Something is amiss . . .
Or maybe something is off or off-center and me, I am somewhere in the middle.
Do you understand?
I am stuck and looking around at the world that somehow consumes me.
There is too much to see and so much to consider and at the same time; I am reminded when I was told, “keep it simple, stupid!”
Overthinking can be amazing.
or at least, I think so.
I am told the first shall be last and the last shall be first.
I know and I get that. But wait –
I wonder about this and I wonder out loud. I wonder with a trace of confusion and with contempt on my tongiue.
And so, I pose this question to you, of course.
The first shall be last and the last shall be first.
Right?
Or so, at least the Bible tells us so.
But here is what I wonder . . .
What does this mean for the ones in the middle?
Not the best or the worst, but the moderate and the mediocre.
What about them, ro should I say, what about me>
That is, of course, if this is me.
The tired and the mediocre.
What about the middle of the crowd or the unnoticed and unmentioned and what about the ones in-between?
When is it our turn to be first or last?
I am told about pride and how pride comes before the fall.
I can see how this happens.
I can see how selfish, self-centeredness can lead us to our own self-destruction and I can see how the aftermath of awareness is often sadness.
I see this now. Clear as ever.
And so, I understand why they say the last shall be first and the first shall be last.
I understand why religion says, “blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth.
I don’t need to inherit the Earth.
I am not meek.
I am someone in the middle or in-between and average.
I don’t need to be first and there are times when I am fine to be last.
Be humble, they tell me.
Okay.
Fine.
Be You, people say.
I wonder about this because who else could I be?
I was born as me and therefore, I will die being me.
This is who I am.
All day. Every day.
I used to look around and notice the so-called pretty or the beautiful people.
I wondered about the draw and the source of attraction.
Where does this come from?
Why do we see some people as beautiful and others with less-desire?
I know my love. I know what I desire.
I know that the way I see her is different from the way I see anyone else.
From head to toe.
literally . . . .
I know what my fantasies are and clearly, I know what beauty is and yes; I understand that something beautiful to me is not the same as what beautiful is to others.
At the same time, I suppose my biggest fear is still my biggest fear, which is that I am not beautiful at all. . .
I am ugly.
Or, I am just fair and somewhat par for the course.
No one will ever look at me and “see” me and want me more than they’ve ever wanted anyone else.
No one. . . .
I am off-center or amiss and slightly out of focus.
I am partially fair and somewhat average, basic, and to me; I think being ugly might be better than being plain or average and worst of all – who the hell wants to be unnoticeable?
I tell myself:
One day, someone is going to look at you and this will feel like the sun is shining on you for the first time.
One day, you are going to hear a voice and from that moment on, you will be hooked. You will be addicted. You will be warped up and tucked away and in your submission; no one else in the world will look at you, smile at you, or make you feel as wonderful as this one, specific person.
I do believe this.
I do believe there is a cover for every pot. I do believe that there is another half of me and yes, she is out there now and yes, I know her.
I know her well.
One day, someone will look at you through their eyes with their sincerest attention.
There will be no one else.
There will be nothing else as strong as this because to them or to you, this is your gravity and this is the source and your purpose.
No matter what has happened and despite the downfalls and the dead-ends in this maze; I do believe in soulmates.
And yet, as much as I believe in this, I understand that two people can split up and travel the world and see other people. I do believe that soulmates can struggle and I do believe that life has to happen for us to be where we are supposed to be.
I know this.
I am thinking about my love for the beach.
I am thinking about my request for the waves which are my prayers to bring her to me.
I think about the tiny pieces of driftwood that used to belong to something huge.
And now, they are nothing more than washed up pieces of wood, left on the beach, homeless and landless and disregarded and trashed.
I can relate to this.
I can relate to the feeling that I once belonged to something and to someone.
And I can relate to the feeling of being abandoned and disregarded and left to roam aimless, or like the driftwood; I understand that sadness of being meaningless, as if to be nothing more than undesired. I relate to the words and somehow I am like the driftwood, landless and trashed, just to wash ashore and be nothing.
One day . . .
Life is going to be different.
I’m ready for this
One day . . .
Someone is going to look at me with all the love in their heart and ask me, “where have you been?”
And when they ask me, I’ll tell them, “I was looking and waiting for you!”
Because I am
Looking and waiting for you.
No one else can see me like you do
No one else makes me feel as wonderful
Or as wild
And to be honest, no one makes me desire flesh
at least . . .
not like you.
I love you
always
And this is why I believe in “never”
because my love for you
will “never” change
The Written Addiction 