Evolution of Love's Criteria

Upon the empty slate of our lives is jotted down first and foremost, boldly and brilliantly, etched deeply:

Love.

Years pass. 

Time scribbles notes in the margins of that thick and endless page.

Words may fade, but cannot be erased without an upheaval and shaking off of our skins that change us at our very core.

Even then.  The eraser leaves dust.  Evidence will always remain.

As such, I contemplate the evolution of what love meant then (and means now) in my life.  I draw the parallel lines and I am comforted by the soothing, undeniable constants.

At five years old I saw the prince kiss Snow White as she lay still and cold, while her family watched and mourned their loss.  Without any expectation or agenda, he expressed his love to a woman he believed lost to this world.  He gave of himself as he said goodbye.

Offer your whole heart to me, even in the face of losing me and without promise of return.

At 31, I see love at the side of a hospital bed, never wavering in her faith that their life together is not over as long as she pushes on and carries him through his weakest moments.

Be my strength and faith when I've none of my own left.

At seven years old I smiled as Prince Eric couldn't shake the notion that his true love lived within this stranger who washed up to the shore of the seas he sailed.  As he held onto this inexplicable faith that he would find her and that she was closer than he could possibly imagine.  That his soul knew her soul so well that he cared for this woman and heard her song though she spoke no words.

Hear in my silence my soul singing to yours and have faith that I am still and will always remain me.

At 31 I see love at the side of a hospital bed, reading from her favorite books in a slow, patient tempo, relishing these last moments of a life together.

Love me until my very end.

At eight I watched Westley endlessly pursue Buttercup in order to rescue her from a man who could never love her as he did, however, putting her needs and desires first always, "as you wish" he says.

Believe that you are what I deserve but allow me my choice, no matter what, and know that I will do the same for you.  Know that I will see the distance you traverse, and that I will save my heart for you.

At 31 I see love at the side of a hospital bed, smiling and laughing and exuding positivity when the room is bleak and he is weary.

Help me hold onto a smile, even when the pain and fear is overwhelming.

At 12 I watched Fiona turn away from a prince and the promise of a life of riches and physical beauty, to walk into the arms of the ogre who lives in a swamp.  Love meaning so much more and holding so much more weight than all the superficial rewards of a life easily within her grasp.

Love me when I'm ugly and when it seems I have nothing to offer you, because my heart is worth the entire world when I offer it freely to you.

At 31 I see love at the side of a hospital bed, learning and listening and hearing and understanding the hard cold reality he cannot and making the choices for him she knows will be best for him, even when it isn't what she wants for herself.

Know what I need when I am unable to choose for myself, and have the unending strength to accept the choices you know I'd make if I had my own voice, even if the answers hurt.

At 25 I watched Hellboy toe the boundary of hell itself to bring Liz back, ready and willing to cross over if that's what it took to get her back home.

Fight through the fire for me, find me in the darkest depths to which I may be stolen to, be ready to sacrifice so that I may be restored.

At 31, I see love at the sides of hospital beds.

At 31, I can outline love for you.  And I can promise you that what love means to me is everything that I promise to offer in turn to you.

Que Sera Sera

Que sera sera

Forcing fates hand

It’s what I do.

Such a juxtaposition

Of legs that tremble under the weight of uncertainty

In my own abilities

Yet a poised determination 

That sets my soul aflame and lights the way as I forge my very own path

Disregard

For every cue that destiny whispers to my turned back

“What will be will be”

In those words 

A challenge

I rise

 I lift my head

Throw my shoulders back

Feigned valor

And I rage

“No.”

The echoes of a contrary spirit

Rattle the window panes

The floor tremulous

Quaking conviction

That simultaneously anchors me in this assuredness 

What I choose for me

Is what will be

Ignite

Ignite

You fragile thing

Burn

The world down with a breath

Upon

Which a hoarse scream rattles the windows of his soul

Endless

Will seem the hours of hollow mourning

Tomorrows

Promise respite and healing

But

In this darkest of todays

Remember

Lest your past knock on future’s door

Your

Aching and bleeding

Soul

So spattered with soot and ash

Is

And will remain always

Impervious

Sushi and Cigarettes

Gentle rain fills the air
Taste of bitter coffee
The taste of bitter life
Only brings about within my soul a craving
For the sweet, enamored, smooth and lush potential
Impregnated within all the days yet to come
A chill that gnaws on my fingers as hot exhalation dances upon the air before my face
All gentle reminders
I am alive
It is true that I stared into that abyss
And it could be that the abyss stared back into me
But only created anew within me
This unmatched desire, tenacity, urge, yearning
To occupy the gaping nothingness that threatened to swallow me whole
With any and every beautiful little wisp of life that I could create
To fill the abysmal and bleak
With the profound
To make this world of mine whole once more
Endeavoring to piece together all of the shards of this broken existence
To raise up
And finally allow the warm sunshine to dance through all of the colors of my soul
As I pull another drag and whisper into the air a smoky breath
A wordless acquiescence
That this intense drive for meaning
May not raise its weary head tomorrow
Or in a week
But insisting upon wrapping it tight, if only for now
That I embrace and hold fast to it, today
Comfort and acceptance in this realization
Discovery
An overpowering awareness
I am not the shape of this world I have been born into
I will never fit the contours cozily
Of a destiny not fashioned of my own free will
Rather, I too hold a pen
And it is my own strength and obstinacy
That will drive my hand
Shaky
At times
Steady so rarely
But a constant
The pen is in my hand
If I am a book
Then I am no longer to ignore passages simply so that I might tell a better story only to please those who sit beside me
My lines, my edges, my contours
Shapes of my intangible self
Me
A new creature to behold
After a bleak pause in my consciousness
After
Staring helplessly
Hopelessly
Straining to find beauty in a story that is outside the limits of my soul's ability to perceive
Reading those bleak nothings
Frantically
A voice gone hoarse and rasping
Over and over again, words not born of my own hand
Praying
Pronouncing and repeating
Each line of foreign text
Until my throat was raw
And my tongue burned
Live!
Live!
I begged
Until eventually it came to be
That I could no longer turn my gaze back into myself
Finding what was within to be repulsive
If that which was within me wasn't enough
For someone else
Until the truth shook me from my roots to my limbs to my leaves
Unsettling the air around me
The very universe folding in on itself for
Five minutes?
Ten?
Father Time slept as I opened the box
And it was within that breathless limbo that I understood
I can stitch together all that is within and all that is without
Fashion a new reality
One that the whole of existence can gaze upon once and only once
That pen is in my hand
And so
I choose sushi
I choose the silken hair of my children brushing past my cheek
A tempered mug of strong coffee
Inhaling the autumn wind as it billows through the open window on a long drive
Laughs shared with a dear friend
Hellos to strangers
Unprovoked smiles to passersby
To splash my own color upon the canvas of all those who venture near
To hungrily seek meaning
To mend and repair
Understand that all great works of literature were never jotted down in a mere moment
But rewritten and fussed over
Just as I now contemplate this life of my own
I open the box and in my hands I turn over once more this heavy truth that pervades the entirety of my being
A beautiful life will mean the staunch resolve to pen my very own lines
Onto the pages of what fate may have already written
To create anew
A story old as time
Make it my own
Bend the world around me to fit my benevolent truths and my joyous whims
Again and again
Each day
Even if it may be only one word today
On others an entire soliloquy
Insisting for all the tomorrows that will be
Upon amplifying
Ameliorating
As this pen and the power to do so shall always remain within my grasp
Such
Is my newfound hope