I am thinking of cold, stone steps that so ironically comfort my frozen soul. Gazing out into the smog filled city of buildings, cars and people. I can only hear one thing, the faint hum of tires hitting the pavement. It almost sounds like a finished record still spinning on the player.
A beautiful, spacious building rises behind me gently scraping the sun. It echoes in glory. Creamy white pillars and huge wooden doors tower over the valley in a reminder of liberty.
This place, these simple stairs free my mind and heart to wander where they please. It gives them a pathway to express their every hidden emotion to the soft breeze that blows through my hair. And the smell of freshly cut grass mixed with sweat that clings so effortlessly to my sweatshirt takes my breath away. The pinks and purples and blues in the sky reach endlessly into my thoughts and I escape life for just that moment.
Life. My life.
I am thinking of pictures. Very few still memories of a person, standing next to me with his lips tightly pressed into a smile. His everyday black or red shirt and somewhat original personality is, like always, hidden beneath what he thinks others expect of him.
But I know him and he knows me. He used to search my mind and soul for answers... answers to questions I don't even know the answers to. Like a wild lion, king of prey, waiting to pounce on a ever-slowing deer. And his friendship is sacred in comparison to the passion of depth in the deep earth that is his eyes. My unblinking gaze into the moonlight and his strong hands, firmly placed on my ribs...
Ribs. Bruised to the point where I couldn't breath. I remember that day.
I am thinking about when I was fourteen years old. Eighth grade summer. That was when it all started -- or was that just when it was recognized. Hospitalized in Las Vegas for two weeks for one reason.
Him. I could not please him. I could not please myself.
I remember the first time I heard those words. They cut through my confidence like a steak knife gliding through a juicy tomato, red water gently circling around. One man, who had some unknown power over me, shattered every love I may have had for myself.
I was stabilized by nothing. I was alone. I was scared. Scared of who I was, of what I had become. Struggling for the knowledge of who I am, what I stand for. People pulling me in every direction. Love. Health. Education. Looks. Up. Down. Right. Left... I want to be alone, but not feel alone.
Nothing comforts me except pain, because I am used to it and it reminds me I'm alive. I know how to handle it, how to live with it. Even when I let go, the agony comes back and it is always worse than it was before. I see love in pain and I can't breathe anymore. I'm suffocating. Choking on the thought that maybe none of this was his fault. Maybe its always been me. For every time you hurt me...
For every time you told me I was not good enough...
I'm not like them, but I can pretend.
For every time you dumped on me.
For every time you used me.
For every time you stomped on me, leaving me torn.
For every time you made jest at my hard work and dedication.
For every time you stole me as a person.
For every time you trusted me with your secrets.
For every time you chose to accept me, even though you shouldn't have.
For every time you listened to my cries.
For every time you showed me you cared by giving me advice.
For every time you ran to me for support.
For every time I showed you the truth.
For every time you complained to me about your miserable life.
For every time I was sympathetic.
For every time I felt your sting and endured the pain.
For every time I spit on your name.
For every time I questioned your integrity.
For every time I betrayed your trust.
For every time I cursed your motives.
For every time I entangled you in a web of woe.
For every time you screwed me over.
For every time I screwed you...
I am sorry.
I can see myself as I sat on the lawn in front of your place holding that picture with both hands. I am gripping it so hard that my face turns scarlet and my hands as white as the icy snow that lines the gutters.
Salty tears stream down my face nourishing you. Forever you will be beautiful because I gave you sunshine with forgiveness and watered you with my tears. And you didn't fight for me. You never tried to wipe my tears away. I'm not even sure you noticed. And I look up at the star-lit heavens in search for reassurance from the moon, but I did not know then what burns in my heart now... You never intended to fight.
I think I always knew that. Like a garlic clove slowly decaying in my heart... I could smell it.
Am I headed for the same dead end? Is there anything I can do about anything at all? Except go back to that sunset on Friday and think deeper, deeper this time.
Think beneath the impossibilities of peace. Excoriate the memories: pain, war, tears -- of our history. Think beneath all those rules, those restrictions that pin down imagination and illuminate color. And think beneath the distinction of reality, beneath traffic and congestion and beneath the rain.
I can go back and think beneath the Saint, flaking the skin from the clove revealing its pungent core, beneath the obscurities of a sinner. Beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel. Life is fire... just waiting for fuel.
Life is fire and the faint hum of tires hitting the pavement.
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