Tuesday, October 28, 2014

My Man

I read a meme this morning on Facebook that just won’t leave me alone. It’s about a woman warning another woman to stay away from her man. It’s got me really thinking about a lot of different things, perhaps things that’s been bothering me for a long time. What it boils down to is this: I suppose it hit me hard because I’ve been guilty of this action – I’ve gotten angry at the ‘other woman’, threatening her, staking my claim, and blaming her because someone I was in a relationship with cheated on me. But, I’ve grown up a lot since then and have come to see that things aren’t as black and white as I initially thought. Life never is. We should look at ourselves in these instances – not the other woman (or man) or the cheater.. but ourselves. This situation doesn’t reveal who your man is, who the other woman is, but who you are.

I’ve been cheated on and I’ve been the “other” woman. The difference isn’t in the men, but in me. I was at different places in my life for both events – and I’m at a different place now. I can’t say that I’ll never be cheated on again or that I wouldn’t ever again be the other woman. The only thing I know for sure is the woman I am now and the woman I hope to be in the future is a woman who deserves to be loved… to be loved right and completely.

Would I ever cheat? I don’t think so, only because I know me and I know how I love – I give all of me when I give my heart. But, don’t think I’m an angel. I’m not. Especially right now at this time in my life. I’m numb – and in this state, I don’t know what I’m capable of doing, either good or bad. I know there’s a hope in me that I’ll find my fire, my soul-mate, because I look for them every time I go on a new date, meet a new guy, and peer into the eyes of the stranger sitting across from me. I haven’t found him, yet. Well, that’s a lie. I found my soul-mate, but he didn’t want me. I also found a consuming fire and got burned. I loved them both with the deepest part of my heart, I still do, but I love me more and know I deserve more. Not better. They’re very good men and I don’t judge them. They both love me – as much as they can. But I deserve to be completely loved. I deserve to be wanted. I can’t make that happen, and I’ll never force or manipulate them to do it, because it wouldn’t be real, and above all… I deserve something real.

Until ‘real’ happens – what are my choices? To sit all alone with my morals to keep me company? I’ve done that for most of my life – and you know what? Moral is a cold-hearted bitch. All she’s ever really done for me was keep me lonely, keep me in pain, keep me from loving and forgiving myself and others. Or perhaps I can learn to appreciate each individual moment and the small opportunities I get to enjoy the company of someone I love, even if it means being cheated on or being the other woman? Or accept the small portion of love they’re willing to give, no more or no less, than for what it is? I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. I’d love to be able to tell you, “Hell No!” but I’m human and I’m capable of being weak. Do I want it? No. But, I won’t judge it either.

I want to believe in the fairy tale… that true love is out there waiting for me and will find me and sweep me off my feet; that I’m the woman of someone’s dream; that I’m enough; that someone will love me completely - as I deserve; that someone that will be My Man, who will see only me and never need or want another woman. But, it’s hard to keep holding onto something I’ve never experienced. No, that’s a lie too. I was loved once just as I described above, that’s how I know it’s real… but I was the one that didn’t give my heart in return… for a long time at first. I wasn’t ready. For so long, I didn’t have a heart to give. When I finally did… I had my fairy tale for two days… and then I lost it. (See Your Girl) Perhaps that’s why I cling so tightly to the hope that those I love will one day love me back – just as I finally loved back the one who loved me for so many years. Perhaps I’m just a fool. I’m sure many called my soldier a fool for loving me, for holding onto his hope that I would day love him back, but he was the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

All I know… is that I don’t know anything. I don’t know if I’ll never be the other woman again or if I can even love completely again. All I know is that today… I want to be with someone I love, someone I care about, someone that touches my heart, however I can. The thing about love – you can’t force it and you can’t make it happen. I can’t make someone love me that doesn’t and I can’t make myself love someone I don’t. We can all manipulate, but to what end? I refuse to play that game, because it will never lead to something real. Truth (all of it – including the dirty parts)– honesty – openness – and trust – leads to something real. Patience, understanding, not judging one another - leads to something real, too.

Maybe he’s not the right guy… or maybe he’s not the right guy, right now. Maybe I’m not the right girl… or maybe I’m not the right girl, right now. My soldier never gave up on me. What he left me… is this insatiable hope, this fantastic dream, a forgiving heart, an opened mind, a different way to look at the world. How can I give any less? What I wouldn’t give for more of those two days. There’s a song by Fall Out Boy called “Just One Yesterday”…. “If Heaven’s grief brings Hell’s rain, then I’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday.” I can’t go back. I can’t give up hope. Someday I’ll find ‘My Man’… and he’ll find me, and I won’t worry about warning other women away. They’d never be able to pry him from me because I’d have his heart and he’d have mine.

Till next time,

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing (Song by Jack Johnson)

Monday, October 27, 2014

Eyes That See

Eyes that see - I love to look into your eyes, yet fear it at the same time. 
Those dark orbs are full of truth, full of knowing, full of fire.
They see through me, past my mask,  and straight  into my fear,
Exposing my deepest hope, my greatest dreams, my darkest regrets.
They intrigue me.  They inspire me.  They see the truth of me.
But do you see it, or do your eyes only reflect the truth back to me?
You have eyes that see everything, even when you look at nothing.
I’ve tried so hard to hide - my mask is elaborate and hand-carved with great detail.
I’ve spent a lifetime adding thread  by thread, bead by bead, scar by scar,
Garnishing the perfect elaboration, building the perfect distraction.
But can you see me, or do your eyes only reflect me back to me?
I’ve looked into many sets of beautiful eyes,
And they have shown me the splendor of their hosts.
But in your eyes I don’t only see your beauty, but mine.
The first time I ever met their gaze it felt like the foundations of the earth shook,
My knees wanted to bend in worship to the god standing before me.
One glance and a fire ignited deep into my bones.
I’ve tried to run. I’ve tried to hide. I’ve tried to ignore and to deny.
But can you feel me too, or is the fire I feel my own passion reflecting back to me?

Eyes that see - will you look at me and tell me the truth?

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Monday, October 20, 2014

Are You Happy?

What is happiness? Is it a feeling, a state of being, a chemical release of dopamine in the brain? Meeting a lot of new people recently from jumping back into the dating pool, I have to have some kind of idea of who I am, what I want, what I like, what I don’t like. Just as much as I’m getting an idea of who they are, I’m also getting a sense of who I am and what makes me happy. It’s exciting, but at the same time exhausting. This time around it’s a little different. I don’t know if maybe I’ve been hurt too much, but I’m more emotionally detached. A good thing about that, is that I’m not lost behind feelings and can see things from a clearer perspective.

We all have different ideas of happiness, just as we have different ideas of love. The definition and meaning is just as individual to us as our DNA. We may have similar patterns, options, likes, beliefs, etc.. as our neighbor, but we are individually minded and one person’s happiness is not the same as another’s.

So, I can’t define happiness on the whole, not something that will encapsulate every one of us. I can only define what happiness means to me. Well, I can try, anyway. Happiness for me is about as elusive as love. I’m not even sure I could recognize it. Most often I don’t know it occurs until I’m in a moment of despair and think on a better time, to realize I had been happy. Well, here goes.

Simple moments make me happy. Grand gestures make me feel uncomfortable and puts me on guard and has me questioning motives. I don’t want the world. I can’t think of anything in this world that I want that I couldn’t get for myself or in receiving would or could make me happy. Things don’t make me happy. I’ve had things, I’ve lost things, I’ve left things… and none of them ever made me happy. Sure, some of them brought on a moment of happiness, but they’re just things. Usually it wasn’t the thing itself, but the circumstances around those things that stoked the happiness into flame. All the things I can think that would make me happy are intangible.

A kiss, a whispered secret, a song, a touch, holding hands, making love, sharing dreams, tangled legs, laughter, delicious food, being in nature, pondering the universe, chasing waterfalls, reading a great adventure, sharing something I wrote, having someone share their heart, their gift, their dreams with me, staring into a set of beautiful eyes. Not one of those moments involve what this world seems to crave – things, money, sex, fame, or success.

There are a few moments that I can close my eyes that I know will stay with me forever, that I consider the happiest moments of my life:

· My son, at two, putting his little hands on the sides of my face and looking right at me and saying, “I love you, Mama, and nobody else.”

· Standing on the curb at a busy airport, so nervous I wanted throw up, my hands shaking, my heart pounding, my legs weak, and meeting a pair of hazel eyes and a beautiful smile.

· Standing next to a car, being held tightly, as a strong hand lightly ran their fingers over my hair.

· Falling asleep with my head on a warm chest while watching t.v, listening to a strong, steady heartbeat, feeling completely safe for one of the few times in my life.

· Staying up all night, staring at the stars, talking on the phone about dreams.

· Sitting in a little restaurant, feeling overwhelmed, lost, and scared, to look up and see love smiling down at me in an Army uniform. I think I’ve been looking for that particular gaze ever since, fearing I will only see it once in my lifetime.

· Lying in bed with my three kids in the early morning hours before school, telling stories. I can still feel them sometimes. And in that place between sleep and awake, I can still hear them running and laughing down the halls.

So, what is happiness? Love. All the moments that I’ve been happy in my life involve moments of love. Either me loving, or being loved. The things that make me happy lately are playing video games with my son, sharing favorite songs with a friend, Skyping with my best friend, playing my guitar, hiking, writing on my novel, exercise, and cooking.

I cling tightly to my memories. They’re what gets me through the day. I have to take my days one at time. Facing uncertainty, knowing I could die tomorrow, makes me appreciate those moments even more. Going months without even the briefest of human touch, or even an emotional connection, makes it really hard not to slip into depression, but I refuse. Even if the world never loves me back, I won’t give up. Love for myself will just have to be enough, because only in love will I find my happiness.

Till next time,

Happy Girl

Friday, October 17, 2014

I Want Butterflies

For those who read my blog on a daily basis, I haven’t NOT been writing, I just haven’t posted some of the latest articles live because they’ve been really deep and really personal, and I’m just not ready to share those particular stories in a public forum. All my posts are always deep and personal, but those are just a little bit more than I’d like the world to see – for now. As you all know, I’m very open with my thoughts – but even I had a hard time with writing those. I still write them, I write almost every day, because it’s cathartic for me.

Today’s post won’t be much different, but I think it’ll be okay to share this one, at least I hope it will be. I only have a small idea of what’s going to pour out – because I just let it flow when my fingers touch the keys.

As my close friends know, I’ve been trying to re-enter the dating realm. Back in April of this year was the first time I dabbled with online dating sites. I had a wild mix of experiences with it, but I can say I have met some really nice men, one in particular that I believe will be a life-long friend. Some of the men… well, let’s just say, “God have mercy on them, for they know not what they do – and they’re too damned dumb to ever figure it out.”

Saying that… brings me to my post this morning. I felt a deep cut from a few remarks I received last night from someone I deeply love and highly regard. When I first heard their words, I simply brushed them away, but throughout the night they kept haunting me, I kept hearing them over and over. They didn’t say anything really bad in and of themselves individually, but collectively I didn’t like the picture they made or the picture of how I’m perceived. It actually hurts quite a lot that someone I care about so deeply thinks of me the way they do. It hurts to disappoint someone or realize they think so little of you.

I say all the time that our biggest deceiver is often ourselves. I don’t exclude myself in that quote. Honestly, I’m the main culprit. I KNOW I deceive myself. I try really hard to examine my thoughts, my motives, my actions, my words – seeking the truth – because I know that only in truth - real changes and healing can occur. NOTHING can come from remaining in deception. So, I question myself this morning – am I really the way I was described last night? I hope not.

How was I perceived? Judgmental, a snob, and with my heads in the clouds believing in fairy tales. Are they wrong? I think so, but then maybe I’ve deceived myself. I don’t know, but I do know something is wrong, something’s off… I just don’t know what it is or how to change it. I’ve been on several dates the last few weeks and honestly, I feel nothing. Don’t get me wrong, most of them have been nice guys, just not the right guys for me. When I sit across from them, I often see a lifestyle that has no room for me – or that I would have to change in order to fit. I’m never going to change for anyone, ever again. I sacrificed me to be what someone else wanted the last time, and lost me in the process. It took me a very long time to find me – and I won’t lose me again.

I want butterflies. I want lightning. I know it exists, I’ve felt twice before. I want to wake up in the morning and be excited about a ‘good morning’ text. I want to smile through the day from receiving random messages, knowing I brushed across his thoughts. I want to get nervous so bad before a date I can’t eat and I’ve tried on 20 outfits to go back and settle for the first one I pulled out. I want to talk for hours about nothing and everything. I want to have a hard time keeping my hands to myself. I want to steal kisses, hold hands, make love, cook together, chase waterfalls, encourage one another, push each other to eat healthier and stay fit, to share my stories, to listen to them talk about their dreams. I want to fall asleep in a set of strong arms.

I don’t want money, jewelry, houses, success, cars, expensive things or anything at all. All the things I want and desire are intangible, beautiful moments. I don’t want to have sex, I want to make love. Maybe my friend is right, maybe it’s all just a fairy tale. Maybe I’ve lied to myself so much that I’ve convinced myself I deserve it. When I love someone, I love them completely… faults and all. I see them, I see their scars, I see the impurities, but I love them - all of them. I just want that for me. I’ve got my own scars. I’ve got my own impurities, weaknesses, and faults. Can no one ever love me as I am? Will I never be good enough?

I have many offers, sometimes it’s ridiculous at how many, from men to be a sexual partner. Many are beautiful, sexy men that I’m sure have left a long string of broken hearts in their wake. I’m not for want, if I was a casual kind of girl, for companionship. Literally, I receive an offer every day. But I’m a stupid girl that wants something real. I’m disheartened at how many people out there would rather have a meaningless hookup than love. So when I look into the eyes sitting across from me and I see they want to play a game, but haven’t bothered to take the time to even see me, I smile until the dance is over and then go home. Does it make me cruel and cold that I want butterflies? Does it make me a snob when I walk away because they’re looking for something I’m not? Does it make me judgmental when I see someone sitting across from me who’s physique and habits sound warning bells inside my mind that their lifestyle would be detrimental to the life goals of health, fitness, and adventure I’ve set for myself?

Perhaps I do think too highly of myself, and my foolishness will keep me alone. I don’t know. I just know that I feel broken, almost dead inside. I hold tightly to hope – hope that I’ll find my butterflies, hope that someday someone will think I’m worth fighting for, that I’m worth loving. Maybe someday I’ll meet someone who also believes in fairy tales and I’ll be awakened from my cursed sleep with true love’s kiss. Just maybe. Or else I’ll just die and wither in my glass coffin.

Till Next Time,

Fairy Tale Princess

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Etching Scars Upon Our Souls

There’s something inside me, a certain flickering flame, one that for a brief period of time burned really bright. So bright, in fact, it threatened to consume everything inside and around me. With both feet, I surrendered to it. It was magnificent, wonderful, and greater than anything I could ever imagine. But it was only for a moment. Over the past year it’s been dying. I felt it slipping away from me. Every day it grew smaller, colder, and darker. Every once in a while It would flare, just for a second, before it dimmed even more. The difference is that I’m not doing anything to stop it, now. I’ve done everything I could. I don’t understand why it has to be this way, but I’m praying it will hurry and die completely.

I can close my eyes, hear a particular song, or come across a familiar scent and instantly be transported back to that particular moment when that flame burned it’s hottest. I can still feel myself shaking as I stood on that curb, and in the background heard the sound of jet engines. It’s like an adrenaline sting - ice and fire at the same time. I’ve tried to hang onto that feeling for as long as I could, but I’ve finally reached a point - to let it go.

Recently, I’ve sought to see if another flame could be lit in its place. For a brief moment, the band-aid held. While there were definite sparks, there was also something missing inside. I’ve felt this emptiness before. It’s familiar. It’s the same numbness and void I felt standing in a little restaurant many years ago staring down at a set of dog tags. I can still hear the sound of those tags clanging against one another, reflecting the sunlight off their dented faces, sliding around along the riveted chain that held them. They made a distinct sound. Even to this day I can’t breathe when I think of that moment. What I find odd, I pass that little restaurant almost every day now – and though it’s closed, I can still feel the pain of that moment as if it were yesterday.

There are some moments in our lives that create these shadows, imprints, rifts in the universe, etching scars upon our souls. They never go away. Some are good, some are bad, all are significant. This is yet another scar. But as I have survived the others of my past, so too will I rise above this one. This latest burned brighter than all the ones before. Perhaps the next one will consume me completely.

Till next time,

~Scarred Soul

Monday, October 13, 2014

My Own Insanity

I understand the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, yet expecting a different result. However, it seems like as humans we are predisposed to exhibit bouts of insanity. I’m learning sanity is sometimes a bit over-rated, but I can’t help and continue to wonder why we have such insane tendencies.

I’m not an expert at anything, unless you call doing the unexpected, hoping against all odds, or loving the unlovable technical skills. In which case, I’m a master. The only way I can rationalize this chaos and hope to change it is to identify and modify the formula that keeps sending me into these spirals.

I find I’m drawn to people who have very defined ideas and philosophies; men who tend to believe they understand the world and why we do the stupid shit we do. Like a magnet, the polarity of the possibility of understanding and enlightenment pulls me. (Love the alliteration.) Yet, there’s this voice deep inside my head, my inner sarcastic realist, who rolls her eyes and shakes her head and grumbles, “They’re full of shit and don’t even believe their own lies – because they deceive themselves more than anyone else.” I can’t help it, though. I’m still attracted to the possibility of their truth, even if their own assured confidence is false.

Why do I feel the need to understand? Why can’t I wear blinders and be happy with them? Why can’t I just submit to the bit in my mouth and follow the leads that direct me? Won’t this wildness within me ever be tamed? Life would be so much easier. So many are bent on breaking me. They jab me in the ribs with their spurs, they pull hard against the bit in my mouth, they snatch the leads, twisting my head in every direction, and they securely grip my mane as they ride. To be broken, life would be so much more simple. I’d have purpose. I’d be useful. Maybe I’d be loved. I’d be fed, groomed, sheltered, and my needs would be met. So, why must I fight to be free, to remain wild?

This is my own insanity. I keep fighting over and over and over, yet the truth is… I’ve never been free. I was born into captivity. Freedom is the illusion. Wildness is an excuse for rebellion. Perhaps I fight because that’s all I know how to do. It’s also probably the same reason why I grant freedom with no resistance, not because I don’t care, but because I care too much. Believe me, it has hurt me deeply to watch those I love disappear into the wilderness … only to never return. Set them free… and if they love you they will make their way back to you. *Sigh* It’s all insane.

I live in a mad world, and it’s insane to expect it to make sense. Yet I continue in my insanity – taking chance after chance, hoping against all hope, waiting for no one.

Till next time,

~Insane Wild Woman

Tuesday, October 07, 2014

Black-Fonted Friends

What does it say about a person when their friends are nothing but strings of black font flying across a computer screen? At least the only friends that are relatable. Are they my friends because I can’t see their faces? I can’t look into their eyes and see the lies? I can’t feel the coldness in the room when deception is present?

Long lines of masked faces surround me and have followed me my whole life, coming in and out, dancing the same familiar dance of destruction. I learned to detect those masks at a very early age as I walked through the flames of hell, probably before I could even talk. Yet, how na├»ve can a person be? How long must I continue to hope? How long must I continue to believe I will one day see something real? It doesn’t exist. Nobody knows how to be real, how to be honest, how to lift their mask, and share their real faces.

Fantasies and fairy tales. Promises mean nothing. Love means nothing. I can’t even fucking define it. I’m just a dumb mother-fuckers grasping at a straw not realizing they’re all burned, they’re all short, the game is rigged, and the words – the black font - is nothing more than another pixilated mask.

My black-fonted friends can type all the hope they want, share all the lies they eat, tell all the stories they can imagine – but they can’t see my reality – they’re not here. I cut off the machine and they go away. They don’t have to look into my eyes, and they can’t touch me. They can’t help me. Black font can’t hold me or lift me off the floor, or look into my eyes or push my hair out of my tear-stained face.

I wish I couldn’t see the masks, the plastic edges digging into pallid flesh, and the smell of the rotting disease beneath it, or the blink of the curser.

My fingers tremble as I hold my mask in my hand. For so long I just wanted to be free, to let the world see the real me. I thought, maybe if it saw my face, not my mask, it would love me. I was so fucking stupid.

What does it say about a person when all their friends are nothing but black font across a cold, empty, screen? Is it yet another self-inflicted cut? Another form of self-destruction? It’s not that there aren’t real people behind the fonts, because there are – just like there are real people behind the masks. It’s because it’s another wall to blame instead of focusing on where the real blame lives – in me. I’m the broken one.

I’m still that scared little girl facing a demon and he’s laughing at me for being daring. Why didn’t I just stay in my comfortable prison? At least I was surrounded by other inmates. My warden was right when he told me that what I sought was just a fantasy, it didn’t exist. Now I’m not even welcome back into the prison.

I close my eyes as I slip my mask onto my tear-stained face, my cheeks pressed against its smooth surface, and I turn it off. I turn it all off, like a power button.

As the music starts, I dance. Watch me as I twirl and dazzle the whole room with my eloquence. I am now the Azoth of life– the elixir, the first principle, the universal remedy, but don’t get too close because I’m also a toxic poison. My direct touch will burn you. I am quicksilver. Don’t get too close, because then you will see your reflection within my eyes.

~Azoth of Life

BTW – this has got NOTHING to do with that lying piece of shit. That person doesn’t deserve one second of my thoughts, not one tap of the keys to spell their name, false or real. I give them not a second thought. I hope they rot in their self-made prison.

Liars and Thieves

Text Box: &The world if full of liars and thieves,
Wearing masks of deception,
Hearts beating with corruption,
Sowing seeds of reprobation,
With no concern for the diseased harvest they produce.
In their drunkenness,
They don’t see the faces full of hunger,
The sallow skin,
The hollow eyes,
The need for somebody to rise up and give a fuck,
To have the courage to speak the truth.
The game is full of liars and thieves,
Rolling shaved dice,
Dealing marked cards,
All the while holding loaded guns beneath the table.
The poisoned food is eaten by the children,
The bullets fly stray,
Landing in the hearts of the hopeful.
Fuck you, World.  You’re nothing but a liar and a thief.

Till next time,
~Disillusioned No More

Wednesday, October 01, 2014

Waiting for Lightning

Talking with one of my girlfriends last night, she was trying to convince me to get back out into the dating world. Keep in mind, this advice came from someone who hasn’t even dipped her toes into the dating realm for years. As much as I love my friend, I can’t live my life for her enjoyment.

Dating in the twenty-first century is a hard game to play. I found it just as challenging, if not even more so, than a good game of chess (which I’ve recently started replaying). Unlike the board game, the rules of dating often change in mid-play. It’s impossible to plan three or four moves ahead, because the possible moves are infinite from one to the next. A knight may turn out to be a bishop, or a king a simple pawn. I can strategize all I want, but the game unfolds as it wills, not as I plan. Being a queen, and able to move in so many different ways, only presents more frustration than freedom, more consequences than choices.

Some of the pieces (players) are easy to identify and I know the game to which they play, but I have to keep telling myself – we’re all humans. Even the Playa’s have a soul. One of the things I’ve learned about humanity is that it’s always unpredictable and ever changing. The moment I think I’ve figured it out and assign a label or a box (I’m highly organized and try to put everything in a place), I’m proved wrong. Humanity – it’s so beautiful yet so dark, and thus so are relationships.

To play this game I have to know who I am and what I want to achieve. It’s the only way I have a chance to win. As with the game of chess – I have to keep my focus on my ultimate goal, else I’ll get distracted by the most recent or obvious move – and therefore lose sight of my objective and get trapped by a more keen player. I have to be slow to respond because impulsive moves leads to traps and defeats. What looks good at the moment and as an opportunity to capture an opponent’s piece, could lead me into a defeat and I lose more than I wanted. I’m so tired of losing and being blind-sided. Letting my passion and heart lead – doesn’t win the game.

I’m not satisfied with just capturing a pawn, a bishop, a knight, or a rook. I want the king. Only with the king does lightning strike. I’ve only felt the lightning twice in my life, but they were both in a game I lost. I got close to the kings, but I also didn’t know how to play the game. I know the feeling of defeat; of loss. And the scars makes me reluctant to play.

The game board is set. The pieces are all aligned, and I’ve been playing this game for a while now. While my girlfriend wants me to move, I’ve paused, and am carefully identifying the pieces left on the board.

I’m tired of pawns; I need a man who knows what he wants and can move more than just forward and strike from an angle. I’m so tired of angles. I want original, authentic, compassionate.

I’m am also tired of Bishops and their haphazard way of striking. They’re never straight-forward, talking out both sides of their mouths. They present themselves one way, but after peeling back the layers you find their piety as false as their declarations. Let them keep their titles, their money, their success. They look good on the outside, but empty shells on the inside. Assholes.

The same goes for those damned Rooks, still stuck in their patterns, only able to move back and forward, and side to side – a life filled with certainties, boxes and traditions. They’re not versatile and can’t break from their patterns. They live by their philosophies and expectations, and are not flexible, most often self-centered and selfish. I’m versatile. I need versatility.

While knights are extremely interesting and brave, and can move back and forth and side to side in their complicated patterns, they often leave me to fight the cause. I admire their bravery and respect their sacrifices. They’re true soldiers of honor and dignity. Their mission always comes first. I will only come first if I’m the mission.

So, here I stand, waiting. What am I waiting for? I’m waiting for lightning; a fire that can only come from a king and put an end to this game.

There are a lot of pawns, a couple of rooks, knights and bishops… but there’s only one king to conquer. But how do I capture him? He eludes me. He hides. He dances. He doesn’t want to be captured. He plays his own game.

In this game… it is the king that must be captured, not the queen. I can’t just sit and wait for him to find me. I’m the most powerful piece, the most versatile, the most valuable. My mission is to capture a king, but it’s also to protect one.

Come storm clouds, gather above me. Thunder, I long to feel your rumble beneath my feet. Wind, whip through my existence. Rain, pelt me with your cleansing drops. Lightning… strike true.


Till next time,

~The White Queen