The fixture

Ok.

It was there.

When I was there.

We both were there.

In existence together.

It was there.

When I was there.

We both were there.

In existence together.

Smack dab in the center of the room.

What felt like the center of the room.

It was there.

When I was there.

We both were there.

In existence together.

In the heart of the room.

In the heart of the matter.

Beauty and shame.

At the same time

In existence.

Together.

Similar. Not the same.

In the heart of the room.

Obvious, only to some.

Who paid close attention. To the details. In the moment. The good one had paid close, inspective attention. To the details. In the moment. As if their life depended on it.

My life did.

Depend on it.

Good or bad.

Dependent. Upon.

Its beauty, as it radiated through the room.

Few noticed.

Subtle and a bit standoffish.

As if shouts of

WANT TO JOIN THE DANCE?

Echoed loudly through the screams.

Afraid.

Defensive.

Wall flower.

In the middle of the room

Shaky.

The cracks, the microscopic ones could not always been seen. With a naked eye, anyway. They could be recognized—with a trained one. A trained eye. One had to look close. Real and really close—with like under a micro-scope closeness..

When words only take us so far.

Even if and when we utter the un-utterable in the presence of another, it takes a very trained eye. A very trained eye.

To catch the difference. To know.

THE DIFFERENCE.

To see the truth.

The whole truth.

Nothing but the truth

So.

Help me God.

Until the moment of admittance.

Until then,

The un utterable remains in the pit.

Of the soul.

Of this tiny, beautiful fixture.

Complicated and ugly sometimes.

At the same time.

Refusal of the past, to live in the past of another.

Has its dubious consequences.

Takes time.

To know the difference.

Takes your time, too.

The ultimate admittance.

The one of the truth.

Admittance of the truth.

To see the tiny cracks, in this fine and beautiful “thing”. So capable of hugeness, with constant attempts to “tame in place.” Yet. Gargantuan in its presence.

At the same time, frightened beyond natural measure.

In this place.

Of memories.

Flashbacks.

Rental space in the mind of fear and thought.

Of how to get out.

Of the cage-like memories.

Perpetually insisting on occurring.

Consider this. Sometimes. We walk into a room, a place, and either feel welcomed, or the need to run away screaming. Out. Of its presence.

Screaming. No hallway is ever short enough to make our way out of, down or out.

The memories cling to our ankles like the weight of a world in a moment in an instant. Schackled by a fear we have never known and know all too well.

At the same time.

We are frozen in time.

We cannot speak. The dread of a moment in time stuffs our mouths un pucker-able—un-able to make a sound.

The dread. Shuts us down.

Awful. Awesome. Awfully Awesome. Then. As we piece through the pieces that have just been crumbled on the floor. Of our self. Piece through the pieces of our broken heart.

We do not recognize who we are. Where we are. How we got to this place.

In time. At the same time.

We just know.

We have been here before.

It is not Deja vu.

Because it, the pain, the blood.

Is real. Really real.

This place of dread.

The loud bangs.

The door slams.

The loud words.

The shouted screams.

The blood.

In the mind of a person under a decade, the memories take up the space and the rental agreement of a life never to return from, this moment in time.

The cover up begins.

Heartbreaking to say the most.

Confusing to say the least.

I thought protection to be synonymous with parental.

The ultimate protection of all things: blood. And cuts. And screams.

In person.

In reality.

With no edits.

NO CREDITS.

For bad behavior?

For good behavior?

The deficits in the psyche to last a lifetime.

Of hurt.

Of shame.

Of pain.

I think they call it “The burn”

Why would people who claim to love one another do, this?

Lost.

On me.

The reasons.

The ration.

The rational reasoning.

In our most frightened moments, we attempt a re-write of our life script. Saturation. We attempt to rewrite our story. In the worst of circumstances, we attempt to replace the characters, with a new set of characters, that we hope beyond four lettered words of hope,

Will please make it all go away.

That our new set of characters will make it better, make it right, fix it, ease the pain, ease the burden.

Make it all go away.

It ever really goes, away.

Ever.

It is constantly challenged in various and superficial ways for a long, long time

Sometimes, til death do us part times.

Like-minded and life minded experienced folks understand it. The dressed down moments in the middle of a room, if only for a brief and fleeting miserable moment. Cut down to size.

No other witnesses to speak of.

IF WE COULD SPEAK ANYWAY.

But we cannot utter the un-utterable.

Then.

Poof.

Gone.

Never to be seen again.

Never to be felt again.

Never existed.

For them

For us. Not so.

If only life were so simple. In a moment’s notice we are capable of noticing. As our trip down the weighted-halls shows us, we identify. With the others in the hallway. With the seen-less, seem-less identification of standing in the center of a room,

Not to be noticed.

At times.

Crying out as no one hears.

Again.

And. Again.

Coping takes it toll.

Bordering on crazy, our tired, twisted-into-knots-existence only allows us to forge on. With no plan to speak of. No plan in sight.

Just escape from what was, is and is destined to be— Destined to be again.

A change of pace.

MAYBE,

MAYBE NOT.

How simple becomes complicated.

Yes. Life has its twists and turns.

Coughs, pants, and wild eyes of fear.

Exactly.

When it’s time to get down,

To the heart of the matter

When the will gets weak,

Thoughts seems to scatter

Pride and competition

Does not fill empty rooms

Pride and competition does not fill empty arms, either.

Things I thought I knew,

I have to learn again. (dh)

Did not know. This included,

How to love again.

We desperately ask.

Why do people who love one another, hurt one another?

One possible answer.

A strong and beating.

Heart.

Take heart. Takes a strong and beating one. To face this tough question.

A strong and unrelenting and relentless one. Beating heart. One that does not give up. Stays the course. Keeps beating at a steady pace. Two beating together.

At the same time.

Beautiful.

A permanent fixture?

A temporary fixture?

Existing in the middle of the room,

In the middle of the room.

To be known.

To make known.

To be noticed.

Over time, restlessness and un relentless-ness teaches us:

That the word, “No”.

was spoken

To you.

when you crossed my boundary.

when you planned to post in public,

my demise.

For your benefit.

No.

What’s the point?

Makes what difference?

At this point.

Fire up the canons.

And.

STAY tuned.

It is now, your turn to,

bear witness.

To bear witness.

As the heart often does

To the when and of of all explosions of all explodables and whether they render or tender

Intolerability.

Yours.

Not.

Mine.

Time will tell.

It usually does.

It usually will.

It was there.

When I was there.

We both were there.

In existence together.

Out of service?

Not me.🙏🏻