It is funny that I think of you tonight. Well. Not funny in the belly laugh sort of way. Funny in what I am about to expose. How I feel. I'm not quite sure why I hang my hat on everything that is you. Be it thought. Be it dream. Be it crush. It will never be so. I will never hold your hand. I will never taste your salty tears. I will never touch your tender lips. You may as well be a ghost. A ghost in my head. Floating. You hold yourself ten feet tall. A height that I cannot reach. You are miles away. I get that. Miles can be broken. I need you. I need your questions. So direct. What do you think of that? It's bold, isn't it. Fuck yeah, it is! What do you think of that? You won't respond, you won't replay the memories that
I have made we have shared. It is funny. Like that. Not in a belly laugh sort of way. And we don't have much. Time.
I go on. You go on. I dream of hedgehogs. You dream of him. The him is not me. My hedgehog is not you. Or is it?
I go to this place. In this place. In the end, it always is you. You are in my place.
Because I want you there. I don't know if you want to be there. You laugh, it's funny. The way I slowly draw the knife. The way they would teach you in culinary school. I didn't go there. Or did I. It's not a belly laugh funny moment. Deeper. River of blood. Thick. Crimson. Pain. Lust.
I sit here in a pool of tears. I never told you how I felt. I could not tell you. I just swallowed it up. That you would never love me. I laugh. Not the belly laugh. The I'll be OK laugh. And I am. I think. I'm not. Because I'll never touch your tender lips and never taste your salty tears. Tonight, I think of you, ten feet away from my heaven.
I stand in front of the window watching the shadow of a hawk in the grass, circling. Around and around it goes, waiting on some unsuspecting prey to swoop down and sink it's sharp talons into the steaming hot flesh of another creature. It's eat or be eaten. This has been one heck of an intense week. Designing for documented requirements is easy, to listen to the business and interpret their future needs and undocumented requirements and design for it, yeah, not so much. But it's done, for the most part. And everyone walked away happy. And I got an extra hour in some super warm southern California sunshine. I properly executed this extra time on the patio of a local sports bar. What happened though, is that I was once again working on other things. I have an addiction to crowd funding, start ups and conceptual ideas lately. So I took some personal time to satisfy those needs and I realized something. I miss my kids terribly, six more days before I can hug them with all that I am. And then it dawned on me, tomorrow is my six year anniversary of traveling and consulting. That's a long freaking time. The thing is, I still love it. Does it take me away from my kids more that I want sometimes, yes. Does it provide for them, yes. Does it excite me, yes. Would I change it, no. So happy 6th to me from me. And I offer you what has kept me [relatively] sane through six years of traveling. 1. Leave a penny somewhere hidden in EVERY hotel room you stay in. 2. Buy a shot glass from every airport you end up in (Not sure what you do with them after that, I have hundreds) 3-10. Put your heart in it, do it for you and enjoy every freaking stinking minute of it - or you will never be happy [with whatever you do].
You. You're dressed in blue jeans and a white blouse. Unbuttoned just enough, but not too much. It's warm out, maybe middle of June. The lightning bugs summon us. We leave tire on the road as we speed away in a black convertible, heading for somewhere, I don't know where. A bottle of wine down by the river. The bank lined with weeping willows, gently softening the harsh lines of the rocky shore. You grab my hand, sweaty palms. Moonlight starts to fill the sky as the water runs over tiny pebbles. It sounds like a song we've heard, so we hum along. Ripples in the water. Stars. Crickets. Gentle breeze. Sip of wine. I start to speak, but nothing comes out. You tell me to be quiet. I already am. A cloud briefly covers the light of the moon and I lose you in the shadows. I can no longer see your lips. Where are we, why are we here? The cloud disappears and the outline of your sweet face slowly comes back to my eyes. Something is different. I excuse myself to get a drink in the river. As I do, I look down on the surface. An unfamiliar reflection stares back at me. One I have never seen. One that seems confused, yet knows exactly why this perfect is not right. What makes so much sense just cannot be. As beautiful as it all could become, it will only lead to confusion. I can smell the jasmine in the night air. Darkness in all directions, lost. What way do I go? I start walking. I can see Orion, so I think I am still alive. I can taste the blood on my lips that are dry and cracked. I can taste the salt in the tears rushing down my cheek. I choke on the nectar of honeysuckle. I blink ten times. I wake in a cold sweat. Is this real? What is real? I jump. I hope to land on two feet. It is a long way down.