I wish I could take away your pain.  How selfish of me to cry these tears and grab my face in desperation as if the chemo was destroying my own body.  To have my stomach cramp as if it was I who threw up all morning.  To gasp for air as if I myself could barely stand on my two feet.

You are so young and so beautiful.  How I wish I could save you...I'm so sorry.

Story Telling

I love telling stories.  It's like a cheaper, easier version of being on stage.  The problem is that I'm terrible at telling stories.  I've been told by many people throughout my life that listening to my stories is similar to Chinese torture methods.  I personally think these people are just a little dramatic. 

Whenever I start telling a story, it's usually preluded with some poor soul introducing me "Elina, tell them what happened!  Oh my god, it's so funny."  Great. Now I have to embarrass them in the most enjoyable way.  I'm torn.  I know this will be terrible, but I love telling fucking stories!  I like chocolate, being under an umbrella at the beach, getting to 0 unread emails at work, and telling stories.  All equally. 

Fuck it, right?  Here we go.  The words start coming out of my mouth and I'm already starting to say "Wait, but so what happened before that was...well okay let me start from the day before so you know what's going on..." and the eyes begin to roll.  What they don't understand is that I'm doing this for them.  I want them to be there.  To see what was seen, feel what was felt, and if I can incorporate it, smell what was...smelt?

You'd think the body language - looking toward doors and windows, quick exhales as a fake laugh, checking time on cellphones - would make me stop, but it doesn't.  It just cries out for me to try harder.  Captivate them!  What's wrong with you, you paraplegic jester! 

So I ask a question.  That's right, I fucking quiz them.  If I can't think of a good question, I go with the default "Right?  I mean what would you have thought?"  Gets them every time.  I didn't ask for this, they did.

They usually reply with a generic "Oh yeah, that's crazy" and I take it personally.  Why wouldn't I?  I'm an Aries for crying out loud.  So I start to get more aggressive with the story.  This is when I start to act out part of the story.  I might even change my voice for each character in the story.  This is probably my favorite moment in story telling. 

By now I've been rambling for about 4 minutes and the idiot that asked me to tell the story is staring at me, hands out, palms up, wondering what the hell has possessed me.  It's sort of a half concerned, half in pain sort of look.  It's cute. 

At minute 6, I throw in the towel, raise the white flag, don't shoot! I surrender and you're welcome, suckers.  You just spent the last 6 minutes of your existence learning nothing of what happened.  You just spent the last two minutes trying to gauge now much longer it would take for me to stop flapping my arms up and down and crossing my eyes for effect.  You now hate me just a little bit and I have just had the ride of my fucking life.  God, I love telling stories...

you
you are so powerful
you have powers that you do not know
and although you do not know, you use them
constantly
with every breath you take you control me
with every breath you take, i hold one in
waiting for your words to engulf my mind
waiting patiently for us to connect
when you exhale i then begin to hope for the next few moments
hopeful that you will finally bless me with your sound
inhale
exhale
still i wait

at dawn, the trees tried hard to not blow in the wind, to not be forced to be moved just for a moment.  to claim ownership of their sentiments but alas, the wind shuffled their leaves ever so gently and they just couldn't resist.

Open Letter to My Single Life

Single Life,

My god, it seems like forever!  I'm pretty sure last time we were spending quality time together I was wearing wide-leg jeans, a starter jacket and my Fila's.  My, has time flown.  Look at you now!  You look fantastic!  You know, even though we haven't seen each other in a while, people still tell me about you.  I thought about calling on you about a year ago, but I accidentlly joined Match.com, and well, we know how that goes. 

I kept hearing how wonderful you were.  I guess a part of me always missed you, but I was just far too distracted with the wild ones.  My sincerest apologies.  I remember when I was getting ready to meet up with you this time around, I kept hoping that we could pick up where we left off, but so much has changed, that clearly wasn't the case.  I want to say thank you for sticking through this whole process.  I know there were times when I seemed distant and even close to forgetting the whole idea of us reconnecting, but that was all my own insecurities.  I didn't feel I had a place in your life anymore.  If it weren't for you showing me how great it could really be, I'd probably be busy changing my status on Facebook yet again and getting a downpour of shit for it. 

Well, I don't want to start ranting, I just wanted you to know how much I miss and appreciate you.  So cheers to great memories to come!

Elina

P.S.  This weekend was insane.  Thank you!

A Relationship from Cover to Cover - Prelude

I knew I was late.  At that point I had already pushed the meet-up time by an hour.  Still, I found myself racing to the parking deck with my heart beating fast and my shoes lost somewhere in the ocean of crap in the backseat of my car.  Just when I thought the night would be horrible before it even started, I saw the reverse lights of a Chevy parked as close as I could get to the restaurant.  Finally, a stroke of luck.  I fished out my shoes, adjusted all adjustables, and walked toward our dinner spot for the evening. 

E: Hey, are you inside the restaurant?

B: I am...outside. Waiting for a table.

Great.  That says one thing - she'll be standing outside, watching me walk up to the place while I was left out in the open to desperately scan the crowd and attempt to find a face familiar to the one I had been staring at over online conversations for the last two weeks.  Mission one.  Here we go...

I spotted many people.  A young couple with a terrier puppy sitting on a bench near the front door.  An older man assisting his wife into the car.  A pair of couples with about 4 or 5 kids running around them.  Where is she? As I got closer, I finally saw the one girl standing alone, entertaining herself by trying to keep her balance while teetering on the curb.  That had to be her.  She was the only solo female outside.  With not much to lose, I walked right up to her and threw my arms up for our first hug.

The night continued with great conversation, good food, a wonderful atmosphere, and a sprinkle of awkward moments to dwell on for the remainder of the night...

Love

Once upon a time, I was a young, beautiful girl, in love with an older, seemingly charming man.  The night I met him, I felt a fire inside.  It wasn't love at first sight.  It was excitement, lust, intrigue, and curiosity.  At that moment, I didn't know what was to come.  I had no idea I was embarking on one of the most life-changing relationships of my life, thus far.  Being in love with this man was a hard lesson to learn.  I was putty to him.  He shaped me in ways I never thought I'd bend.  He would mold me into an innocent angel and then find ways to remold me into a monster.  With every press of his fingers, I gave in.  I never fought his creativity with who I would be from one day to the next.  Not until the end.  I just allowed  him to pleasure his own need for guiltless love and I played the role to perfection.  So much so, that I could anticipate his next desire and stay a step ahead.  Eventually, I was pretty much damaging myself, without him having to even start to reshape me.  I did it for him.  After years of losing myself and willingly allowing this abuse to occur, I was faced with an important decision.  I had to stand alone, and decide whether I wanted to live, or to die and live in him.  Although this may seem like a simple and easy decision to make, the stakes were high on both sides.  I could bleed out and breathe his air for the remainder of my existence or face a faceless girl.  If I chose life, I'd have to find it as well.  "My life" no longer existed.  I had to accept a quest to find myself again.  After many tears and sleepless nights, I decided to pack my bags and search for the girl at the bar five years before that day. 

In a blind search for something, I accepted everything.  I had such a large void in my nothingness, that I was desperate to fill with meaning.  My first goal was to recuperate the family I had lost.  For taking me back, as broken as I was, I owe them my everything.  I lost many friends and was unable to repair many relationships with them, but I held onto the love we once shared.  Our memories will forever remain imprinted in who I was to become. 

Still, I never found romantic love.  I tried.  Love found me a few times, but I walked away from it.  I realize now, that even with the fruitful relationships I have been able to build, I still cannot love another.  I cannot seem to figure out how to unlock my heart and open it to another.  Fear of becoming lost again has overwhelmed me and has kept me from opening my eyes to the possibility of true love.  So I sit here today, a broken women on the path to solidity.  I sit here today, a woman who is still as lost as ever.  But I sit here today, in the hopes of finding what people strive for every day.  I want to love again.  I'm ready.