition.
I mourn for the women who feel inferior to their male partners.
I mourn for the men who overshadow their hearts with their egos.
I rejoice in those who make bold choices and never back down.
I rejoice in someone who can admit fault and laugh at themselves and cry for themselves.
I rejoice in knowing I have loved and been loved in return.
I rejoice in knowing I learned how to trust others.
I rejoice in having hope for better days and believing in someone other than myself.
I rejoice in living long enough to travel to different countries and experience something new almost every day.
But I morn that I haven't let go yet.
I mourn that I have anger cemented around my heart.
I morn for how hard I have made it to let people love me and surround myself around those who are deserving of it.
I morn for the me 10 years from now that may still be stuck in the same spot.

Guide me, I am yours.

And Then There Was Goodbye

I can't formulate a single concrete thought. I am pressured to feel one single emotion, and I am flooded with the salty ocean. It was my decision to cut you from my life, to cut the umbilical cord that traveled from my heart to your soul. You could no longer fill my lungs and my life with your love, with your sweet smile and tender voice. I was, for once, giddy to come home to just me. To cook a meal and laugh alone, hearing it echo against the wood floors. I came and went as I pleased, I answered to no one. I foolishly became aware that the world was so much bigger than me, than you, than this.

And then there was a message. A message that traveled from ones mouth to my ear. And then there were tears. I was single and I was strong and I was ready. Ready for change, ready for movement, ready to look into someone else's eyes and say I love you. But there was a message. I found out you were leaving. And then I knew past the horizon, past the furthest mark that I could see, would lie the mourning.

I saw you. It was everything I didn't think it would be. You were different but still the same, and so was I. Too much happened that night. And I am left with a heavy bag of cotton. I wasn't supposed to cry. You weren't supposed to kiss my head and ask to hug me and then not let go. Some loves just never die. This moment will stitch the cut that severed our relationship. But for right now, this moment has left blood all over the floor. What a mess.