Acceptance

I'm lost,
I'm worried.
I'm frightened,
And scared.

I'm searching,
I wander.
I'm falling,
Thin air.

I'm looking,
Not Seeing.
Not knowing,
Alone.

I'm floating,
No, falling.
Not growing,
I groan.

So big,
The world is.
So small,
I am.

These people,
All moving.
Not me,
I stand.

Alone,
With no one.
Not caring,
Not scared.

Those people,
All moving.
There faces,
Blank stares.

Happy,
Not caring.
Ignorance,
Bliss.

I've seen,
Those people.
I'll stay here,
Like this.

-----

Circa 1993, the original is undated. I found it with university papers and it was laser printed so not from the 80's dot-matrix era. The title, Acceptance, is about accepting the fact that I'm different. That I stand slightly (ever so slightly) aside from the rest, observing. It's how I felt then and when I came across it today I was touched by how it is still what I feel.

It's not good peotry, but given the reems of old school books now thrown out, it is (now) one of my first/oldest.

I feel numb

Not good, not bad, I feel numb. Me and my cousin and aunt have just spent the whole day in the basement of my Dad's house. We've sorted a billion boxes of crap in preparation for an upcoming yard sale. And under the crap, a billion memories.


People's exhibit one. I can't believe this was me. Who? How long ago? How? Was I ever this young? And was I really this happy and hopefull?

Okay, this picture was taken the "day after" the first time I ever made-out with a girl. I was on top of the world!

In addition to pictures there were "artifacts" of my past. Heck, my whole past! Every test, every textbook, school project. My mother threw out nothing. But today I thew out most of it.

Someday I'll regret that. For now I'm impressed by the empty spaces in the basement, and the fullness of the garage. And I'm impressed that I have memories dating back 10, 15, 20, and 25 years.

The above picture was from 1985, and last year I was dating a girl born in 1984.

At first I just felt old. But honestly now, I just feel numb.

Time to fly

I fly today, for the first time in months. Packing is all new. All the handy pre-prepared bits (travel toiletries, etc.) are no longer laid out ready for use. And though I'm only going home to Canada, I can't decide what to bring, what needs packing and what doesn't. *sigh*

All symptoms of a bad week? No, more about symptoms of a bad spring. But I'm hoping this is a time of change. Over the coming weeks there will be a number of birthday celbrations, including for my Dad and for summer. Summer has to be better than the spring. The spring was better than the winter.

I'm hoping this will be a trip for healing. I'll help my Dad and I know he'll help me. And we'll work on the home renovations, get confused about cutting angles on trim pieces, and bond over fixing computer problems.

I see the clock says I have only a short while to the airport. Time for lunch, and packing up this laptop. It's time to fly.

Unrequited

Unrequited love is love that is not returned. It's a lot like normal love, except where all the highs and joys and goods are turned into arrows which shoot back into the lover's heart to cause pain and sadness and pain and sorrow and pain.

And yet, giving up the unrequited love is itself even more painful. Breathing hurts. Every inhale wants to be a gasp for air, and every exhale has a sob waiting to follow it out.