What Do You Want?

"What do you want?" She asks.

He replies, "I want what you want."

She shakes her head and smiles, "But, that's what I want. I don't need anything from you. I don't even need you. I don't know what you want, but whatever it is - THAT's what I want for you."

"It’s not about what I want," he says.

She replies, "Then what do you need?"

“I don't need anything."

"Then, why are you here?"

He shrugs, "To see you." He looks her right in the eyes. "I feel like myself when I'm around you."

"So, who is the real you?"

He shrugs, "You know me."

"Who am I to you?"

"A mirror."

"What do you mean?"

He looks down at his hands. "I can be anything to anybody, but you show me ...me. You don't judge me, push me, or expect me to be anything other than what and who I am. I try to play a part, but you see right through me. The way you look at me, I can't hide." He looks back up at me. "I sometimes hate you for it. Sometimes I hate I can't do the same for you. Your mask is too tight, and your walls are too thick."

"What does that mean?" She asks.

"It means, I want what you want, but you don't have any fucking idea what you want. You're so lost and I can't help you."

With tears bubbling in her eyes she answers, "Then I want to be found."

"You can't."

"Why?"

He tenderly touches the side of her face. "You won't stop running."

"I don't want to run. I hate running."

"You can't help it. That's all you know how to do."

"Couldn’t someone stop me?"

He shakes his head. "You have to stop yourself."

"I have, but there's no one ever there. No one looks for me. No one waits. No one fights. No one tries to keep me from leaving. They're Gone. They're all gone and I'm always standing alone."

He cups her face. "You're not that 5-year old little girl left at the gas station anymore, or the young woman waiting for her soldier that will never come home, or the wife waiting for her ex-husband to grab her before she can run, or the mother watching her children fly the nest. Let her go."

"Then who am I?"

"A smart, beautiful woman, who has overcome some of the darkest hell a person could imagine. You have an amazing mind and a beautiful soul, but you're obtuse when it comes to you. Choose what you want. Then do that. That’s what I want.”

“I want you. Can’t I keep you?”

He shakes his head. “I won’t be your excuse.”

“My excuse?”

“The next reason you run.”

She takes a step backward. “So you reject me?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

He reaches toward her, but pulls his hand back at the last second. “I know. That’s why it makes this so hard.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why won’t you stay with me?”

“Because you’re not here.

“Where am I?”

“Lost in a prison of your own making.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside waiting for you.”

She stares at him, slowly shaking her head.

“Trust me.”

“I can’t.”

“Then let me go.” He turns away.

Beautiful Attitude

I'm so sleepy, I'm literally zoning in and out while I'm sitting at my desk. I've had my coffee... it wasn't enough. While I've accomplished a lot at work today, I've also been sluggish. But there's this thought... bits of a conversation from yesterday, that's been playing in the back of my mind and I'm going to share it here.

While playing Destiny with my gaming clan Omega Victrix Mortalis​, there was this young guy (early twenties) hopped into our fire team and game chat. He was someone a few of us had met before from a rival clan (gamer tag GasMasked (something like that) fka ToxicGhost). Not that this other clan is a rival, because really they're not, it's just one formed from former clan members where the the split wasn't amenable.

Anyway, he jumped into a fire team with me and my clan leader and we played through some missions and strikes. No big deal, everybody seemed to be getting along great and we were getting things done. Now, Gasbag (that's my new name for him) started talking about the male/female ratio at his college and how his chances of finding chicks to hook up with were in his favor. I didn't have any problem with what he was saying, but I simply made a statement that it wasn't really an accomplishment when there was an average of 20 females to each male, and many of girls being eliminated through the process of dismissing awkward geeks that aren't really in the gene pool or in the running for the guy's attention. I simply stated that it would be considered much more of a conquest if the odds were flipped... and there were 20 guys to each female. There would be more reason to puff out your chest and walk around with a little swagger.

He must have got offended. He made a few comments about ONLY hooking up with supermodel-looking girls (yeah.. all other college kids claim the same thing) and how he had standards. I'm assuming his standards are not in morality or personality, but in physical appearances only. So, he threw in that these potential hookups had to be highly intelligent. So, by his confession, he only hooks up (not date, fall in love or have a relationship with - which makes me wonder WHY they need to be smart? You don't have to be smart to have sex, especially with a dumbass... anyway, continuing) - with nerdy supermodels. Sure, I get it. That's every guy's fantasy. At least that's probably the most popular porn scenario.

Anyway, the day went on, he was supposed to go running (for 3 hours he kept saying he wanted to go run but never left), and other members of my online gaming clan joined our party and fire team. He seemed to have went quiet. Then, I leave the fire team to join two of my other friends in a particular mission and a few minutes later one of my clan mates tells me that when I left the party with this gasbag in it, he goes on a tirade saying that he couldn't stand me because of my attitude and how I acted like I was the most beautiful thing in the world, but he thought I was so ugly he wouldn't even fuck me with a bag over my head.

I laughed. My boys (about a dozen of my clan members ages 10-45 who were in the party with me when I was told what Gasbag had said) also laughed. It was funny. Perhaps I was supposed to cry? It's as if this little prick thought he had any chance in hell of ever hooking up with me, bag or no bag. But it did get me thinking... wondering what was it that really got him angry and caused him to lash out like that? Also, I'd like to say... if you're in a party chat and you want to cut someone down, it's not a good idea to do it in a group of people that like and are friends with the person you're cutting down. Just sayin'. This dude just got blocked by a dozen or so players. I'll never play with him again. He'd probably need a bag for that too.

First of all... I wasn't hitting on this kid. I was minding my business, hanging out with my friends, completing my missions, etc. He's the one that wanted to play and chat with me, or with us. What was he really angry about? Sure, I don't think I'm Megan Fox (the girl of his dreams and according to him all the girls he hooks up with look like her), but I seriously doubt I require a bag. To each his own. But, why did my 'ugliness' offend him so much. Then I thought about the first words of his rant... it wasn't about how I looked (that's how it finished), but it was about how he hated the way I ACTED, confident in myself that I was an intelligent and beautiful woman, but how I was sorely mistaken because he neither found me beautiful nor intelligent... not even fuck worthy with a bag over my head. It seems his intent was to attack my confidence and degrade my self-worth, but why? Of course his attempts failed because (perhaps due to his age) my confidence and self-worth doesn't come from what anyone else thinks of me, but from how I feel and think of myself. Another's scales are not mine; I have my own set.

This gasbag (I call him this because he's full of hot air) doesn't know me and it's clear that he had no intention of getting to know me. I don't care. But, what he did and the way he spoke about me (he said what he said behind my back, not to my face) is the way I see a lot of guys speak about a lot of girls, and vice versa. Why does one person feel the need to tear down another? I'm not talking about not speaking truths that may hurt, but are used to help a person grow in maturity and wisdom, but I'm talking about small talks that are aimed at destroying, hurting, demeaning with an intent to dehumanize and demoralized someone. Isn’t this world ugly enough already? Why not see the beauty in a person and lift them up instead? You don’t know what they might have been going through, what kind of hurts and pains they may have been carrying, what mountain’s they’ve had to climb to get where they are.

I seriously doubt this kid really objectifies women the way he did yesterday, at least I hope he doesn’t. I hope he finds a good woman that will love him and treat him with kindness, goodness, and generosity so he can see women are much more valuable than serving merely as a hookup. Some of us just want to be a friend. I didn’t know simply talking to a guy was an audition. Perhaps I’m just too old (another jab he took) and don’t give a shit. LOL!

Till next time,



~KV Kvothe

My Confessions

I have something very important to confess. I’m told that confession is good for the soul, that it lifts the burdens of life from your shoulders and then your everyday existence becomes more bearable. I’m not so sure about that. I’m pretty much an opened book and have shared just about every horrible, scary, funny, embarrassing, humiliating, wonderful, exciting thing that has happened in my life these past few years. I’ve lost some bad friends, gained some good ones, and made a connection with a lot of people on a spiritual level like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Being open the way I am has shown me that I’m not alone in this world, in my fight, or in my struggles, even though I’m alone. There are others out there just like me and I’m not really an alien from a distant planet who was abandoned by her royal parents to save the world. I kind of liked that fantasy, but reality is turning into a pretty good story on its own.

So, by now you’re wondering, probably yelling in your mind ‘would she just friggin’ get to it already?’, what this big confession could be. I can only promise that’s it’s probably not anything you were expecting. I’m not a closet nymphomaniac (I’ve been quite open about that too), I’m not really a hairy 400lb skinhead currently serving on death row (though let me go without exercising, taking my vitamins, or shaving for a while and we’ll see if I can make that happen), but my confession feels just as big to me.

What is it I need to confess? What could possibly be in my life that requires this much drama to reveal? Well, it’s a little complicated because it’s something only a small percentage of people will truly understand. Most, if not nearly 100% of my friends won’t get it, my family (other than perhaps my son) would never begin to comprehend my choices, and my co-workers will look at me with a different sets of eyes. So, with great apprehension here goes …

I’m a gamer. I’m a girl gamer. I’m a hot girl gamer.

There I said it.

See, many of you right now just don’t get it. While this doesn’t come as a shock to some of you, most of you really don’t understand what it means to be a gamer, I mean a hardcore gamer. No, I’m not a great gamer, would probably never make it onto a MLG (major league gaming) team, or compete in any sort of tournament, because that’s not what I love about it. To some, the competition is all they care about me, but for me that’s the least important aspect. I love the whole gaming world. It really shouldn’t surprise anyone that I would love it, because it’s interactive stories… and not just stories that I get to see, hear, and interact with the characters, but I get to interact with other people at the same time. You’d be surprised at the stories that are bubbling inside of me just from the colorful characters I’ve met in my online gaming clan.

And I’m a girl gamer. There’s not many girls in the gaming world (I don’t understand why… come on… that’s where all the guys are –duh), so I really like the attention I get on there. I’m literally like a goddess queen.

This whole gaming thing was just supposed to be a temporary distraction as I battled my way through all the big changes in my life – divorce, empty nest, being alone, new job, new town, and facing Death. But it’s become much more to me. It’s not really the gaming itself but the people I’ve met and formed strong bonds with that makes all the difference. These guys in my clan (10 yrs – 45 yrs) have become my family, my friends, and the loves of my life. We don’t just play games together, we talk, we bond, we share our hopes, our fears, our problems, and our happiness with each other. There’s more communication during these gaming sessions than in most of the relationships I’ve ever been a part of in my life. It all started as a way for me connect with my grown son. Now it’s become a center piece in my life. I used to minister to teenagers and kids in community and church programs, but in those programs I was never able to connect to the kids the same way I connect with these kids now. I get to mentor them in life issues, in many ways more than their parents or friends could. I wish they had co-op gaming communities when I was younger. I could have used them.

Don’t get me wrong. I have a full time job, I have activities I’m involved with, I still exercise, hike, cook, play music, and date. I’ll get back to the dating in a moment. But, to make room for this new part of my life I’ve practically stopped watching tv (which that’s another blog post for another day) and arguing with fellow writers on the fundamental of writing on author sites. My gaming has also cut severely into my reading and writing time. However, both are a part of who I am… and I will always find the time to do them.

I’m an independent, beautiful, sexy, active, smart 43-year old divorced woman. I’ve no shortage on date requests. But as I venture out in this area, I’m discovering more and more what I don’t want in my life, but not so much of what I do. As I think about it, I think as much as I’d love to date an artist (whether music, cooking, painting, writing, etc… makes no difference) I’d love to date a gamer… or a gaming artist. BINGO!

I’ve had a few “game dates” (something I totally designed and arranged myself) and I have to say that they were more fun, more connecting, more exciting than some of the live dates I’ve had. The conversation was of course fun but deep and open, and not having all the hormones and signals mixing everything up, made it a more relaxed environment. Of course, these game dates I’ve had have been with guys I’ve met and went out on a live date before, so I already knew the chemistry was there. These game dates were to see if we were able to bond on a different, more intellectual level… and just enjoy the game together.

What is a game date? It’s when you meet your date online at a specific time, in a specific game lobby, and you two join a private co-op party and play a particular game together, or against each other. Competition is always good fun, but I particularly love when two people are working together, helping one another out to meet a particular goal. I find it romantic when one of my game dates tries to protect me, help me, revive me, cover me, or depend on me to do those things for him during game play. There’s always a lot of praise and appreciation going around. What girl doesn’t like that? It’s a great opportunity to gauge how attentive your date can be, how polite, or how competitive. I’m beginning to think people should have game dates before they jump into live dating, because it’s a great way to weed out certain behaviors that you’d find intolerable… and it’s best to discover those things together, yet separated and at a safe distance.

Also, on a game date, you learn a lot more about your date than you would while you’re stuffing your face, watching a show, or busy in a strenuous activity. You’re together – while your fingers are busy on the controls, your mouth and most of your mind are communicating. Playing while talking helps me focus more because the game play is keeping the part of my brain that tends to overthink and fumble things busy while I talk about everything else. It puts me at ease.

However, here are the problems I’m running into. Most of the guys in the gaming world are really young. In real life, most of the guys I meet for dates are highly professional or highly driven (Yep, I’ve got a type) and so far… very few have turned out to be gamers. While I wouldn’t want some dates to come in and disrupt my gaming world, I would love to date a gamer, if for the simple reason that they’d understand me for who I am right now. There’s been so many times I’ve been on a live date with a new guy and when he asks me what I love to do, I try my best to steer away from mentioning the gaming, but I can’t hide who I am. While they’re impressed with my resume, my accomplishments, my hobbies, and my talents… they look at me blankly when I mention I’m a gamer. It never fails to be asked when I plan to get back to all the professional things I had done before – the writing, publishing, editing, networking, etc., as if those are the only important things in life. I disagree. I love those things. They’re part of me. But when I thought I was dying, none of those made a difference. But that small group of young boys who loved me just as I was, who didn’t expect me to be great or be successful or ideal, meant the world to me. Where were all the writers, agents, artists, religious leaders, co-workers and family during the darkest days of my life? They were not there. I was all alone except for my gaming friends.

There was one low point that I wanted to end all the pain, all the loneliness, all the disappointment I had in myself, in life, and from everyone I thought had cared for me but realized didn’t. Instead of fighting death, I wanted to give up. But, I got online and my boys were there laughing, joking around, playing with each other, and greeted me with such love and warmth I couldn’t help but smile (and cry at the same time). They saved my life that night though they don’t know it. Perhaps that’s my true confession. Their love for me, combined with the love I had for myself, gave me the strength to keep fighting… and I’m still fighting. I beat cancer. I beat loneliness. I beat change. I beat divorce, with the same determination I learned to beat Atheon and Crota.

Now I only wonder… where the hell do I find the gamers? Local gamers, I mean. My online gamer friends are all over the world, but I want to date a local gamer, but I don’t know how to find them. However, not just any kind of gamer. I still have a type. I love soldiers, nerds, athletes, dare-devils, adventure-seekers, artistically talented and sexy gamers. Uh – 30-something’s still living in their mama’s basement and puffing the bong every night is NOT my type of gamer. I don’t think my perfect gamer exists, but maybe… just maybe I’ll find a decent one someday. Until then.. I suppose I must endure the weird looks, cocked eyebrows, and ruffled noses on a bunch of first dates when I mention I’m a XBoxOne Badass.

Till next time,

~KV Kvothe

Addiction

*This is a new song I recently wrote.  Though these are lyrics, I thought they also made a good poem.

I have an addiction that binds me,
An addiction that finds me,
No matter how far I try to hide.
Burn me, consume me, devour me alive.
I have an affliction that burns me,
An affliction that haunts me,
Not matter the songs I try to write.
Burn me, consume me, devour me alive.
~
Kiss me, touch me, and set me on fire.
I’m under your spell, the flames of my desire.
Use me, abuse me, but then set me free.
I’m bound to you, can’t you see?
~
I have an addiction that binds me,
An addiction that finds me,
No matter how far I try to hide.
Burn me, consume me, devour me alive.
I have an affliction that burns me,
An affliction that haunts me,
Not matter the songs I try to write.
Burn me, consume me, devour me alive.

~lyrics by T.L. Gray

Compassion

I’m an over-thinking fool. It’s my blessing and my curse. It’s a blessing because it allows me to see the mystery, the majesty, and the beauty of this world. I’m amazed almost on a daily basis. On those days I’m less amazed, it’s only because I didn’t open my mind far enough to see the wonder of it all. It’s a curse - because with the same gift I can also see the ugliness, the hate, and the hell we create for ourselves. What do we have if we don’t have each other? Compassion is what makes us the most beautiful of human beings. The lack of it makes us the most evil.

Compassion isn’t empathy. We can all relate to different things in each other’s lives. Understanding is very important, and often the first step that leads to compassion. Yet, empathy doesn’t do anything for one another, it’s just a state of being.

We live in a world that has no commitment. We have so many choices these days, that when things get complicated, people get complicated, goals get complicated, we tuck tail and run. It’s easier to be on the outside, or in the first ring of commitment. It’s easier to stay in that excitement phase of friendships and relationships where everyone is just getting to know each other, where we focus on the good, where our imaginations fill in the fantasy because we haven’t yet had to deal with the truth or reality. But, when truth and reality begins to break down that fantasy, and we begin to feel the pull of adversity, noting differences and complications - we run. It’s so much easier to run and jump right into the next friendship, the next relationship, the next fantasy. The choices are plentiful. But what is being lost?

I see a man stuck in a rut. He’s miserable, unhappy, and really sailing through life without a compass of where he wants to go. He’s in an endless cycle of ups and downs, jumping from one pivotal problem to the next. By all worldly standards, he’s successful. He desires a great love, but he’s not willing to open his heart. When someone extends their hand of friendship, he turns away, choosing the uncomplicated, the stranger, the fantasy –knowing full well that it will only keep him in his rut. Perhaps he loves the rut. Perhaps he loves the struggle, or else perhaps that’s all he knows and it’s familiar to him. Where is his compassion?

I see a man riding a carousel. He loves all the pretty horses. When he sets his sight on one in particular, it consumes him and he puts all his wondrous focus on making his way through the vibrant colors to ride the horse of his dreams. He loves the journey, the spinning, waiting for the perfect opportunity to jump on the carousel, studying the timing, listening to the music. Once he mounts the horse of his choice, he rides with glee, proud of his achievement. His fantasy comes alive and he closes his eyes. But, then them again because the carousel stops. The wind no longer blows in his face, the music no longer fills his ears, and his horse no longer ascends and descends beneath him. So he dismounts and stands on the edge of the carousel until he spots another horse… and so the cycle goes. Why is he not satisfied to stay upon the horse he just rode? The ride will start again. He just has to wait. But, in his mind he wonders if the ride on the other horses is different, better, more adventurous. There’s too many choices. Why should he deal with the down moments of one particular horse when he can use that time to seek another, because in truth it is the hunt, the chase, the newness he desires most of all. Where is his compassion?

I see a woman who constantly loves the unlovable, the unattainable, the shallow, narcissistic, and vain. While there are many lined at her door holding out hearts full of devotion, she passes by without so much as a nod in their direction. She is cold and seeks the dancing fire. Oh, the fire burns bright and hot. She’s lived in the cold darkness for so long the fire has become intoxicating to her. She dances among the flames. They lick her skin and warm her cold bones until she begins to burn. The flames are wild, yet she foolishly tries to control them. Where is her compassion?

Compassion. Where has it gone? We don’t have time for it anymore, or the patience to see it through. I am as guilty as my neighbor on the left, and not quite as guilty as the one on the right. There is still compassion in the world. The only thing that is changing is my ability to see it. That vision stems from the temperature of my heart. It grows colder and harder every day. Will I too soon be in a rut, not satisfied with my horse, or burn among the flames? I don’t know. It’s too complicated to think about. Why should I waste such energy when there are funny cat videos to watch, a dozen or more date request waiting for a reply, a new fantasy in which to escape? Compassion is for the truly great, and convenience is for the fools. I am a fool.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

I Hate You So Much

I hate you so much.

I still ache for you.

I hate you so much.

You still invade my dreams.

I hate you so much.

You still take my breath away.

I hate you so much.

I can still feel the sweet brush of your lips.

I hate you so much.

I can still smell the dizzying scent of you.

I hate you so much.

I am still transported by all our songs.

I hate you so much.

Your name still falls from my sleeping lips.

I hate you so much.

I still can’t breathe.

I hate you,

But I can’t stop loving  you.

~T.L. Gray

Stay a Little Longer

*Flash Fiction/Short Story by T.L. Gray*

~

The second hand on the clock ticks, ticks, ticks away.

Father Time, make it stop. Keep me in this moment. Hold me in this place and time the way his arms hold me now. How long?

Sensations prickle all over as he runs his thumb lightly over my shoulders and down my back. A steady heartbeat sings to me as my head rests on his chest. He’s so swarm, so hard, so safe, so beautiful. The scent of him makes me dizzy. My whole body worships him, aches for him, even now as our legs lay tangled. How long?

I’m home in his arms. Please stop, clock. Please let me stay a little longer.

Where do I end and he begin? The most delicate flower, so intricate, so complex, doesn’t compare to his beauty. His eyes, more dazzling than the darkest rose. His scent, more intoxicating than the honeysuckle. His beautiful skin, more exotic than any lily. The power he wields over me, more potent than the poppy. How long?

I lay bare before him, more than skin, more than flesh, all of me open and exposed, every deep and secret part of me, my soul, my heart. How long?

I’m lost in his arms. Please stop, clock. Please let me stay a little longer.

When we come together we become one. We burn hot. When we turn away, magnetic polarity ensues and an invisible force comes between us, pushing us apart – life, yesterday, tomorrow. The world dims. I become numb, a pile of cold ashes. How long?

The second hand on the clock ticks, ticks, ticks away.

~

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

The Lioness

*A poem by T.L. Gray


Alright... slap my hands if you want, but this meme made me think of Maroon 5​'s song "Animals"... and I like it. LOL! This will be my new poem for today.

"... Baby, I'm preying on you tonight. Hunt you down, eat you alive, just like animals... animals... like animals, oh. Maybe you think that you can hide. I can smell your scent for miles, just like animals ...animals... like animals, oh."

This is the Second of five poems which I have agreed to write for the ART AND POETRY SERIES

(A crusade of poets around the world to spread our poetic love.)

The challenge:

*Each nominated poet/poetess will post a poem daily for 5 days and will nominate 5 poets for each posted poem. The purpose of this crusade is to make a huge poetic chain.

Here are five nominations (everyone's a poet). Take the challenge if you would like, or not. Your choice.

Nan Shartel​, Christian Fennell​, Adam Hornyak​, Kelly Gray​, Chris Martin​

~

The Lioness

She's wise and stealthy, and works hard every day.

But when the sun sets, her pride is fed, and her kingdom free,

A different hunger stirs inside, one only her king can meet.


She walks around with a regal gait,

too wild to be tamed, too vicious to be caged.

Only by her side and beneath his mane, can he satisfy her inner rage.


Listen to her purr like a kitten, when her king is a king.

Safety Mechanism

The more I learn and the more I comprehend, the less I know and the less I understand. ~T.L. Gray

As you all know, I have some of the most thought-provoking friends in the world. I suppose that’s how they become my friends in the first place, they provoke me to think outside the box, to delve into the depths of understanding and enlightenment. My soul burns with conflagration. Do I ever reach the pinnacle of wisdom and complete understanding? I make no such claims. The more I learn and the more I comprehend, the less I know and the less I understand. But it doesn’t stop me from trying. On the contrary, it fuels me and stirs my passions.

The subject this morning is ‘safety mechanisms’ we put in place to protect ourselves from allowing our imaginations to create a relationship with someone else more in our minds than what it is in reality, and therefore getting hurt when that relationship dissolves, or turns out to not be what we imagined. Because, in essence, it was the dream we created that we loved or desired more than the person. It’s a sticky subject, I know. Most people don’t want to admit the fantasies they create, and tend to blame the other person for their failure to live up to those fantasies, but that’s another post for another day. I’m getting off topic.

If two human beings are honest with each other (first we have to be honest with ourselves), then we can attempt to apply the correct boundaries, put up the correct walls, set the correct parameters for the type of relationship we will allow with another person. But when the fuck do we ever do what is correct? Anyway, back to this ‘mechanism’ - what is it really? My response this morning was: “It’s a safety net so no one gets hurt and it tames the imagination. I’ve discovered when most relationships don’t work out, most of the pain comes from the dream of what could have been more than what really was. I’m a dreamer. I have an exceptional imagination and I have to be careful what I allow myself to dream. I’m also an artist, which means I feel deeply. I’m learning to protect myself and use these ‘mechanisms’. So far, they’re working. I think.”

My wise friend responded, “I totally get that. I have to control my dreaming these days too. I’ve allowed myself to make bad decisions based on hopes and dreams, and it’s just not smart or fair to the other person.”

He’s so right. It’s not fair. We get hurt when the other person doesn’t live up to our dreams and expectations, and it’s not fair that they had to try in the first place. When we put people on pedestals, it puts a pressure and responsibility onto them that they neither deserved, nor asked for. I understand the pressure to live up to another’s expectations and ideals, and it crushed me when I failed. It hurt. It still hurts. It wasn’t equally fair to set such high dreams for them to fail to meet in my life, either.

I truly am learning to love people and appreciate the beauty of who they are, just as they are, because their lives have been an incredible journey to get where they are. They’re human beings with souls and feelings. We’re all fuck-ups. I quit trying to change them, or change myself, to meet my, their, or our expectations. It’s futile. As Ecclesiastes states, “it’s meaningless… a chasing after the wind.” I tried my damnedest to be what they wanted, what they needed, and only ended up hating and losing myself in the process.

Our conversation continued and I responded, “I have learned, but not necessarily good things. I’ve learned how to run, how to hide, how to make beautiful deflecting masks. I’ve become strategic, defensive, prepared, my guns always ready and loaded, and my armor securely in place. Yet, a kiss could unravel my defenses. But what hope will I be kissed on the battlefield, beneath my cover, and on the alert? Yet, I still believe in miracles.”

My friend replied, “Ohhh, I try my damnedest to learn from my mistakes and pain. I know there are those that try to hide it as well though. Which is the majority? Just looking at today’s society, I’d guess most people hide from it. That is, until they become more self-actualized.”

When has hiding ever solved anything? Hiding delays. Hiding blocks. Yes, it provides a sense of safety, but it’s a false sense. What are we really saving ourselves from? Living? Loving? Learning? Can we truly hide from pain? If so, I haven’t discovered that secret yet. It’s only when we take a risk to do something that we make a connection. We can’t connect within the shadows. We were not made for the shadows, but to dance in the light, to fly, to soar to great heights. As an unknown wise man once said, “If you want something you’ve never had, do something you’ve never done.”

I want a great love affair. Just like that Hunter Hayes song, “I want Crazy.” I want that whole damned song. I’m so tired of being safe, practical, careful, or responsible. I’ll post the lyrics and a YouTube link below. So, if I want Crazy, then I suppose I need to be Crazy and hold onto the dream and hope that someday somebody will come along that can appreciate my kind of crazy, and not change for those who can’t. I’ve got to learn when to fight and when to lay my weapons and armor down. I usually fuck that up. It’s a good thing I still in believe in miracles.

The conversation with my wise friend this morning ended with, “Knowing the truth and acting on it are two separate worlds. That’s why we keep getting into trouble. We ignore what we know and follow how we feel. We try like hell not to feel, yet that hurts us most of all.”

“So true,” he answered.

So true. Thank you, my friend, for the stimulating conversation this morning. Such friends are as a precious jewel to me. I appreciate you.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

~

Hunter Hayes

"I Want Crazy"



Mmmmm...

I'm booking myself a one-way flight
I gotta see the color in your eyes
Yeah tellin' myself I'm gonna be alright
Without you baby is a waste of time

Yeah, our first date, girl, the seasons changed
It got washed away in a summer rain
You can't undo a fall like this
'Cause love don't know what distance is
Yeah, I know it's crazy

But I don't want "good" and I don't want "good enough"
I want "can't sleep, can't breathe without your love"
Front porch and one more kiss, it doesn't make sense to anybody else
Who cares if you're all I think about,
I've searched the world and I know now,
It ain't right if you ain't lost your mind
Yeah, I don't want easy, I want crazy
Are you with me baby? Let's be crazy

Yeah

I wanna be scared, don't wanna know why
Wanna feel good, don't have to be right
The world makes all kinds of rules for love
I say you gotta let it do what it does

I don't want just another hug and a kiss goodnight
Catchin' up calls and a date sometimes
I love that we're rebels, and we still believe
We're the kind of crazy people wish that they could be, yeah

Oh, and I know we're crazy, yeah

But I don't want "good" and I don't want "good enough"
I want "can't sleep, can't breathe without your love"
Front porch and one more kiss, it doesn't make sense to anybody else
Who cares if you're all I think about,
I've searched the world and I know now,
It ain't right if you ain't lost your mind
Yeah, I don't want easy, I want crazy
You with me baby? Let's be crazy

Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na

No, I don't want "good" and I don't want "good enough"
I want "can't sleep, can't breathe without your love"
Front porch and one more kiss, it doesn't make sense to anybody else
Who cares if you're all I think about,
I've searched the world and I know now,
It ain't right if you ain't lost your mind
Yeah, I don't want easy, I want crazy

Yeah, look at us baby, tonight the midnight rules are breaking
There's no such thing as wild enough,
And maybe we just think too much
Who needs to play it safe in love?
Let's be crazy!

Na na na na oh na na na na oh

Who cares if we're crazy? We gotta be crazy!
I know that we're crazy, so let's be crazy!
Yeah-ah-ah...

*Cover photo by digital-art-gallery.com

Werifesteria

Werifesteria – to wander longingly through the forest in search of mystery.

I hear the call, the wild animal inside, as my inner black beast stirs. 

She wakes.

She hungers.

She thirsts.

She hunts.

Werifesteria.

The scent of Eros wafts through the forest as I prance across the earthen floor.

He twitches.

He licks.

He crouches.

He growls.

Werifesteria.

We circle. My head spins. We pounce. Every muscle in my body burns. 

We hiss.

We seize.

We bite.

We scratch.

Werifesteria.

I am prey.  He is prey.  We are prey. We are devoured.

I lick the blood remnants from my claws and remember.

Werifesteria.

Feeling as an Obligation

I’ve experienced many humiliating things in my life, many things I don’t like to even talk about. The damage from those things have left deep scars within me, but none as pronounced as the consequence of feeling as an obligation. Actually, this one thing makes me run for the hills faster than anything else in this world. I don’t run to keep from hurting. On the contrary, I run because I’m hurting very badly. I’m not so strong these days to just ‘suck it up’ and paint a smile on my face as I pretend all is right with the world. That dam blew a few years ago and I’ve been running since.

I suppose this feeling started early in childhood, being told repeatedly that I was a burden, unwanted, unplanned, and a nuisance. Even my nickname was a daily reminder of how much of an burdened obligation I was to my family. I was called “Sap”… because I was that sticky mess one got from a tree and was almost impossible to wash off, no matter how much you hated it. I was bitter and left a bad taste in the mouth. I suppose I wasn’t as sweet as my younger half-sister, whom was called “Sugar”. Later my oldest daughter was called “Sweetie”, but I was always “Sap”.

I became so independent I wouldn’t let people help me. At first, to hide all the secrets that needed to be hidden so that I wouldn’t be taken away from my family, the family that didn’t want me, yet I loved them as all children do. But as I grew older, I became even more independent because I learned to hate them and wanted to get far away, as far as I could. Every relationship I’ve had since, I’d never let anyone have control over me by becoming dependent on them, especially in becoming an obligation.

What I mean by obligation is have someone do something for you NOT because they want to, but because they have to out of responsibility. There’s a lot of things that come with obligation… things such as resentment, bitterness, pity, frustration, blame, and strife. This is true not just in relationships, but for every aspect in life… from work, recreation, socializing, friends, etc.

When the first (I believe only) man that ever really loved me, scars and all, died in combat in Somalia in the early ‘90’s, something else died in me right along with him – I went numb. I soon afterwards got pregnant and married a man who wasn’t in love with me so I could fulfill my own obligations to my children. I was a zombie, yet I searched diligently for years for that spark of life. I search in marriage, I searched in family (his family), I searched in faith (church), I searched in career, I searched in my dreams. Yet, every day I felt unloved, unwanted, as an obligation, and it seared my soul. A couple years ago I left it all. I ran. And slowly, I began to feel again. Granted, I’ve spent pretty much the last few years hurting, crying, with a huge lump in my throat… and some days just begging to be numb again and not feel anything. But, I can’t. There have been some days where I have felt love, I have felt freedom, I have felt so happy and alive. So, no matter how much I may hurt, I can’t shut it off again… because I know there is good to feel too, and all the pain is worth it for those brief moments.

So, I find myself, at the first hint of feeling as an obligation, running… and running fast. It’s the strongest trigger into my PTSD. I wish I was perfect and always responded with perfect reactions, but I don’t. I’m broken, and damaged, and a mess. I’m doing the best I can to be something beautiful and positive in this world. I’ve seen too much ugly. As much as I’d love to promise to never run, I know I can’t make that promise. Just make me feel like an obligation and I don’t think I’d be able to stop from running, even if I wanted. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you. It simply means… I can’t be “Sap” anymore. She no longer exists and I won’t resurrect her.

I believe… someday, someone will love me enough to stop me.

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

Who Cares?

*A Poem by T.L. Gray


Restful body stirs just before the morning bells.

Eyes open. Stretching. Reaching for the last tendril of the last dream.

Musing. Contemplation. Wondering why I exist, why I continue to breathe. Who cares?



Body moves in motion, burning calories, fat, and stress.

Heart beats. Sweating. Pushing myself toward the next healthy goal.

Thinking. Planning. Wondering why I push so hard, why bother. Who cares?



Fingers fly across the keys, examining, researching as I stay busy.

Mind races. Working. Fulfilling the requirements to take care of myself.

Living. Paying Bills. Wondering why I struggle, why I can’t get ahead. Who cares?



Smelling the wonderful aroma, mixing the ingredients together.

Mouth waters. Smelling. Enjoying the tastes of my creations.

Cooking. Eating. Wondering why I sit alone, why the empty table. Who cares?



Tapping the buttons, playing the character on the screen.

Mind occupied. Distracting. Losing myself into another world.

Gaming. Playing. Wondering how long I can disappear. Who cares?



Pulling the covers over my head, as I snuggle up to my pillows.

Heart broken. Crying. Wishing I could just disappear.

Dreaming. Not Sleeping. Wondering why I’m unlovable. Who cares?



Repeat.

Distorted Image

Okay, here’s another one of those politically correct moments that really grate on my nerves and has inspired today’s blog post. I actually had an idea to post something positive and funny today, you know… ‘cause I was in that sort of mood. But I read an article and that got my thoughts spinning, and that was all well and good. But then I read the comments concerning the article and the floodgates of ‘ah hell’ have opened. So, this is sort of a rant. I apologize in advance, but I’m not sorry for what I’m about to say. I mean every word.

The article that started this whole thing can be found at this link: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/11477512/Schoolboys-should-tell-girls-their-idea-of-a-perfect-woman-says-expert.html.

The piece encourages young men to tell young women, especially during their formative and puberty-challenging years, what they find attractive from physical to personality traits in order to help the young women form a more realistic and healthy view of their own bodies. I found myself nodding my head several times while reading this article.

If you really think about it, the way a girl feels about herself and the level of her attractiveness is dictated by the society around her, all in the effort to attract the young men they interact with. It’s human nature. However, the definition of what ‘beauty’ consists of is portrayed by media and social forums, and most of them have really fucked up views of beauty. They lead many young women to feel bad about themselves due to unrealistic expectations and displays, everyday chipping away at the young women’s self-esteem because they can’t live up to that fantastical image, leading to unhealthy practices, eating disorders, mutilations, etc.

Every woman/girl wants to be attractive and beautiful. We want to be pleasing to the men in our lives, so we go to great lengths to try and fulfill what we think are the ideals of beauty and sexiness. What better way to really learn what is truly beautiful and sexy than directly from the men we are trying to please in the first place? It’s just a thought.

Wait.. I can already hear all the feminists reading this post screeching with.. .”I ain’t trying to please anybody but myself… and “another example of women being told to get our self-esteem from what men think of us. “… yeah, yeah… I know. I’m not disagreeing. I’m a feminist and the first person I try to please before anyone else is ME, including the men in my life. But, I’m also not lying to myself either and pretending I don’t want to look sexy and have my man drooling all over me. I’m a woman. I celebrate being a woman, and as a woman - I want my man to look at me not ONLY with respect and admiration, but lust and desire, and a raw sexual want and need. I want him to be at times unable to keep his hands off me. I want to make him growl wanting me, and grunt while having me, and groan when I’m gone. In all reality, that isn’t going to happen unless I’m attractive to him. So, the ‘smart’ thing to do is find out what he finds attractive and see if that is reasonable and applicable. Yet, the only sources young women have to try to discover this is found in our social media markets… magazines, television, public displays, etc. Hearing the truth from the source is always a better idea than a secondary source.

The other thing in these responses that really set me off was a comment, one I’ve heard a million times before so there’s no animosity toward this certain responder, is: “Though his idea of a girlfriend is that she has to have a model body but also intelligence. I keep telling him he's looking for a needle in a very big haystack.”

My response: “I really hate the idea that just because you might be beautiful you're more than likely stupid. Most beauty comes from confidence... and confidence comes from achievement... and achievement often comes from wisdom, knowledge and determination. What's wrong with someone hoping to find a partner that is not only pleasing to the eye but the mind also? It's phrases like "looking for a needle in a haystack" that encourages people to compromise on what they want and settle for what they think they can get, or doubt something because it comes in a beautiful package. I want beautiful AND smart.. because that's what I want, and I have no bones about saying it. I also think this professor has the right idea. I don't think all the males in the world are idiots either and all of them think their perfect woman is some brainless-model-sex-kitten. That's their sexual fantasy, but they love real women for different reasons, and I've learned its mostly confident women who are honest with them, nurture them, encourage them, and inspire them. I have a male sexual fantasy, Superman, but I wouldn't want to have a relationship with him.. or expect any real man to live up to that image. Nor do I expect any real man to truly expect any real woman to live up to their sexual fantasy. That's why it's called a fantasy. However, love will beat a fantasy any day.” I would like to add, “…but I’d do all I could to try and live up to his sexual fantasy, because it’d be fun and as a woman I naturally like to please people I love and care about. It pleases me to do it.”

But the whole issue comes down to honesty. There’s not enough of that in this world. We live behind our masks. We lie to the world around us. We listen to the lies around us. Mostly, we lie to ourselves. And in this politically correct world, we’re often too afraid to speak out in search of that truth in fear of being outcast. Deception is all we see. The disguises we wear are all we notice. And our young women continue to fight through these self-esteem issues with the lies they’re fed and bombarded with every day. It’s sad how many of them lose that fight and succumb to the peer-pressures and never truly discover the real beauty within them. I mostly feel for our young men who never get to get the opportunity to see that true beauty either, only the distorted image. This whole issue works just as well for men as women in reverse. But, hey… let’s not talk about it, ‘cause we might hurt someone’s feelings.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Falling Out of Love

Is this really possible? Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve experienced it on both sides of the coin, am experiencing a form of it now, and yet I still don’t understand how such a thing can really occur.

It’s easy to get angry at the opposite end of a love affair falling apart. We are beings that change, adapt, evolve and go through several metamorphosis on a constant basis. There’s no such person that always ‘stays the same’. Yet, as much as we change we are also creatures of habit.

I think the part that hurts most in a Falling Out of Love experience is the change that occurs when the habits, especially the habits that made us most happy, are the ones that change. I.e. – Simply saying ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’… and having that suddenly or slowly stop. I had a friend and it drove him crazy with me simply sending him a good morning and good night text every day. He never understood that it was my way of saying to him that he was important to me… that I thought about him in my early morning thoughts, wished him well through the day, and then as I meditated before I fell asleep he was a part of those thoughts as well. But because my habits bothered him, I stopped (mostly)… and with it… I stopped thinking about him so much. Days sometimes go by where I barely think of them at all, or mention his name, or concern myself with his well-being. I miss him terribly, but I don’t want to bother him either. The daily wishes… were more for me than for him. I’ve been forgotten, left behind, and abandoned a lot… and I never wanted anyone I care about to ever feel that from me. So, I try to keep the ones I care about most fresh in my thoughts. Yet, I still sometimes find myself reluctant to send a simple, “good morning” thinking I’m bothering them.

When you’re in a relationship, regardless of the type of relationship, we develop habits on how we relate to one another. Those tend to be the first things that change when the relationship changes. It’s always small changes, a slow pulling away, that happens when a relationship is fading out. Those are painful if you are observant enough to see them. The absence of these habits produces emotional holes. If you are used to communicating with someone every day, consistently, and they suddenly stop or those communications get farther apart, it hurts. It hurts because you know the embers are dying and unless the coals are flamed, they will fizzle.

This is where my stubbornness hurts me most. If I feel someone withdrawing from me, I slam up my walls preparing myself for the pain I know is coming. I should be pumping air onto those smoldering coals, but instead I withdraw further away. I run… emotionally and physically.

I’m not saying that’s the thing to do. On the contrary… that’s the thing NOT to do. I’ve never saved a relationship by walking away or letting them walk away. But, it’s one of my triggers. It’s one of my self-preservation psychotic moves. Just because I will stand back and allow people to walk away from me, doesn’t mean I don’t care or that it doesn’t hurt. It hurts. It hurts a lot. I still have holes where people have walked away from me and I let them go. But it doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving them. How is that even possible? For me, I have truly loved them all, and in some ways still do. What died was the relationship, the communication, the connection, but the beautiful things I loved about them are still there. Perhaps it’s just me because it sure seems they stopped loving me. I don’t think any of my exes hate me, but did they ever really love me? Do they think fondly of me on those rare moments I brush across their thoughts? Who knows.. it doesn’t matter because they’re not here now. They walked away or else let me walk away. I had friends I thought would be in my life forever that are nowhere to be found. I had lovers who I couldn’t imagine my life without. Yet, here I am today alone, yet still breathing, still living, still existing, just not in their world.

So, did the love just fall away? Did it just stop? Or just the effort to fight for it? Will I ever be worth fighting for in someone’s life? To maintain a relationship with me, they’ll have to fight for me, because I won’t stop them if they ever chose to leave. Watching them leave is the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, because I’m helpless to stop, to change, to save the fall. I’ll never be where I’m not wanted. Never. Being in a relationship like that doesn’t just hurt emotionally, it kills the soul.

I don’t the answer. I don’t know if falling out of love is possible, but falling out of habit is very much real.

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

Jump, Damn It!

I had a very thought-provoking conversation with a dear friend of mine this weekend. I don’t feel I had anything wise to say to him during the conversation, well, not anything beneficial, but the heart of the matter has continually been rolling around in my mind since he spoke. He’s at a crossroads in his life and having an existential moment, questioning the decisions he’s made, is making, or will make in the future. He’s full of anxiety, some regret, some fear, yet there’s some hope too.

“I realize I’m living every day of my life for retirement but not for today, and I’m miserable,” he said.

My heart broke for him because I know what that moment feels like. I’ve been going through it these last few years ago. I quickly felt overwhelmed, filled with anxiety, because I wanted to tell him to be careful. Uprooting your life and throwing everything you’ve worked hard for away as you step to change it, will take a certain amount of courage. And the cost … well, the cost is the true risk, and the risk is sometimes very high. But is it worth it? It was for me. But, that’s me, and he’s not me.

There was a moment we were talking and I don’t think I expressed clearly something that I recently discovered in my own life-uprooting journey, and that concerns taking a risk and who’s willing to actually do it. I hope I can explain it better here than I could then.

How much risk is a risk if you’re jumping with a safety net? How much bravery is required to jump with safety lines connected to you and you know that though the experience will be thrilling, it’ll also be safe and you’ll live? Imagine jumping from a cliff with no safety line, no assurance, no insurance, and no back-up plan. You MUST defy gravity and the laws of physics and fly. And if you don’t fly - you die?

I’ve watched many people in my life NOT take a risk, not make a change in their lives because they were too afraid to lose all they’ve worked for up to that point. Because … to make this kind of change is to risk everything. I understand the hesitation, but then again, I don’t. I don’t understand why people who can afford to fail because they have a back-up plan, a source of protection, or a support system to help them if they should crash, remain rooted at the edge of a dead field, yet choose to remain on the cliff, or wait to be pushed before they leap. I’ve also watch these same people being tortured with regret and haunted by the proverbial “what if” when they don’t jump. Most make excuses for their practical decisions, but they can’t lie to themselves all the time. The truth has a way of bursting free at odd times, especially right in the middle of the night when you’re just about to reach the best sleep of your life.

This isn’t a motivational message to encourage anyone to jump into a risky situation. It’s a warning… that if you’re thinking about jumping there are real risks involved. You can fail. You can crash. You can lose everything. I have lost security, money, position, reputation, possessions, things, stuff, respect, admiration, dreams… but most of all… I’ve lost love. I’ve jumped. I’ve crashed. I’ve burned. Yet like a phoenix, I’ve risen from the ashes.

Listening to my friend pour out his heart, which I appreciate very much that he loves me enough to share this difficult time with me, I can’t help but learn something else about myself. We should always strive to learn from those around us, letting their experiences be a teaching tool for us, or at least a measuring rod or mirror to help us see ourselves better. Hearing the pain and anxiety in his voice, reminded me of my own fears and anxieties. Without a doubt if I were in his shoes, I’d have no problem walking away from the life he’s built for himself, because I’ve done it already in my own life and KNOW, not suspect but know, that cutting ‘stuff’ out of my life didn’t mean anything. The world didn’t stop, though I wished it would have, the other people in my life didn’t suffer because of my decisions, though I wished some of them had, and I’m still alive, though many times I thought the pain of my heartbreak was going to surely suffocate me. I don’t think I was able to properly breathe for almost two years.

I jumped from that cliff with my arms wide open, and I crashed hard. Then, when I was on the ground, darkness, heartache, and death surrounded me and tortured me daily. Several times I wanted to die. Many times I thought of killing myself because the pain was just too much. I was so lost. I was so scared. I was so alone. I didn’t know who I was anymore, because I lost the labels and the identity that the world gave me, that others had put on me, especially the ones I had put on myself. I lost everything. I lost everyone, and it hurt like hell. But, as that identity was stripped from me, as the mask I had worn before the world was removed, there was nothing else left to face but the real me. She was a dirty, ragged, starved, naked, unwanted little thing. But she wasn’t that way because of what the world had done to her. No. Her condition was because of what I had done to her, how I had neglected her, how I had forced her year after year after year to deny herself to fulfill responsibilities and expectations. I took all the credit for the things she’d accomplished. I wasn’t the fighter, the survivor, the lover, the forgiver, or the wise. She was. She was that small voice of reason that could be heard when all my yelling would stop. I hated her. I was ashamed of her. I despised her because I thought she was weak. But, she wasn’t the weak part of me. That outer mask that I worked so hard to create, in a vain effort to protect myself from the world and it’s judgment, was the weak part. That part of me depended on her own strength, ability, knowledge, and effort to get through this life. She convinced herself that she could work hard enough to earn love and respect… and that she could do it all by herself. That part of me was wrong. My college degree, my salary, my status, my church membership, my family name, my talents, my acumen, and even my pretty face all failed to grant me those things in life I thought I deserved. I didn’t live or have time for the things that did matter…precious things only found when you live in the moment, when you live in the day, when you live for what your heart desires and not for the practicality of what the world expects from you. Things like faith (not religion), hope (not a wish list) and love (not sex).

Wrapping my arms around my friend, I wanted more than anything to pour those little tendrils of love I’ve recently received in my life. Because I knew if he ever felt it, if he could just touch the edges of that miracle it would strengthen him. Every day I seek those moments, those beautiful moments when the world just shifts in the right paradigm. I still have to fight the old me for those moments, casting down the loud strong voices of opposition, of rational thought. I still seek that deep, true love, that fire, that passion, …that naked truth. I’ve tasted it. I’ve had a moment of looking into another pair of eyes and seeing and feeling something real, something beautiful, so I know beyond doubt it exists. It’s out of my reach at the moment and it tortures my soul that I can’t have it, and I struggle to understand why I’m denied it. But knowing it simply exists gives me hope I’ll find it again. Maybe not today, maybe not in the same pair of eyes or behind the same mask, but it’s out there. That love that I felt, oh my god, it shook me to my very core. And that inner woman inside of me… she sang the most beautiful song. I can still hear her song. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the music of that love. When I remember… I can still taste it, and it was good.

So, if I could convey to my friend only one thing… it would be:

“Don’t worry about tomorrow’ for tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Therefore, I tell you, don’t be anxious for your life: what you will eat, or what you will drink; nor yet for your body, what you will wear. Isn’t life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” ~ Jesus Christ.

My friend, don’t be like the rich man in Luke 12 who tore down his barns and built bigger ones and said that his life was good because of all the possessions he had gained. God called him a fool because that very night his life was required of him and he had no one to leave all his treasure, no one to morn his passing, no one to miss him. His life meant nothing because it was spent chasing down what he could collect, not what he could spend or use while he was here, or for love he could share. Treasure is meant to be displayed, used, worn, and given, not stuffed in a barn and buried somewhere. He didn’t live for the day, but for the ‘morrow … for his retirement. Tomorrow is not guaranteed, neither is retirement. Success is not guaranteed, neither is failure. Satisfaction is not guaranteed, neither is want. What I do know is that regret is preventable and love is possible. So jump, damn it. I hope you fly. I hope you soar to the greatest heights. But if you fall, if you crash and burn, I’ll be there to hold your hand.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Will You Kiss Me?

Will you kiss me?

My first romantic inclination began with the fantasy of a kiss at ten years old as I watched Superman fly among the clouds holding onto Lois Lane’s hand. I wanted to be her. I wanted to fly. I wanted to have someone read my thoughts, know what deep secrets hid inside my heart behind my thick wall of tragedy and lies. I wanted to be saved. I wanted to be kissed.

Will you kiss me?

My first real kiss at fifteen, not that wet awkward secret smack at five beneath the art table in Kindergarten, happened with my first crush. We met beneath the bleachers at the Pepperell football game. I can still remember how my lips tingled and my whole body shivered, and how his tongue tasted like Juicy Fruit gum. Even now, though he’s but a distant memory, I can still feel his fingers on the back of my neck and the way his thumb traced the side of my face.

Will you kiss me?

It may not have been my first kiss, but when a handsome soldier held my hand as we walked along the moonlit beach arguing over the constellations, he stopped me, placed both his hands on the sides of my face and looked me directly in the eyes as he declared his deepest love for me …that kiss brought me to life. I still sometimes feel the power of the bus station goodbye kiss. I hate constellations. I hate beaches. I hate bus stations. I hate goodbyes.

Will you kiss me?

Standing on that pickup curb at the airport, my legs shaking, my heart racing, and losing my breath at the sight of those hazel eyes, I almost couldn’t feel it when his lips connected with mine. It was overwhelming, because though I was in a place I’d never been, I felt at home. I felt safe. I felt found.

Will you kiss me?

Him lying across the foot of my bed, listening to me read to him from across the room, after enjoying a great meal and even better stimulating conversation, I felt him watching me and I couldn’t concentrate. I just wanted to kiss his perfectly plump lips. I always wait for the first move, brace myself, put up my guard and my walls, and then fight like hell to bring them down, usually unsuccessfully. Not with him. I actually asked for permission. I made the first move for the first time. Lightning struck and it burned hot. It still burns, haunting my dreams, torturing my imagination. It is so close yet beyond reach.

Will you kiss me?

Anticipation. Confliction. A secret kiss. So sweet. So gentle. So good. A stomach full of butterflies. A youthful invigoration. A smile. Untainted love.

Will you kiss me?

Who are you? Where will you come from? When will we meet? Will you soar with me in the clouds, taste sweet and tingly, bring me to life, make me feel safe and at home, burn with fire, and feel so innocent and sweet?

Can I kiss you? Please?

The Perfect Man

As most of you already know… okay, fine… so as ALL of you already know, I’m single and haven’t been very successful in the crazy world of 21st century dating over 40. I think it’s because I just haven’t found my Mr. Perfect yet, but some of my best friends would argue that it’s because I’ve set the bar too high, that I dismiss way too easily, or that I have a list waaaayyy too long that no man alive on earth could ever possibly fill it. Others have told me they think I’m just being too careful and not opening my heart enough to allow anyone in, and even one of my romantic interests told me, “for someone so smart, you can be very obtuse”. I think perhaps I’m already in love with the perfect man, I just haven’t met him yet.

First of all, to answer all these accusations (which I find quite extraordinary how everyone has an opinion on the subject in regards to me and my dating life, yet their own lives don’t reflect their advice or any evidence they have any better idea of love and relationships more than the rest of us – but that’s another blog post) concerning all my faults, I’d like to clear up a few things.

1. I haven’t set the bar too high. How can a bar be set too high anyway? When is someone too good or not good enough? How low is a low set bar – prison bars, still lives at home with his mother at 45, has more debt than the federal reserve? I feel my bar is set just right. I don’t want a ‘broke ass man’, but I don’t want one that’s so successful he doesn’t enjoy life in pursuit of wealth or position. I don’t mind hard work as long as there is also hard play. I don’t mind struggling as long as I’m not being carried or have to carry someone else, but that we help one another. Ever hiked with someone? It takes a little give and take, some leading and following. It’s about being together and doing things together as partners in good times and bad. Yes, I have a bar… I set the bar to the level I believe I deserve. I’m a smart, beautiful, healthy, passionate woman. I set my bar based on what kind of guy deserves a woman like that. What’s wrong with that? In return, I feel I deserve romantic, faithful, funny and smart. Sheesh!

2. I don’t dismiss way too easily. In fact, I usually give a man plenty of time to try and right his mistakes or make an effort to show his intentions. If he doesn’t call me, text me, message me, or communicate with me in any way, shape, or fashion except the day of or hour before a date, he can find another date. I want something real. I want to be important in his life. I want to be someone he thinks of in the middle of the day for no other reason than I’m on his mind. I want him to ‘share’ his life with me… different parts of it. While I never initiate, I do respond. If I don’t feel ‘wanted’ as a whole person, then I will walk away without batting one of my real or false lashes. I’ve lived too long not being wanted. I’ll never do that again. It hurts me to walk away, but I already know it’ll hurt more to stay.

3. List? I don’t have a list? I have standards. But as far as a man having certain unchangeable things like physical features, personality traits, or hobbies that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t really have a physical type because I find beauty and attractiveness in many different aspects. I’m a sapiosexual, intelligence turns me on more than anything else. Sure, there are some physical traits my body responds to more than others (beautiful eyes, dimples, thick thighs, strong hands), but none of them are deal-breakers, EXCEPT someone who is unhealthy. A sick, unfit person would be detrimental to my own physical health and well-being. So, yes… I hesitate to enter into a relationship with someone that would be destructive to the relationship I have with myself. It took too damned long to learn to love myself and I will protect me as much as I possibly can physically, mentally, sexually, and emotionally.

4. Too Careful? How can anyone be too careful? Perhaps people should be a little more careful and we’d have less heartbreak in the world. Perhaps if we took our time and actually tried to get to know a person before we jump right into a commitment, relationships wouldn’t implode so soon. I’ve had someone I loved very much think by me not saying “I love you” only after a short while was an indication that I didn’t love them at all or that I wasn’t interested in having a serious relationship with them. In fact, I was very much in love with them, but I wanted to build something good, something real, something strong so I held back getting lost in the emotion and ended up losing them instead. We live in such a fast-paced world filled with instant gratification, no one takes times to build any solid foundations anymore. Building on shifting sand never lasts. Am I foolish to want something strong, something that will survive during the storms I know that will come? If I ever tell you “I love you” it will be because I’d mean it with every part of my heart. I don’t say what I don’t mean.

Does the perfect man exist? No. Neither does the perfect woman. But I do believe there is a man out there that will be perfect for me. He won’t be the richest, most successful, most handsome, most romantic, most intelligent, or sexiest man alive, but he will be everything I want, need, and hope for… he will suit me, push me, inspire me, make love to me, irritate me, confront me, turn me on, move me, piss me off, make me laugh, make me think outside the box, but most of all love me just as I am.

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

My Own Fairy Tale

I can do so many amazing things. I’ve accomplished countless great things in my life already and have the ability, talent, and drive to be successful at many more. I never run from a fight, I stand up for who I am and what I want, and I try to be as fair as I possibly can in an unfair world. So, why am I so scared? Why do my hands literally shake at the thought of exposing my fiery heart and letting someone in?

I don’t lack for self-esteem. I have come to love myself greatly. I’ve learned to appreciate myself for the rare beauty that I am, respect myself for my opened mind, and know without doubt I’m worth fighting for. I’ve learned to love and appreciate the simplistic beauty of a soul, to see beyond masks, and choose to love anyway – just as they are, not trying to change them to fit into an old fantasy or idea of who they should be. But deep inside there is still this scared little beast who doesn’t believe she’s capable of being loved, of being chosen, that the glass slipper will fit, or the curse be broken with a simple kiss.

Here’s the hard part. I’m not without love. I am already very much loved. I have some good friends who love all the complicated mess that makes me who I am. They’re in my corner. They believe in me. They see me… all of me, my true self, and love me anyway. I know if they could, they’d wave their magic wands and transform my life into the dream I desire, but they can’t. They’re not fairy godmothers, mice who turn into men, pumpkins who transform into carriages to take me directly to my Prince Charming. In my world, I have to make my own damned clothes, hike all the way to the castle, declare my right to be there no matter what anyone else says, ignore all the stares and judgments from all the snobs because I’m different, walk with my head high among the whispers, and keep telling myself that I’m worth it and somewhere among all these frogs there is a Prince just for me.

It’s hard attending this ball. I’ve witnessed time and again other princesses kiss their frogs and have them transform into beautiful princes. So far, all the princes I’ve kissed have remained frogs. While our meeting, conversation, and dance has been beautiful and even magical, it hasn’t been enough to break the spell. Yet I still hope. Not that a kiss will save me or wake me from a deep sleep… but that it will set me on fire and I unfurl my wings and soar into the heavens. What prince ever loves the dragon?

Till next time,



~T.L. Gray

Focused Leap

I find it hard to really focus sometimes. I don’t think it’s because of some medical reason, but more of huge mental and psychological issues within myself. When I find myself looking for distraction it often means I’m wanting to hide, to escape, to avoid, to protect. But from what? It could one of a million things.

I’m a fighter. I’m strong-willed. I’m confident and courageous. But, I’m also very afraid. I’ve been burned. I’ve fallen hard. I’ve been so down, so lost, and so hopeless at times that I didn’t want to live anymore. I’ve seen and experienced horrors that would make nightmares pale in comparison. Yet, I have survived. I have overcome. I have defeated. Though rejected in the most cruel way, I still hold hope to be loved. Though abandoned, I still hope to be wanted. Though despised, I still hold hope to be desired.

There are no promises. There are no guarantees. There is only hope. All evidence points to an impossible existence, but I need only to remind myself of all the impossible things I’ve already accomplished. The only thing stopping me is choosing to focus. Once I make up my mind, turn my attention toward the thing I desire most, that’s when I leap. I always leap. It always requires a leap of faith. I leap knowing I could fall, knowing I could crash, knowing it could destroy me. But even more… I know not leaping would kill me.

What focused leap do you face?

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

One Last Night

*A Flash Fiction Piece by T.L. Gray*


Gray clouds billow above the white foamy surf as fog rolls like a trampling stampede upon the surface of the cerulean sea. The crash of waves upon the rocks reminds me of my lovers tryst; the sea spray our wild release. I stand at the widow, staring out at the cold, magical, monochromatic morning, my chest heavy with sorrow, but no regret.

The view before me blurs amid the hot, silver tears as they fill my eyes. I flush as each warm memory fills my mind’s eye. I wrap my arms tight around me and let the images take me back, take me into our one last night.

~

Dark eyes stared into my soul, undressing me, exposing the deepest part of me, stealing my breath.

Strong, gentle fingers slowly traced the side of my face, moving slowly down my neck, and onto my shoulders, shakily leaving a trail of prickling anticipation and sweet adoration.

I shivered.

He smiled.

I let go.

Two hearts beat in unison as our bodies converged into one, staring into each other’s eyes, feeling the love, forgetting the world outside. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered. Giving. Receiving. Loving. Worshipping. Sharing. No words. No promises. No lies.

My eyes grew heavy as my head rested on his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat, feeling the comforting warmth of his arms wrapped around me, his fingers gently caressing me. A perfect moment.

I didn’t look back as he left. I couldn’t.

~

I now stand empty, cold, and alone. I can still hear his gentle breathing and feel the lingering sting of his touch, but only as ghosts and silhouettes. I walk toward those cold, crashing waves, letting go of my will, my fight, my resolve, shedding my earthly shell and the last tendrils of my humanity. I disappear into the abyss.

Death holds his bony fingers out toward me and asks, “Was it worth it, your one last night?”

I take his hand, look up at him, and smile, “What night?”

Get Me?

Someone sent me a meme yesterday and upon first glance I thought it was a clever meme, but didn’t really think much about it. At least, that’s what I thought. I was wrong. The meme: “Understanding is deeper than knowledge. There are many who know you, but there are very few who understand you.”

The following bit of banter followed:

Me: “Indeed, I’m sharing that one.”

Him: “I know.”

Me: “I know you know. You know?”

Him: “I know.”

Me: “I like a man that knows what to know.”

Him: “A wise man knows he knows nothing at all.”

Me: “That too is something to know. Knowing to know nothing is knowing something indeed.”

Him: “Indeed.”

Within an hour of receiving that meme I had more than a dozen deep thoughts. I mostly considered the people who say they know me, who believe they know me, who once thought they knew me … but how many don’t or didn’t get me. The funny thing is … it’s a person that doesn’t know much of anything about me who gets me most of all. Those who were supposed to love and understand me most in this world, never got even close.

Then, I stumbled upon a song “Gotten” by Adam Levine and it just hit my soul like a ten-ton elephant. I can’t shake it. I can’t get it out of my system. I’ve cried a dozen times already. I’m crying right now as I’m writing this blog post.

“I’ve been saving …these last words for …one last miracle, but now I’m not sure. I can’t save you if you don’t let me. You just get me ...like I’ve never been gotten before.”

I suppose if I have one wish it would be to find someone who truly gets me. I want to be able to look at them in the eyes, and without having to say a single word, know they get me. I want to look in their eyes and know… they know. They know how I feel, what I think, why I respond the way I do, what I need, what I want, and how much I love them. I’d also like to do the same. I want to look into a pair of eyes and see love… love for me and all the craziness that I am. All without words. That’s quite contrary to a person who makes a living with her words.

“I’ve been saving …these last words for …one last miracle, but now I’m not sure. I can’t save you if you don’t let me. You just get me ...like I’ve never been gotten before.”

Get me?

~T.L. Gray