Pick an apple from a cherry tree

Eddie has broken up with me.

Now for some random stuff from my leather book, which I have titled... Untitled.

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01/24/07

Someday, she knows, there will be that start-over point with him. The tension between them was thick enough to walk on. They didn't say anything about it, but they both knew. Silent acknowledgment that their eyes followed others across the room. They smiled at each other, but not so full of adoration as it used to be. The magic was almost gone, the thing that had swept them both off their feet so well. It had seemed eternal; too much of a feeling for it not to be that true love. They'd grown up since then, and felt love eroded by waves of responsibility and reality.

Even in the beds of other men she found no true solace. He didn't know, not in words, but she knew he KNEW. How couldn't he? Dates they had planned weeks in advance she'd break with barely a moments notice. Just because a beautiful man with strong arms held her as she made the phone call, whispering to him, "I love you," though she never felt that tingling sensation any more. She missed it.

What could she say to him? That she loved him more then anything, but didn't feel she was in love anymore. She wanted time to miss him, and to remember. And then she wanted to meet him again as though she had never seen him before in her life. And why not? What was wrong with a beginning; beginnings she loved more then middles or ends. Couldn't this love be always a beginning love? She wished it could be, wanted it to be, in the beginning they had been so very in love.

She couldn't finish his sentences anymore. She didn't know what he thought or felt. Couldn't smile at him as she used to and know that he knew what she meant. He asked her what she was thinking more then anything else. And how often did he just say, "I love you too", instead of saying those three words first? She tried not to let this bother her, but knew it did. She could say whatever she wanted to him, but she could not hide from herself. She was scared of letting him go, that in their separation he'd find someone that really meant something. She knew that there were better women then herself scurrying about. That in all probability he'd find them. She wanted the assurance that he would come back to her. There are no such assurance in this world, she knew. If she let him go, that was what she was truly doing. She could talk until she was blue in the face that they would alway be together, but talk is only talk. She knew that more then anything.

She supposed she was just scared. The saying says, "If you love them, let them go," but what if letting him go, even for this "short" time, hurt her like a wound to the heart? What if she never felt that great tingling sensation again, because she only felt it for him? That he really was the one, no matter who she kissed or who she fucked? Maybe it was him, only him, her soul mate. She did love him after all.

Again she felt she just needed time. Time to miss him, time to fall in love again. Over and over again. Because loving him was like falling into a great sea, where you were swept away, held against your will to the will of the great ocean. Maybe she had just been swept into the doldrums and had to find her way out.

He smiled at her now and told her that he loved her. She felt like crying, but she believed him, and prayed that she was not a fool. A fool for him, a fool for love, a fool in love.

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2/18/07

...sometimes there would be fights between them, maybe long periods of silence. Scared images the two of them shared of the other. Loosing them, being hurt by them. "Thank god," they'd both say, "I was worried." Scary in love, frighted at the feeling of it, petrified with the idea of loosing this. Some say they were fools, "Fools, young love is a bright flame, burns quick and dies." They refused to believe in this; renegades and rebels they are. Rebel lovers, a new hope; Proof.

....partners, she thinks, partners in an illegal love. They share magic. She KNOWS this. It's there, she thinks, in his perfect eyes.

His voice touches parts of her never touched before, "I love you," he says, "I've missed this."

They both have. She touches his face and smiles because she remembers how many times she has imagined and dreamed of touching him. She's so happy that he is real. She loves him, says so, says that she wants him; "please kiss me" she whispers. Of course he does, and they both suck in air with gasps when it is over. She feels that this is worthy of poetry and says so. He raises his eyebrows and smiles that smile that makes her melt into a sloppy, giggling, girlish puddle inside. She cannot resist touching him, showing off for him, and kissing him over and over again.

...She wishes to be everything for him. She desires perfection in his eyes. She cannot get over it. He tells her, you worry too much, you know I love you. He grips her arms. She smiles at him and says, "I love you enough for both of us... I know you love me." She, on reflection, wishes she could be unsure about things truthfully because she IS unsure. She knows and understands but still feels fragile. It ashamed her, though she doesn't feel weak, just stubborn in a subtle sort of way.

...on the radio is in her head. She wants to tell him about it, but knows he should hear it, really. She's not good at portraying songs. It's from one of their bands too. "I'm miles from where you are/I lay down on the cold ground and/I pray that something picks me up and/Sets me down in your warm arms." She wants to smile at him and say, "That sounds familiar, doesn't it?" but is frightened of him saying no.

She thinks he looks like a god, a fallen angel, a creature, a deity. He is perfect inside and out, a beauty so strong it pricks her eyes with tears. She is so in love with him right now she cannot think of anything else.

...He tells her, "You are beautiful, so beautiful." She believed him now more then she had in the past. Says , "Thank you, you're pretty pretty yourself." Handsome. Whatever. She felt that handsome doesn't' cut it sometimes, not while she glows with the aftereffects of his touch. Not while her voice is still that hushed, sultry bedroom voice. The one that he loves so much and calls cute.

She kisses him like she does when she wants to remember a kiss, think back on it, and whisper "I love you" to an empty room, while he sleeps miles away and perhaps dreams. The hardest part is coming back to the room after he leaves and there is the scent of him there. Sometimes she will cry because she misses him so much.

She wants to tell him everything, desperately, that he is everything to her. "You are the only thing that makes sense," she would say with confidence, because she knows it to be true.

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05/16/07

I was walking down the street/
Seeing those people I won't ever meet/
Thinking thoughts irrational/
Just listen to this beat now/
Oh yeeeah... one, two, three, GO/
In a dream within a dream you will find me/
A third eye blazing looks into you/
And a tigers-eye gaze will bring us/
Into this flaming sea of clarity/
Oh yeah/
Baby, I know you cry sometimes/
That you are angry in this lonely world/
And these dreams are meant to comfort you/
But that's one thing dreams'll never do/
You wrap your hand in mine/
You touch me with your lips/
So say a smile, honey/
Cause you think life is such a bitch/
Yeah I know you cry sometimes baby/
Sad and angry in a lonely world/
In a dream within a dream you'll find me/
And no longer be alone/
The the third eye clarify you/
Cleanse the residue the world leaves on you/
Baby I know you're scared I'll penetrate you/
Leave you bleeding on the ground/
I will penetrate you/
To elevate you/
To see your crown of stars upon your head/
Baby you may be angry in this lonely world/
But here we are/
Dreaming...

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A letter to Eddie. Unreceived or ignored.

05/16/07

I love you. I feel now as though I'm always going to love you. My heart feels heavy with what I told you about today—it seems like all I can talk about is the negative side of things here recently when you and I have spoken. I want you to know that those things are said are not the way I feel about you. I've come to a pretty solid stance with you. I just wanted to reiterate for the purpose of clarity;

I understand that you and I cannot see each other on a regular basis. Since I've moved to California... in fact, since being thrown out... I've had limited communications, little funds, etc. I know that you live a very busy life. You have so many obligations right now; what with work, school, family, friends, relationships... and the fact that you and I are a secret love, well, it doesn't help the stress factor, does it? I know that this relationship has been hard, but for me it has been the most rewarding relationship I have ever been in. I feel like myself when I'm around you, not like I'm playing a part or trying to live up to some strange expectation. I feel like you and I connected on a level that is most important to me—creativity. And you are so creative, quirky, honest, fun... I love so many things about you. I'm a patient person now, a whole lot more patient then I was when we began this relationship. I understand that I want to see you, but I also understand that you can't always get what you want, for the reasons already stated. I do miss you, often and hard, but that doesn't stop me from seeing reality.

The work that I've just recently started through the Internet (I'm going to build an empire—har har) is going to bring me into San Francisco more often. I realize that a full day of freedom is rare for you, so I'm hoping during some of these visits that you can find time to see me. I would like to walk with you and talk with you and touch you, but I will have other reasons for being there.
I've “upgraded” since turning eighteen. In turn of fact, it's happening on a daily basis. The more I live as an adult the more I'm learning about my own mind, and of the people in my life. I have missed a lot of contact with the world, but I've been in what Dad and I now refer to as my “cocooning”, a time to heal and re-determine myself. In short; I've changed. I'm still me, but I'm not exactly the same thing.

So I see these next few months as a new beginning. What has ended was that scared, confused, emotionally scard individual that I was. I'm still all me, with all my memories intact, I've simply learned to live with some of those hard, cold facts that I newly found about my childhood, my parents... all of that disappointment. All of that pent-up rage I never knew I had. I had to let myself feel angry, hurt, depressed for a while. It was not a time I particularly wanted to be around you... because I did not want you to think that was who I was. It was a stage. It was hard, and I know you would have been there for me. But believe me, you were. You were always in my thoughts; you are one of my rocks. During this time I solidly fell in love with you, and fully trust in the love you've shown and feel for me.

Forgive me, love, for all these transgressions. I do love you. I've never stopped loving you. I've missed you terribly and I want nothing else but to see you face and kiss your lips and touch you. Write back to me.

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These things happen. I feel I'm mostly over it already. I don't know. I feel like I've cried enough for him. Nearly two and a half years of constantly missing him, wishing I was closer, and having a hard time with life while I was at it. He says he has run out of patience with me. I feel like I've run out of patience with myself as well.

Everyone told me this would happen. Everyone. I refused to believe it. I told them that he and I would show them, that we would be victorious in the face of all of this backstabbing bullshit everyone was throwing at us. But it is true; I put my faith in someone too young and too vulnerable. It was part my mistake. I'm not very upset about it.

This was the best relationship I've ever been in. It has been full of very happy memories for me that I will continue to hold close to me and cherish. I still care about him very deeply, and I feel that, given the time to lick my wounds, I could become good friends with him again. I don't want to loose his company, at least. He is an intelligent, interesting, strange and fun guy. Why wouldn't I fall in love with him?

I need this time to heal again. To find myself anew, for the 600th time this year.

The sad thing is, I never feel there can be a Tuesday with him now. It's gone. I would never trust him again, now without some new and unforeseeable turn of events, explanation, conversation. What is love without trust?

No matter how much I rationalize and can come to terms with it, though, one thing remains: I hurt. I hurt bad. Worse then I've ever hurt before. But I don't want to cry for him any more, or for us. Like I said... I've cried enough.

It does hurt, though.

-Lady Teigra-

Another egg against the wall

This Thursday I chaperoned at V's school field trip with my father. Initially we were to take two separate groups, but more parents arrived then pre-planned, so I was double-teamed with my father. In our group we had five boys and three girls, one of which was V. The boys were all rambunctious ne'er-do-wells, very 'gangsta-licious', who were harder to track down then the girls, who were good at remaining within the group. One of the boys had a girlfriend he was always sneaking off to (We're talking 6th grade here, just so you know), another (dubbed 'Big Tony' by my dad) wore a very red t-shirt that is apparently against the rules of the school. Gang colors and all. He very well knew not to wear it, according to V's inside information Tony has been in trouble many a-time for wearing it or one like it to school. He was told by his teacher not to take off his black jacket, asked me to keep an eye on that--which ended up being the single most aggravating job of the entire trip.

You can't exactly smack the kids upside the head, you know? There are rules against that sort of behavior. Sometimes I wonder why.

The school--along with what must have been two or three others--went to visit the downtown San Jose Tech museum, home of the domed I-Max. It was a very interesting, albeit very crowded, place of science and technology. Personally I was having a blast checking out all the nifty exibits, but the kids were less then enthusiastic. Aside from Big Tony and the girlfriend boy, the three others were alway taking off from our group to hang out with friends from other groups, strictly against orders, as well as just wandering off in particular. We wasted what must have been an hour out of the three we were roaming the museum proper simply searching for our little lost boys.

Then there was V, who clung to either my side or dads side, and did not take much interest in what was going on. She was more into criticizing her schoolmates and telling me (probably dad, too, but I don't know) how very annoying and useless they all were. Isabella, the only Asian-American in our group (surprising considering that's about 44% of our population), was a very quiet, very shy girl. She was sweet, though, and because of that I actually let her go and hang out with friends from other groups. Isabella always came back when I called, see. Isabella also was very interested in the science aspect of our fieldtrip. While we (the group) were making our way to another side of the third-floor exhibit, she flat-out stopped at a laboratory experiment being set up on a table by one of the Tech employees. If it had been anything besides learning I would have roped her into going along with the rest of the group, but Isabella's eyes lit up. I could see it. That little girl was very, very interested in the experiments. In fact, the only words I could get out of her were about science, biology, experimentation.

Ends up the table set-up was an experiment involving the making of insulin by straining bacteria and another substance in test tubes. The boys ended up drinking their end experiment sometime during the I-Max performance, but Isabella tucked hers carefully away.
The I-Max movie was on ancient Greece and it was narrated by the woman from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. It was an inspiring film; I especially loved the computer-generated rendition of the Parthenon with the gold and ivory sculpture of Athena. When I saw it, I cried. I couldn't help it. It was a very moving show in total, I cried several times throughout. Had to keep it mostly hidden from the kidlets, though... it seems like any human emotion around a child is forbidden these days.

Above everything that happened that day—the good and the bad—There was one event, one girl, who was in our group that out shined the entire day. In fact, she has been the premise of several philosophical, psychological debates between my father and I. Now, to be fare, by father and I do the philosophical and psychological in-depth conversations on a daily basis. But she hit our radar and hit it hard. Her name was Jenn.

My first day of school.

Today was haphazard. I did not wake up at my designated time of 7:45 (in preparation for tomorrows 6:00), instead it was somewhere near 11:30. Whoops. Fortunately the extra few hours proved good for all that back and shoulder pain I've been feeling recently. Loosing weight has been hard on me, I think. This is not the intentional weight loss, folks, just my encounter with the world of finances. I couldn't eat as much as I used to, and I walk everywhere now. Consequently with less blubber to shield my muscles and bones, they seem to have more aches and pains then before.

I finally plugged this computer into the Internet yesterday. It's been approximately 35 hours so far, and I've accomplished a good deal of what I needed. Created accounts for the websites I needed; ebay, craig's list, deviantart, paypal, my bank, etc. I researched cornsnakes, downloaded my common programs, signed up on my haunts (this included), all of which took up a good amount of time considering I use dial-up now. Yes... the days of broadband are temporarily over. It's that whole... money thing.

This blog is dedicated to my past as well as my present life. I'm hoping to create something of a common occurrence; to write a little something about my day, and then a little something about a memory or conversation or some such from my young life. I hope I'll go in order, but I'm likely to skip around depending on what's on my mind, and what the day has brought up.

I just figured I have had a pretty interesting life, and that writing it down would be good for me. And hey, it may be good for you too. Who knows?

The title of this blog; letters from the stars; is a reference to my being told to have always had my head up there, amongst the stars, fantasizing heavier then most. I've been criticized for it and, in retrospect, as a new observer of the world I can see why. This is a very realistic place, cold and hard and unforgiving in many places. I can liken the world to many things, but the first that I thought of is the weather. You have your harsh and unforgiving, the absolute pandemonium, the times of peace, excitement, and everything in between. This world truly is marvelous.

I have lived a life in two worlds, it seems. This world, this real world, and the world that my young mind and my parents shaped for me. Just as a warning; I was and continue to be a very confused individual. I do not find this a hindrance so much just yet, but it is starting to get on my nerves.

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From 2-5th grade I was in a completely different school (district) each year. Each year I had to find new friends. My birthday is on September 2, the same day as my father, which coincides directly with the first day of school.

When I was in fourth grade, I started to wonder if I would ever have friends at my birthday parties again. That was the first year I moved to Missouri, after a month of summer, missing terribly my life in California. I missed the familiar streets, my friends, but most of all I had a simple, child-like need to see my father again. I missed him so much.

The nights before I started at Foxdale elementary I cried myself to sleep. At one point my mother crossed by my open door and realized that I was in tears. She came into my room and sat down on my bed, trying to soothe me and ask what was wrong. I told her, "I miss dad."

Of course she gave me the well-rehearsed reasons why we had to move. Don't you love your new bedroom? See, you get it all to yourself. And you finally have a yard to play with. Hey--why don't we get a dog? Would you like a dog, sweetie?

I didn't want a dog, I wanted my daddy back.

And so with this terrible hurt inside, a terribly large hurt for a young thing, I started my first day of school. Friendless and always too shy for my own good, it took me a few days to start talking to Ericka. Ericka was African-American and, being that we lived in Northern Missouri, had been outcast by most of the other little groups of children. It was my first real encounter with racism.

Ericka was really cool. She had a mom that looked like a movie star--I was convinced she was Jasmine (Vivica A. Fox) from Independence Day for a while--and a father that cooked a large dinner every night. She had a younger brother and (even though I cringe at this) as I recall her room was dedicated with Hanson posters--a prime factor for our friendship.

I don't remember much of our friendship, to be honest, and I'm sad about that. I know that I enjoyed her company, but it was when mom met Jim and we moved that I fell out of touch with her.

When we moved (southwards, apprx. 40 miles), I went to the summer Foxdale program for a while. I still saw Ericka there, and there was plenty to do. The program there had a lot more to offer academically and sports-wise (I was very into sports at this point, especially basketball and soccer) then any offered in Belton, my new town. Mom took me there before and after work even though it was 10-15 miles out of her way. Then, one day, I forgot my swimsuit.

This isn't such a big deal, right? Wrong.

Mom flips, turns the car around on the highway, and screams at me about my forgetfulness and the "waste of time" for the next ten minutes. Terrified, I simply cling to my seat and stay quiet. I never went back to the summer program and I never saw my friend again. I had other friends at that point, though their faces and names blur, but as young as we were... we did not keep in touch.

I was on my own for another year.

Luckily Belton only had separate elementary schools, so I kept a lot of my friends from there. In fact, those were my longest friendships. To this day I'm still friends with Matthew (some 8.5 years and counting).

The first day of school was always anticipatory for me, even now. If I go to a class I stress a little and fuss a little more then I feel is average simply because I want to make an impression, because I don't want to be the lonely girl in the corner. I remember that it was hard to make new friends and have to say good-bye after every single year, four years in a row. It was during the divorce and custody proceedings of my mother and father. It was one of the most hectic periods of my life. I suppose the first day of school simply reminds me how vulnerable I am to impressions and quick judgment, to being singled out as "odd".

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Vous offrir au revoir et bonne nuit,

-Lady Teigra-