She wore December on her grin like a long time gone. She wore this like a familiar shirt from something her Grandmother gave her, sacred too, or like a thing of comfort from the past, which was proof that someplace, or somewhere else, there was another time when all was well.
I see this in her, or should I say in you.
I appreciate the way you wear your smile or how you enjoy the sun when it’s kind enough to show itself in the dead of winter.
Certain things are often indifferent or unmoved, to say the least, and dare I say that I am indifferent because that would be a lie.
I am not indifferent. I am interested and invested and convicted of crimes that my head committed when my heart wanted to be true.
I am this.
I am all of this too.
I am far from the person I was and even further from where I was when all was well during the holiday months.
I am far and growing distant from a time and place when December meant what it mean or the holiday lights had meaning, —or like when it snows in mid-December, remember?
The world took on a momentary flavor of innocence and the purity of white snow falling at nighttime was enough to make me warm.
I remember a cold night on a farm far, far from where the concrete lived or the demons prowled on corners like Knickerbocker.
I looked up like a child of God, hopeful that infinite truth would promise me hope and a salvation which could redeem me.
I looked up at the brightest star shining like a beacon of hope.
And hope?
I yes, I remember hope very well.
I remember the dreams and the ideas or my desires which refused to give way or let go of my grip.
I think of the way two hands connect, perfectly, warmly, and romantically, as if to be destined to interact or connect like two pieces of an infinite puzzle.
I say this because there are billions of people out there in this world and only one, namely you, can make me feel or be the way I am.
No one else can do this to me
(but you)
And yes, I’ve changed.
But I have more to do
and more to say.
There are no dreams like my childhood ones anymore, —there are only memories of a time when I was younger and believing that perhaps one day, these dreams can come true.
I am three years beyond 50.
And it has taken me this long to unravel the lies and look at you truthfully.
That is, of course, if here is such a thing as true.
Or perhaps my truth was limited to a diagram or a chart, like the one next someone who is dying alive with an invisible disease in a hospital bed.
And therefore, perhaps I am limited to a diagnosis, alone and distant from the promised land.
Unless, of course, I choose to defy the diagnosis.
Either way, time moves and you and I are always one step closer to an answer.
I know this for a fact.
However, whether the answers are in my favor are debatable and thus, —no matter what, we are always where we are supposed to be.
We are exactly where we are supposed to be, even when we want to be somewhere else.
I am not too far from the promised land. I am far from you and far from where I want to be, at least from a physical perspective.
Yet, my heart is the only place it can be, which is here with me, or there with you (wherever you are)
I have spent decades trying so hard to hide the bashful natures of my inner truths. Either it was this or the fact that yes, there are more details to me and there is more to me than what meets the eye.
I am more than my physical body shows.
I am more than what my accent depicts or when my voice is raspier than the average; I am more than this and more than the way I sound.
I am more than my physical voice, which is why I prefer to write this to you, —to show my softer side, to reveal the vulnerabilities in tiny fragments of heart-shaped mottoes that depict a romance that I never dared to share.
I have never been this way before.
And no, I do not expect to ever be this way again, which is why I am choosing to do something out of my usual or normal comfort zone.
No, I have never been real or upfront like this.
I have never opened myself wholesomely or wholeheartedly because when I was younger or than before, I felt the pains of a misperceived life.
I felt the sting which was marked by intrusions of those who looked to hurt others—so they could heal their selfish needs or feel better about their own circumstances.
I have always wanted to be like this.
I have always wanted to be “that kid.”
I have always wanted to laugh or dance without worrying about the shape of my smile or the rhythm of my steps.
I have always wanted to sing and be happy without worrying if my voice was unpleasing or better off, I should have whispered instead of being heard.
I have always wanted to abandon my deeply rooted resentments and rid myself of the fears that distracted me from myself.
I held the chains that held me down the most and worse, I nurtured a life that disallowed me to see that yes, maybe I could be beautiful too.
And no.
You never called me beautiful
And I walked and wondered and wished and then one day, I saw a sunset.
This was beautiful.
I watched the sky become gold and share its golden colors with the rest of my small town.
I must have been driving a thousand miles an hour, at the moment, thinking that maybe:
Maybe this is it . . .
Maybe I can finally have her.
Maybe she would have me.
Or maybe, if anything, maybe fate knows when the soul has had enough.
Maybe fate knows when the final straws have broken to the point where the soul is elsewhere and irredeemable, —and still, no matter if it is dusk or dawn; destiny comes to show us that despite what we think; fate is fate
Destiny is destiny and thus, no one can avoid the orders from the hands of above or defy the paths which destiny has chosen for us.
Ah, chosen.
I love that word.
I love the thought of what it means to be “chosen,” although, I am not sure that I have ever truly felt the compliment of being chosen.
At least, not until now, or until it was too late and I realized that I pissed away decades of my life on the wrong belief.
I am not fixed or perfect or healed or whole.
I am not so broken, however, and nor am I so damaged that I cannot recall the way the sun feels on my face or the way love feels in my hand.
I don’t mind saying this.
I need to hold hands.
I need to be touched.
I need to be loved
I need to be wanted and told the three most meaningful words in the world
I love you.
I need to hear these words . . .
I need to feel them.
I need to let go of my bashful regard and stand up like the grown child I am.
I need to be the one who never let go of a dream.
I have always dreamt for this but I never dared to admit that my dreams existed.
Oh, and this dream exists.
Trust me.
And now, here I am . . .
figuring the different aspects and the different scenarios and hoping with all of my heart that my physical being can satisfy your mind, body, and soul.
I just want to be enough, —or more, I weep now, like a flash flood, unexpected because I weep in fear that perhaps I am too small, too weak, or too far gone to be received or loved.
But you
You are the only person in this world who I want to make proud.
You would never know the depths of my weakness nor would you see these scars that I have hidden.
You would never know that inside of me is a growing and living being.
There is this thing in me, which has been dead or dormant for decades now.
And I . . .
I want to let this go.
I want to set this free.
So I can be alive before I die.
I want to be up front and out in the open now.
Yes.
I love you.
Of course, I do.
I don’t care how I look anymore or how I seem to the rest of the world.
Yes, I love the way you look.
Yes, I see you.
And I see all of you and yet, you wish I didn’t see so much.
I know.
But I see everything and better yet, everything I see are the most pleasing things I have ever seen—believe me.
Nothing about you is ugly or unsightly.
Nothing about you could ever be ugly or displeasing.
Nothing.
I love you, entirely.
I love your stomach.
I love your chest.
I love your legs and your toes, your ankles, and from this point upwards, I love everything more each day, distant or close, no one can ever stop me from wanting you the way I do.
I love your face the most or the expressiveness in your eyes.
I love your inner child, which you had to protect as well.
I know.
No one else is like you.
I have never been open.
I have never delivered myself without reservations and I have always had some kind of contingency plan, in case things turned hectic or unfortunate.
I have no plan, other than this.
Me being me.
That’s all
I swear that I believed the distance between us from years ago and how life reintroduced us was magical to say the least.
And I know you don’t believe me when I tell you these things.
But I am done and settled with the remnants of my past or the toxins that almost killed me
I have not forgotten anything . . .
I will never forget this or you or how I feel about the way I’ve been.
I will never forget the way I was and the way I want to be now.
I will tell you tomorrow about the violence.
I will open up about the hate
But today, I just want to show my love.
Love is greater and stronger because I realize that if I can hate that much, I can love just as equally and tice as deeply.
I know it
The Written Addiction 