Don’t Wait for the Sun, Dance in the Rain

Maybe it's the way you pull my hand and wrap my arm around you, maybe it's the scent of your neck when I hug you. When you lean in smiling at me, something in my stomach rolls, dances, jumps up and down screaming. And then you call, and I can't sleep after because excitement is boiling under my skin. There is a madness in our chemistry; some mad winds are flowing over the ground of strong feelings. But, my dear, I am afraid of my storms. I am afraid I may have brought the past with me into us. I am afraid because I find myself smiling silly, and feel as though heaven's with me. There is a kindness you cannot see and you emit it so naturally. I'm afraid this heaven will leave me.

Happy are the poor in hope, for their hearts don't get broken as easily. Miserable are the expectant, the always clamoring at the joyful and holding on, the ones who see stars as magic seeds and shooting stars as a sign from some God, for their hearts are as malleable as clay, getting shaped this way into joy and that way into disappointment, and just easily breaking, like a porcelain plate.

Actions speak louder than words. How unfortunate that we can't manipulate that when we're out of words. A void has expanded between us, which makes me think about the word rush. Nothing else about us seemed grand except for the fact that we were falling for each other. That spark was Mama grand. There were your teary eyes and your chubby hands, synchronizing, as if in a band, with my this and that body part. There was a childlike eagerness behind your questions, and the void, I suppose, begun with some of my silent responses. Perhaps the joke you made which I didn't laugh at did a small digging between us that initialized the drift. Perhaps it was the sex; how once a man has hit it, he can quit it any day. I asked you what changed and you said you're busy. Okay. One day ago, you were calling me like five times a day. I don't regret you but I feel ashamed. Your reaction towards our time together is making me feel dirty. I still think about us and get horny. Just then, I feel so deeply lonely that I'm moving on without you, so guilty that I'm trying my best not to think about you, but I'm moving on without you.

Perhaps it's the little note I wrote about you that freaked you out a bit. The 'There is a madness in our chemistry; some mad winds are flowing over the ground of strong feelings.' That part was scary, yes? It scared me when I wrote it. It scared me when I thought about you reading it, them flipping back to my history, retrieving every word I'd ever written, dissecting every other I'll ever write, and assuming it's about you or us. Sometimes, words are just words, and sometimes they describe the magical things in us, the things I would ironically say that I can't quite put into words, but here I am trying anyway. Heaven did leave me, are you afraid again when I say this?

Miserable are the hopeful romantics for they are the first in the line of heartbreak. Are you sacred again by the word heartbreak, because two weeks is too little to cause any real heartache? Is that what you think and are not saying, or is that what I think you think but are not thinking anyway. So something else? It seems as if none is as wise as an enquirer, but the enquirer dies with questions at their lips, knowing that all they knew eventually amounted to almost nothing. What has died between us is riddled with mysteries of could have beens, but it seems to me that these could have beens have been mine and mine only.

I'm thinking 'one last sentence and then I let you go', but I keep on writing. I've been standing over our grave, lingering like a circling leaf being carried by the wind over a field. It's time to throw the sand in, say goodbye to emotional suffering. It's time to nail the coffin, our past and future are out of air. Goodbye to our something, to the potential damage I would have carried if you'd stayed a while longer, to the kisses and light of the day, I will be covered by a blanket of darkness for a little while, but I will recover. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps this minute. Thank you for pulling my hand and wrapping my arm around you when I was scared to do it. Thank you for freaking out after two weeks because imagine what two years would have been like, how many notes I'd have written, how many times we'd have fought over them, how many would have made us fall for each other more wildly, and suffer as deeply when things came to an ending. Thank you for your humor and for the times you made me cum. How silly of the young to squander sparks for sex, to run after ass while stabbing hearts. How silly we are my dear, to rush.

The painful smile there is in sorrow, sorrow does not know it except as a passing shadow, a traveler heard of in a tale. What sorrow knows is that there is no tomorrow and today, right now, it's the worst time of all to smile and laugh. What sorrow asks me is why are you pretending you want to dance? Let's go home and I'll weave you in with the dark, I'll pinch your heart and it will feel like you have burst a bank. Though it is not what you need, it is what you want and I will give you that, for I am pressed inside you and what you will is what is expressed. If you love me, I love and will continue to be with you. So when you ask me to dance you are asking sorrow to give up on us. You are pulling at my cheeks and sorrow is tripping on the beats. So I pretend I want to dance until I want to dance, and then sorrow is scared shitless. And the more we dance, the more I want to dance, the more sorrow lets go of my hand. Under the glimmering lights, hope is sealed under my heart, and what a task it will be tonight, to slip back into the dark where sorrow waits every night with an open palm.

Dear caterpillar, don’t wait for the sun, dance in the rain. To fly, you will have to leave your fear behind.

The truth that is and that which is yet to be found are found in the now. Freedom is here right now. Love is up and standing though my heart is fallen. I am here and I am not finding; I am found, because I have my freedom with me now. Outside me are windows from which I look out, and from within I observe. I look out at a little girl, whose heart was first broken by her daddy. I look out at a teenager who fell madly in love with a boy who was never looking for love. I see in my current sorrow the twenty something year old girl who, upon looking at the previous path she had walked, the forevers she had lost, swore off love. I look at heartbreak and I laugh.

A slow ecstasy is building up, filling up, dripping down a color like love. Inside me is not a confined space, but a boundless stretch of space from where I create. From where I hate, it is confined and likewise, I feel confined at such times of rage. I circle the space of life like a bird glides in the sky, caught by the glow at the horizon, of my fellow love bird. I cry and seal in the soil what has come out where my heart has been punctured. Flying right into the eye of the sun, I brave my chest up and let the light in where the damage was done.

I heal in love.

Dear caterpillar, you will fly. It's an illusion that beautiful things have been kept far from your sight. Not once has beauty been kept outside of you. What is beautiful is because an equally beautiful part of you sees it as so. What I know is that you bring towards you more of what is at the core of your soul if you follow the call to the journey of the soul. Good, bad, ugly; you can't know, but I say, bet on the soul. Free flying, free falling freedom finds it has been at home all along in the drop. Peaking is inevitable, because though we are buried six feet in the ground, after death, we ascend into the unknown.

I bear no wings except those of the soul, my mind knows it holds inside it more than it will ever understand. I bear no wings so I can’t pick myself off the floor with a broken heart. I will lie here, cry and laugh. In my late twenties, I am looking at heartbreak, not like a bomb, but a flower. From the ground, I look up, from heartache I root myself deeper inside love, for now I understand what I desire in a life partner, and what I don’t I can pick out, because I have been hurt. I cry because I hope my heart will be strong enough to love again. I laugh because I know that I will fall in love again. Taking chances is fear in motion, and I will not wait for the sun. I will dance like a child in the rain and cheer on the storm with jubilee. Something will be washed off in the rain, and it will not be me.