A Bedroom Education

We're graded on everything we do. And judgement is society's grading system. Our education, work, clothes, friends, family, and sex are all judged. When we have a special someone over and things end in the bedroom are we being graded? B-, A+, Fail, or worse - an incomplete? When we let down our most intimate barriers, are we being judged? And on the other side - are we the judges of them? Do we rank or sort our previous sexual relationships? I find myself imagining the better times, but have I ever demoted a partner because of their skills in bed? And how do we know if we're not the issue? I don't think I've ever ended something because their lack of, but I've probably compared. Actually, I know I've compared. I suppose we all rank because it's our nature to sought after a reliable and sexually promising mate. It's in our blood. But when did grading sex wind it's way into our blood. It still remains; What would be our own grade? Where do we sit on the scale? And how do we know if we're good in bed?

Growing Pains

Pain must co-exist with happiness. These emotions are tied to relationships, and some even say it isn't worth it without the pain. Maybe we think of this as a type of growing pain; necessary for development. But what happens when the line between 'growing pain' and real pain blurs? Will we know when enough is enough? Pain feels good, it draws excitement. The not-knowing of feelings and the craziness we exude when we're left in the dark is alluring. Although, eventually it becomes overwhelming and we end up consumed - either with rage or loneliness. In reality, we are all in S&M relationships, at least to a certain extent. And this line that blurs is what separates the rage from the excitement, it prevents the two from becoming intermingled. Crossing the line doesn't just lead to consummation, but it writes a path to self-harm. The late nights wondering what they're doing. Pulling your hair out at the lies. Worrying if you'll ever really be a part of their life. Now this doesn't just occur when a significant other defies your wishes once, this happens over years of distrust, years of pain. But when does this once grow-worthy pain become something truly painful? Is it the difference of six months to seven? Or was the pain never going to be out grown?

Lively Bombs

Exes are ticking time bombs. They scatter around the city and without warning you've stepped on an explosion. One second your world is inching by, until suddenly he appears. Time stops. Sound shatters. Sense fades. All your left with are memories. His warm touch and gentle eyes. His light lips and soft laugh; it swarms around you. Your lungs fill with smoke - smoke of a burned past. The funny thing is, you can never prepare for these attacks. These mines are sprinkled all over and the second you forget about their faces, the bomb diffuses. It's terrifying, but exhilarating. Maybe thats why we always wander back to our exes - the longing and terror mix - for a mystery we will never solve. Because we will never know where and when these collisions happen. We mostly hope to avoid them, but somewhere inside ourselves, in a place we won't admit, we hope to see them. Because an unexpected encounter that draws upon discord is a ticking time bomb. And although ticking time bombs are deadly, they revive memories. In a way, bombs are lively.

Annabelle

The wind wisps around my long, golden hair as I take a step out onto the frozen lake. It’s been awhile since I last visited this place, the place where my best friend, my sister passed away. Four years, two months, and six days since the call that changed everything.

 I take a step further onto the thick ice sheet, if only it was this thick four years ago. 

Her name was Annabelle. I always called her Annie, even though she resented the nickname, and in return I was titled Prune. When we were younger she couldn't pronounce June and I became Prune. 

As I stop myself from venturing out any farther, I take in the beautiful night sky. The moon is almost full, hanging amidst the stars and the bridge curving over the lake glows from it’s bright lights. I bend down and place my younger sister’s favorite flowers down on the freezing ice. Lilies always made her smile. I remember, as kids when we would go canoeing on our own, we would reach for the water lilies, almost tipping over the boat. After, we'd bring them home to our parents. Back then everything seemed so innocent and we never gave any second thought. Now, everything has changed, everything is different, and everything feels so lonely.

Fluctuating Wings

Love exists. I've felt it, we all have. Even if it's a little love for ourselves. The thing with love is that eventually it fluctuates; it grows and fades and possibly the cycle begins again - if you're lucky. It reminds me of a butterfly soaring through the wind, their wings flutter from side to side as they swoop up and down, but a flight can't last forever. I think the fight that butterflies put up with during their journey is real love. The love that pushes through into a new beginning. I think what prevents us from experiencing this flight is denial. We deny our love. We deny our need for affection. We deny that we can finally settle down because of doubts. We doubt, I doubt, that the person I'm with is it. Because who knows? Regardless of all the confusion, love can exist, as long as we stop denying or at least accept our denial. Doubts are natural, they show us how good things are. Even if it's from a quick look in the mirror that sets off a small flutter in our stomachs - even if we try to love ourselves, we will doubt it. Because everything fluctuates.

A Soul of Coal

Death happens. People are lost. Souls vanish. One second we take a breath, the next, we don't. Our memories slip from our minds, as the air slips from our lips. The hope that death conceives in our minds is a beautiful aspect of the dark mystery. The possibilities of afterworlds is such a wondrous faith. And what amazes me is how committed people are to this hope. There is no proof or evidence, yet millions of people believe that there is something bigger than this. Something magical. Yet as that final breath draws from our lungs we are pushed back from a world of optimism to one of distrust. Do we really think there is a better place? Or is this faith just a solid concept we grab onto when we don't know? When we're afraid we won't be remembered? Eventually our eyes will cloud and glaze over as we become cold and distant in the thoughts of others. But as for now, as for the living, the hope we carry is one of the most beautiful things about death. Or perhaps, its the ignorance of evidence that is beautiful. Regardless, life is given to us as a piece of coal that we forge into a diamond. Some people envision the diamond as death, an exquisite paradise. Others strive to fashion a bright future, but in the end all we have is coal.

Sing and Dance

Storms command attention. We'll never know the message they're trying to convey, we don't speak in flashes and booms. None the less, a message lingers. People are afraid of storms for some reason. They run and take cover, envelope themselves in the comfortable nest we've created. To be honest, I think to a certain extent we should be terrified, the power that swarms the skies isn't weak. In a second we have floods, without warning. Despite nature's shrill storm, the grace it brings is wondrous; the rebirth, new beginnings, and simply the rain. People may hide, but this is an offer to bask in the realness of the world. Take in the hardships and reward yourself with this cleanse. Sing - challenge the thunder's voice. Dance - twirl with the lightening's ballet. Immerse youself in the beauty, because there's nothing more captivating than two worlds becoming one.