At Times

 

At times I make it difficult for you to talk to me.

It’s not because I don’t want to hear your voice,

But because I’d never cared what others had to say.

At times I make it hard for you to relate to me.

It’s not because I don’t want to let you in,

But because I’d never cared to let anyone else in.

At times I may let my emotions get the best of me.

It’s not because of anything that you do,

But because I’d never felt anything more than sadness.

At times I may test your patience and frustrate you.

It is not because I mean to aggravate or annoy you,

But because no one has cared enough to be patient.

At times it may seem that this is not what I want.

It’s not because I do not want to be with you,

But because I’ve never wanted anything this much.

At times I forget to show you how much I care.

It isn’t because you do not deserve it,

But because I have never cared this much before.

At times I may forget to thank you for all you do.

It’s not because I do not appreciate you,

But because no one has ever cared to do this much.

At times I may forget to take the time to say I love you.

It isn’t because you do not deserve to hear it,

But because I am not used to being this loved.

At times I may not apologize for the man I am.

It is not because you do not deserve an apology,

But because I am busy admiring the woman you are.

A Love Story: Part II

To really appreciate the beauty of the story, you must really know and appreciate the two of them.

She was by far the greatest masterpiece God himself had ever created. The essence of the word “beautiful” had been captured in everything that was her. Her features were soft and yet precise. Each line and curve of her face seemed to have been drawn with the steady hand of an expert. Her eyes were captivating and piercing, and you could see flecks of mischief in a certain light. Her smile was welcoming and sincere, but the corners of her lips, you could see is where she hid her secrets. She had the body and form of a renowned ballerina; it was long, slender, and defined. And she moved equally as graceful to one. Each step she took and every movement was melodic. She moved as to a harmony or beat that only she could hear. She was delicate like a snowflake and just as unique. Her confidence and demeanor were intimidating to those of a lesser character; but she had this spirit to her that made her as vibrant and as affable as a young child. Her voice was soothing and unlike anything you had ever heard. To hear her speak was to know what it may be like to have a conversation with an angel. She had a personality that was easy to trust but would constantly keep you on your toes. The only thing sharper than her personality was her wit. Her determination and defiance was like that of a rose that had blossomed in the winter. She was living poetry and was the next great sonnet but no one had read her yet, and she was the lost painting by Di Vinci that had never been seen. Yet, for those who knew her, she was simply herself. She was a warm, sincere, genuine and affectionate person. The kind that one always knew would have an ear for listening. She would always have just the right words or none at all depending on the circumstance. She had also been blessed with the extraordinary virtue of patience. The people in her life regarded her for the fact she hadn’t fallen for the labels or ideals of society and the ramblings of television and media. Somehow this masterpiece had remained as pure as a ray of sunlight. She had remained untouched and unblemished by the cruel hands of reality. She was steadfast and relentless when it came to her beliefs and convictions. But she was not naive or simple in the sense of her smarts either. Her beauty and elegance were only rivaled by her intelligence. Her intellect was driven by her passion and constant thirst for the arts and sciences, a thirst that could not be quenched. She soaked up knowledge like a dry desert would soak up rain. She was fascinated by everything and was bored by nothing. She was a simple complexity. She found joy in when it rained and sadness in crowds. She was alive but needed to have life breathed into her. She was beautiful but was unaware of it. And she was whole but always felt empty.

A Love Story: Part I

 

I’ve always been a fan, or a sucker depending on how you want to look at it, for a great love story. Not just any kind of sappy love story with a predictable ending, but one of those “touch a part of your heart you never knew was there” stories. I guess that’s why this particular story, I had to tell myself. It’s the only way I could and would be sure that this story would be told the right way. It’s not a story of ill-fated lovers that ends in tragedy. It doesn’t involve empires going to war over a buxom beauty. There’s no evil or vengeful plot where someone plummets to their death in the final scene. It is a simple story of a guy who was broken and had forgotten he had a heart until a gal came along and touched it, and it’s about a gal who didn’t have a clue as to how fiercely amazing and spectacular she was until a guy came along and showed her. I am not as talented as these two, so I can forewarn you now that this won’t be an attempt at an epic novel. This won’t win any acclaimed writing essays or prizes. At the same time it won’t become an article in a forgotten magazine lying around in a waiting room. But, what this will be, it will be the beginning of the greatest love story that no one has ever told.

As uncommon as this story is, it still needs a beginning and this is it. It starts off with the lives of two very above average people. What made them so above ordinarily average was just the fact they were unaware of how truly one of a kind and uncommon they were. What allows someone to have that true essence of innocent beauty or that desirable brilliance is when they are unmindful of it. That’s exactly what these two had. An innocent, blissful ignorance to how unique they truly were. Perhaps that’s why it always seemed as if nothing fit when it came to their lives, even more so when it came to that part of their lives which entailed love. They always had that feeling as if they were the left over piece of a puzzle in a box and no matter how hard they tried, or how hard others tried, they just couldn’t fit. They always had that bothersome feeling that something was unfinished or possibly that something hadn’t even had yet begun. Like that feeling an artist must have while he’s painting a piece. That feeling of not caring what others may think of it but also hoping they can see his soul through each stroke. Always trying to add one more line or wiping down a piece of the canvass as to get that one shade absolutely perfect. It would become a piece that the artist is putting his every creative ounce into because it is all he knows how to do. But unknowingly to him will someday become his greatest work, his trademark, his “Mona Lisa”. This is what these two lovers felt every waking minute of the day. It was a feeling of being complete and yet unfinished. A feeling of being deserving, but never being offered that chance. These feelings would be the force that attracted them to each other. Who they are as people is what would keep them together. And what they learn from each other and bring into each other’s lives is what makes this a truly phenomenal love story.

Captivated

He quietly lies beside her, captivated by her beauty.

Gently he brushes away the hair from across her face.

He traces the lines of her cheek with the back of his hand.

Her skin feels as soft as rose peddles made from silk.

Gazing upon her body he dedicates each curve to memory

Beads of sweat on her skin glimmer under the moonlight.

He wishes to be a dream so he can be inside her as she sleeps.

He feels his pulse quicken as he caresses her forearm.

The grin of a school boy after his first kiss overcomes his face.

He leans in and puts his face in the curve of her neck.

Closing his eyes he inhales her sweet and decadent fragrance.

She smells of rain, Spring, lust, sweat, sweetness and sex.

He places his hand on her face and turns it towards him.

He places his lips close to hers and kisses her gently.

He thinks back to hours ago and the intensity of what occurred.

He had never felt this level of arousal in his life before her.

A constant hunger for her has overcome his every thought.

He lays awaiting the sun so she can awake and be with him.

She would be the only means to manage his insatiable wants.

Captivated by her beauty, he lies quietly beside her.

Knowing that he has never felt this yearning for another,

And at the same time, realizing he doesn’t even know her name.

Accomplished

 

As the lines of experience are etched into our faces by time,

We come to the realization we are but human and will expire.

Life has a way of showing us a glimpse of our potential,

But quickly gives us excuses as to why we cannot achieve it.

Excuses that is as creative as the minds that conceive them.

We blame all facets of our lives without taking responsibility.

Seeking reasons behind curtains that we have hung ourselves.

We seek the answers to “what if” instead of the “why not”.

We are blinded by doubts, by failure, and by simple fears.

Instead we should be motivated and empowered by them.

If we could only see that we are the reason that we fail.

If we can only accept that the obstacles are placed by us.

Yet we cannot and instead lead lives without meaning.

We cling to unobtainable dreams in a sea of desperation.

We live vicariously through the lives of those who achieve.

And when the finals lines of time and experience are etched,

We will look back and ask “What did we accomplish?”