When you meet someone for the first time…Think about it, what do u feel? What do u think? What do you say? I am sure for most the answer would be “it depends on the situation” . It may well do but at the same time, the easiness to which the reaction supposedly depends on the situation really projects our insecurities. Why do we spend most of our time thinking about what others are thinking about us? Why don’t we ever realize that other people are busy thinking about what we are thinking about them? Why does the situation dictate how we are going to react to a stranger?

I am sure you are not reading my article because you are so eager to answer annoying philosophical questions. Therefore, I will give you my theory and maybe you can prove, disprove, or otherwise just leave it alone.

My theory is that we are so insecure because we live in an age where instincts have been reduced to “vibes.” I am sure when Homo habilis was still kicking, he did not have the word “vibes” in his dictionary. Hell, he did not even have a language to explain his reactions to the occasional stone ager he came across. He just knew by instinct whether the newest acquaintance was friend or foe, I mean back then I don’t think there were fake friends..or as we call them nowadays, backstabbing bastards.

Why am I going back so far? I should just talk about our brothers and sisters in the wild. The king lion, the venomous (apparently conniving) snake and the amazing insects. They live through instinct ( although that’s what they probably say about human beings) They know when to stop and when to run without wondering if they are making a mistake because they trust their instinct.

Human beings are crippled by the second thought, which I like referring to as “Doubting Thy Inborn Instinct”-DTII (I know. It will never catch on). We are constantly battling our inner intuition commonly referred to as gut feeling. We never know when the feeling is right or when its subject to our own irrational fears.

Our collective instinct is ultimately compromised that way. And therefore, don’t wonder why the guy sitting next to you on the bus did not answer you when you commented about the weather. You started a battle inside the poor guy when you turned to him with a smile. He is wondering if he should just agree with you about the nice spring weather and then go back to his iPod or psp, or whether he should pre-empt an annoying conversation with an overfriendly passenger for the rest of the journey by pretending he did not hear you.

As we grow older, the overwhelming internal battle intensifies and we find ourselves so isolated, as we no longer are able to make simple acquaintances. We look for a motive behind every move and the deceit behind every smile. Many times, we may have missed on rare chances to make great long-term relationships, but also at times, we could have saved ourselves from unbearable grief. And just as our fellow animals in the wild, we are not always right and we may live to regret the best of chances we missed, but so far, we have managed to keep our heads on our necks and I guess that is the ultimate triumph. Don’t you think?…

He no longer holds my hands

At times quietly offering comfort

He no longer listens to my command

Trailing behind me, resolving my torts

He no longer walks me home during late nights

No longer bridge himself on the corner of my lips

I can no longer speak of my darkest sights

Blame my raucous behaviours on the eclipse

My once precious friend has turned into my foe

Ignoring my pleas and never-ending tears

Laughing giddily and pushing my woe

Leaving me with my shadows and fears

He no longer sings me fast to sleep

No longer sweep the mess of my broken heart

No longer taps my shoulder while I endlessly weep

He longer resides in me; we are apart.

Chugging gently along the frozen tracks

The steady rhythm of the electric engine is like a lullaby

Slowly and irresistibly drawing me to a half-slumber

My eyelids can’t stay open and only peer open at every stop when the                                                     doorbell chimes

My brain is getting clouded by the illusion of a perfect resting place

Only the occasional whiff of foul-smelling recycled air serves to poke holes in                                           this bubble

A reminder that the journey home is far from done…

Gun. Bam. Gone. Not yet. Still lingering. The taste of copper, the taste of salt. A weight, in her arms. Limp. The weight moves to her chest. Blood on her chest. Blood on her hands. The air is hot, burning. Voices dance around. Blood. Something shrieks. Blood.  Her mother knew. She feels him move away. She knew. A hole. An endless hole. Screaming. Her screaming. Her screaming in the past, through the past, into the present. She’s screaming-

Tiffany Williams wakes sitting up right, every muscle in her body tense, ready to run or to fight. For a moment her mind seems to be frozen, unsure of where she is or what she’s doing. Then it all comes back in a flash, and she lies back down with a sigh.

She looks at the alarm on the table beside her, and sighs again. 3 am. To early to get up, but based on past experiences, she won’t be getting much sleep either. She turns on a light and grabs a worn book from the end table, hoping a couple pages will knock her out.
Bam. Copper. Hot. The dream starts to come back, vague feelings and images. It doesn’t matter; she knew what it was about. It’s the same one that always wakes her up in a panic.

She tries to push the memories back, to concentrate on the words before her. But they float away, not strong enough to keep her attention. She feels that weight in her chest, heavier than anything she’s ever known. It wants to pull her down, back into that time and place. She gets out of bed, hoping that a glass of water will distract her.

Walking by her dresser, she notices a picture that’s been sitting there for years. She picks it up, fingering the worn edges. She barely ever pays it any mind, but tonight it fascinates her. It’s of her and two of her sorority sisters, sitting on the deck of their old Greek house. They’re holding drinks, wearing short shorts and bikini tops, smiling joyous smiles. Nothing would ever go wrong in these girls’ lives. They’re rich, and beautiful, and never had a moment of real pain. She looks around her little room, with the paint chipping off the walls, the worn bed and the stained sheets, and the discount clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor. And she looks in the mirror, something she so often tries to avoid. The girl in the picture is tanned with long luxurious blonde hair. The girl in the mirror has lost that tan, and her hair is flat and unkempt. But the eyes are the biggest difference. They were once so happy and expressive.
Now they look back at her with pain and a deep sadness. So few years have passed, but so much has changed. So much….. Read the rest of this entry »

Soft words spoken in an unforgiving tongue
I wish to travel in a backward birth
The day I let your hands slip from mine
In a bitter chaos of colliding pain

This shattered heart of mine beating
Has flood itself more rain than New Orleans
I am esurient for which I once held in my soul
Entwined since the beginning of time

I long, I long to be forgiven
I long, I long to be loved
And when I saw you look at her
Your lips gently caressing hers

The lies I told myself—I could live without you
Came hurling at me faster than a pitcher’s strike
I am sorry,
For my heart misses its other half

In your face, in your eyes
I want to say what’s in my heart
But the fear of being hurt with you
I keep all the things I’ll never say

Maybe someday when I am stronger
When the thought of without you
Is a greater pain than with you
I’ll say what I’ll never say