‎"Is this all we get, to be absolute? Quiet but I'm sure, there is something here. Tell me everything, 'cause I want to hear."

I sometimes enjoy letting my unwanted thoughts scurry around hitting the china cabinet and letting the dishes crash to the floor, breaking into a bountiful display of mixed emotions. This recklessness with my thoughts brings me the joy of poisoned honey. The reassurance that I am not shallow, that there is something here. It is blissful to watch the china fall, retarded by the scale of time within my mind. I watch capturing every moment of the trajectory because after I have observed the myriad emotions, memories, and thoughts diffracted by the trigger of the event, I like to carefully sweep up the pieces, grab my glue and set to work.

My memories are precious to me. However, I am not a perfect craftsman. The dishes break. Even at my best I cannot recreate the dishes perfectly. Occasionally, the dishes become more impressive in their beauty that I dramatize to enhance the next "letting loose the bulls". I like beautiful things. I do not always improve the beautiful aspects of my dishes. It is best to leave some as ugly as they ever were-- or to remove some of the beauty left in them.

What is the point?

I thought of death today. How much easier is it to endure a death than a heartbreak?

I am not sure I know the answer, simply because I have not experienced death tremendously close to myself. Most people I have known who have died I am mostly left with a collection of beautiful memories. These dishes improve over time.

A heartbreak?  They are best sometimes left on the floor, swept up, and thrown out. This leaves one problem.-- I am a pack-rat. Even with my memories. I want to cherish the beautiful things those I dated did for me. I don't want to let go of how it felt to be loved by someone I shared so much of my life with. I do not want to remember them badly. Even so, it is important to keep the bad memories. It is important to remember when you first realized you were never truly loved.

In some cases, the bad memories gain strength only to subside after the happy ones are gone.

My heart has been broken many times over.

• My birth parents-- whom betrayed me for their selfish desires,
• Myself-- for breaking a heart, which I cut swiftly and as cleanly as possible
• My Beloved--whom in his doubt and indecisiveness nearly snuffed out my desires for anything and accidentally stole my heart 
• My adoptive parents--whom never quite got the hang of loving me for who I was
• My friends-- those whom in life have slowly walked away for newer things
• and Again Myself-- for allowing myself to be so seized with the fear.... that I forgot how to dance

I am sure there are many more.

Yet, among the heartbreaks I am the one who keeps coming back to watch the ceramic delicately fly. I am the one who treasures the sound of crashing emotions, thoughts, and memories. I am the one who painstakingly reassembles each piece to restore it to how I want it. I try to remember the best about each one and the worst.

When it comes to people I try to remember that they are flawed, and that I am too. I grab for both who they were and who I wanted them to be. Sometimes I create false memories just to relish. They don't shine quite as well though and don't reassemble quite right.

Perhaps next time, I shall saturate the colors, re-master the sound, and alter the fragrances til they are just to my liking.





I really hope I am not out of my mind.