Today- a fantasy
Today :
Thoughts on why I can grow no real facial hair like a beard or a really cool stache’.
Yet, my nose hair still grows, or at least started to grow, I don’t honestly remember having any nose hair as a teenage boy. Now I have a special trimmer for my offending nostril garlands. I wonder if my ear hair is doing the same thing? I don’t think I could stand turning into one of “those” kinds of people. Crabbed over old men with bushy wild eyebrows and a veritable dark forest poking out both their ears and nostrils.
Maybe god is just a mighty jester poking a little fun at me. Hoping probably that I can laugh at myself too, because it’s all going to be downhill from here.
Despite the humor, I feel melancholy tonight. Normally I would avoid that word :melancholy as being too dramatic, but tonight I know it as just a mood, not a stronger emotion or state of mind.
Just thinking how her husband could abuse her and leave her, or better that she live him with their new child in tow. She has nowhere else to turn so I take them in and provide a home for them. She seeks some sort of emotional/physical entanglement, possibly trying to help her heart move past the terrible damage it’s just been through. I resist, feeling a love too great in me to chance throwing it away. We are close though, and living under the same roof interacting with the newborn together, sharing our stories and feeling each others hurt, and happiness. Soon she would begin to feel the love that had withered and been forgotten, or just set aside, that love would creep out like thirsty vines finding attachments all throughout her feelings, and maybe memories of us whenever, the passion that was there, the heat, that frantic pace we kept with each other, between fighting , loving , sleeping those long afternoons away, and all the frantic activity of teenagers. We would start doing things closer to each other. Not hugging the walls so tightly if the other passed, perhaps letting a wisp of our sleeves brush. A little less space between ourselves and the arms of the couch. Our fingertips brushing each others more and more when we hand the other something. Finally one cozy night, maybe watching a movie, or playing some game on the floor with her child I would lean back against the couch, maybe leaning lightly on her leg behind me before pretending to notice and shifting to the side. We would sit there in silence, or casually chat about work, and in the companionable stillness she would absently stroke her fingers against my hair. I would freeze and try not to flinch or move at the same time. Each gentle touch of her fingertips sending chills racing across my scalp. Sitting still for a while wishing it would never end, but wanting to somehow react to this I would turn toward her, to find her studying me with her eyes. I have no facial expression, trying not to ask anything with my eyes, but I’m aware that my eyes are glowing for her, deeps wells of emotion she could always read, and now maybe some of the familiarity had come back to her. A shy, uncertain smile flickers on her face first, and I try to keep my hear from breaking out of my chest and thundering into room. Her hand pauses on my head, she’s so delicate, and I can’t stop my heart, can’t stop my mouth from answering with a boyish grin of my own. Her smile grows stronger for a minute, then she turns back to the television show, or her child playing on the carpet, and for an instant the light in my heart stops. Then her hand is moving again stroking gently barely whispering across my hair. I almost jump for the joy that is beating in my heart, but instead I try lean back a little more relaxed, leaning a little harder against the side of her leg. Barely enough to dent the fabric, but I can feel the heat of her leg through my shirt, and I know the warmth of my own body would be felt on hers.
Thoughts on why I can grow no real facial hair like a beard or a really cool stache’.
Yet, my nose hair still grows, or at least started to grow, I don’t honestly remember having any nose hair as a teenage boy. Now I have a special trimmer for my offending nostril garlands. I wonder if my ear hair is doing the same thing? I don’t think I could stand turning into one of “those” kinds of people. Crabbed over old men with bushy wild eyebrows and a veritable dark forest poking out both their ears and nostrils.
Maybe god is just a mighty jester poking a little fun at me. Hoping probably that I can laugh at myself too, because it’s all going to be downhill from here.
Despite the humor, I feel melancholy tonight. Normally I would avoid that word :melancholy as being too dramatic, but tonight I know it as just a mood, not a stronger emotion or state of mind.
Just thinking how her husband could abuse her and leave her, or better that she live him with their new child in tow. She has nowhere else to turn so I take them in and provide a home for them. She seeks some sort of emotional/physical entanglement, possibly trying to help her heart move past the terrible damage it’s just been through. I resist, feeling a love too great in me to chance throwing it away. We are close though, and living under the same roof interacting with the newborn together, sharing our stories and feeling each others hurt, and happiness. Soon she would begin to feel the love that had withered and been forgotten, or just set aside, that love would creep out like thirsty vines finding attachments all throughout her feelings, and maybe memories of us whenever, the passion that was there, the heat, that frantic pace we kept with each other, between fighting , loving , sleeping those long afternoons away, and all the frantic activity of teenagers. We would start doing things closer to each other. Not hugging the walls so tightly if the other passed, perhaps letting a wisp of our sleeves brush. A little less space between ourselves and the arms of the couch. Our fingertips brushing each others more and more when we hand the other something. Finally one cozy night, maybe watching a movie, or playing some game on the floor with her child I would lean back against the couch, maybe leaning lightly on her leg behind me before pretending to notice and shifting to the side. We would sit there in silence, or casually chat about work, and in the companionable stillness she would absently stroke her fingers against my hair. I would freeze and try not to flinch or move at the same time. Each gentle touch of her fingertips sending chills racing across my scalp. Sitting still for a while wishing it would never end, but wanting to somehow react to this I would turn toward her, to find her studying me with her eyes. I have no facial expression, trying not to ask anything with my eyes, but I’m aware that my eyes are glowing for her, deeps wells of emotion she could always read, and now maybe some of the familiarity had come back to her. A shy, uncertain smile flickers on her face first, and I try to keep my hear from breaking out of my chest and thundering into room. Her hand pauses on my head, she’s so delicate, and I can’t stop my heart, can’t stop my mouth from answering with a boyish grin of my own. Her smile grows stronger for a minute, then she turns back to the television show, or her child playing on the carpet, and for an instant the light in my heart stops. Then her hand is moving again stroking gently barely whispering across my hair. I almost jump for the joy that is beating in my heart, but instead I try lean back a little more relaxed, leaning a little harder against the side of her leg. Barely enough to dent the fabric, but I can feel the heat of her leg through my shirt, and I know the warmth of my own body would be felt on hers.
posted by Goodkingalan at 1:15 AM
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