The sweet of faded mirrors

I work at a nursing home, and there I am blessed to see what true, unselfish, charitable love looks like. Today I worked with a lady whose husband was so full of unselfish, undimmed love I felt like there was no possible way it could be unrequited, no matter how buried his beautiful bride seemed to be in the progression  of her tragic disease. This is what I imagine she might be thinking even if she can't recognize him.

There is something right in his his eyes--

the way the horn-rims nestle on the bridge of his nose
framing faded gray mirrors and bridge
the sea of reflection into 1001 stories and nights

but Scheherazade forgot, and now I'm tired.

I wake to a grumble like rainy gravel
that smells of Downy, denture cream, and sunrise.
"Are you tired sweetheart? I thought
I heard you whisper" his Polligrip in my ear...

Bing Crosby confuses me, I turn at the wall.

The paisley walls stare back loudly and it hurt my wrists
Crosby (or was it Scheherazade?) pats them into quiet.
My wrists and my eyes want to be still, but
the rivets in his leather extract something from somewhere.

Now my wrists want to pull away. I don't like doctors.

He stands. I want him to sit but my eyes still want still

I want to swim in his horn-rims, to taste his grumble again.
I want his leather on my wrist. There is something,

Something somewhere in the somewhere of nights...

Somewhere sweet in my heart about a creamy sunrise...

Something right in faded gray mirrors.

At an Arm's Distance

I am a simple girl with a simple personal philosophy: I LOVE being happy and avoid anything that interferes with attaining said state. Besides happy, I'm not very good with other emotions because they tend to complicate things. Using logic and carefully calculated goals and sequences I have planned and structured each aspect of my life meticulously to be something that I love that makes me happy--and I am happy.

Tonight however in addition to being happy I am overwhelmed. I am excited and glad and tired and worried and frustrated and anxious and pleased and grumpy, and in every way outmatched by this complicated disaster of tangled emotions all trying to express themselves, each demanding I use my underdeveloped ability to express it at the same time as each of the others. What a mess. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not, I can't decide if its something I like or not, and the jury's definitely out on whether or not it's something I can deal with.

I have created a lifestyle around being able to control and predict everything and race from responsibility to responsibility barely taking time out for eating let alone complicated thought. This new state of disquietude and uncertainty is both exciting and threatening, and I can't figure out quite how to take my hands off the steering wheel and lose control of the wild tempo I have set my life to long enough to try something new, and even if I could figure out how to do, so the wisdom of such an act is questionable.

I have a bad habit of holding the things I want but can't control just far enough away that I can admire them without letting them get close enough to hurt me should they be taken away, keeping myself safe at an arm's length distance. I am better at being lonely than at being vulnerable.

But I think I like this boy. It is true that I am nervous and unsure and trying to figure this all out as I go. It is true that maybe I am in over my head and that I feel vulnerable and anxious and not at all in control of the situation. It is possible that this will hurt at sometime, but it is also possible that I really do like him and I would hate for it to fail just because I'm no good with emotions. Maybe I will have to learn to bend my elbow just a little bit.