Not What I'm Looking For

I wait with the window open. I am Wendy, looking out to the second star to the right, waiting for the inevitable moment when Peter swoops in again.

The trouble with Neverland is that time is not an entity. I could have grown old there without growing old, returning to this skyline to find the window shut and locked, the Darlings long dead, tenets boarding up in our converted family home. I wouldn't be remembered, all who'd ever thought to keep the memory of me now lying in gilded boxes in the ground.

I could stop waiting, lock the window to Peter's selfish, untimely return, hang my hat on the notion that he'll never again grace me with a thimble.

I'm not the sort a boy like that wants.

Still I keep the window open, still I refuse to shut out the option that perhaps, someday, I'd rather be in Neverland. Still I prep myself for the day my daughter will take the room, to undergo the right of passage that is heartbreak at Peter's hands.

We are attracted to the impossible. It is impossible for me, as aged as I have grown, to be yet so taken with a young boy. I want vivacity in maturity, not the boyish games he played with my heart. I don't want to have to battle to gain my footing. I want someone who would grow with me, in love and age. Peter can never be what I need, waiting by the window. Peter can never mean to me now what he meant to me then.

Peter is my past; a beautiful, wonderful, unbelievable moment I shan't ever forget, but as much as Peter would be the same, I would be all the more different.

I wish to progress, to grow, to gain experience and knowledge and send my lifeless body to its gilded box a more defined person than when I entered it, and by perfection take it up again. I could not bear the purgatory of Neverland, to keep the beauty of heart, mind, and complexion of youth, but to lose the magnificence of accomplishing eternity.

Peter only offers a part. Peter brings a blissful idea of childlike happiness forever, one I always questioned why I never kept, why I set it aside with the burning urge to go sojourn in mortality and grow old and grow up rather than stay. It would have been easier. It would be elegantly better to lead such a freeing life of carefree play and discovery until the end of time. But to abandon my purpose, whatever that divine being intended for it to be, to sell my soul to the devil in slothful, superficial intent, would be a life I could never lead.

I hadn't intended to lead it to begin with. I came to be at this window by forsaking the idea of an already plotted course which my hand could neither stay nor stray.

I inhale a breath of crisp winter air falling past the gently shaking curtains in the breeze, my hand shaking as I pull the window shut, questioning for one last moment if I truly want to deny the option of returning with Peter to Neverland. I follow through; the breeze stops short.

There is no future for me in Neverland. There is no tomorrow in the past. I am no better off than a pillar of salt if I look back

2 Corinthians 12:15

-And I will very gladly spend and be spent for you; though the more abundantly I love you, the less I be loved.-

 Well. Paul did it. Paul said everything I've ever tried to say on this blog, and he did it in one sentence.

Heart To Ground

I can't figure out what to say.
I can't even decide how to say it,
But this jumble in my head
And in my veins
Is testament enough that words...
Words need to be spoken.

I'm too weak to do it.

I don't want to dig holes.
I don't want to find myself
Miles from where I want to be,
Miles from the surface,
Underground
Where the worms live in motion
And the soil's damp and cold.
Where they could bury me
And leave me none the wiser
But all the more better off.

It's a crime against my sanity
To love as much
As often
As I do.
I'd seldom encounter issues
If I didn't strap my heart to my sleeve
And tread where others go.

My heart sheds affection
Fragmentally
When I am bumped
In a metaphorical sense.
My heart, exposed to the
Toxicity of air and interaction
By its presence on my sleeve
Is weakened by its openness
To the relatable world.
And like a soft rock
Continuously bumped against one sharper,
It flakes away,
Bits of my heart scattering to
Whomever was responsible,
Or whomever is standing still.

I call it curse
Because I can't escape,
And with the likes of you it's worse.
My heart doesn't fit in my own chest,
It pines of the day I find it a place
To burrow itself for keeps,
To build walls of soft tissue
And lava lamps of blood;
To cocoon itself under clavicles
And beat for years to come.

I am not other girls.
Ignore the teenage meaning
Of other girls breaking hearts
And acting floozies.
I'm not other girls
Because you don't have to win my heart.
You already have most of it
From bumping past as often
As you have.
You don't have to win my heart.
Just let me know you want it.
Give me a sign you'll take it,
Keep it,
And lend me yours in exchange.

I've never seen that before. They talk about it all the time, I've read it in books, been guilty of writing it myself, all with the vague notion that I'm writing the unknown. An unknown falsehood of myth and lyric. It was inexperience-able, as far as I was able to see. You'd have to be exceptionally perceptive to notice a swift thing like that.

But I saw it, tonight.

Your eyes dilated.

I was across the room, you were speaking, and gauging on your choice of location I knew you hadn't seen me; I hoped you hadn't seen me.

I'm not sure how well I'd cope with the idea you knew my position and elected for another.

Your gaze alighted to mine, a mere circumstance, a mere surrounding scan, and it happened.

Your complexion changed. It looked like a match, a brief flare of light quickly muted to something of normalcy. You almost looked terrified, though your expression never changed. It was in that realization-that your mouth and brow were as set and determined as the moment before you saw me-that I came to understand what had taken place. It was your eyes that jumped, your eyes that flashed and expanded with the vivacity of fear. It was the briefest of moments, yes, but I watched it unfold, and though you looked away, not to look back, I knew it to be true.

Your eyes dilated.

There is nothing more invigorating than the knowledge that I interest you. For the first time in my pathetic, male-seeking life I have a solid structure on which to found my opinions. Even if you haven't fully cognitively embraced our probability together, your body isn't lying.

Your eyes dilated.

And for now, that's good enough for me.

Yet I Run

I'm sorry that I run.
That I embody the rodents I adore
And flee at the unknown.
I'm sorry that you terrify me.
I want to stay-
Beyond belief I want to stay.
But I'm not a fighter,
So I take flight.

I need to be chased;
Hunted.
I wish it wasn't the case, but
I don't think I'll ever stop
Unless someone stops me.

I want you to stop me.

I want to be stopped for you.

If I had the capacity within myself
I would do it right now.
I would keep to you until my breath
Quickened and dissipated,
And as an empty vessel I fell.

The truth is simple:
You terrify me.
And whether that's beautiful
Or disturbing
It's fact.

I could love you.
If I could stop running.

A Humble Request

Dear three readers:

I have penned my favorite thing in the past six months. Six months of near constant striving to pen something, mind you. And it finally happened. I have finally produced something exceptional.

 I've entered it in a contest at Figment.com, which is why I didn't just post the story itself, but rather this introduction.

I want to win this contest. 

This work, juxtaposed with all my works of late, is my most bestest creation. If anything I've penned deserves to earn me a chance at $5,000 dollars, this piece is it.

But I need help. Nominees are vote-based, so if you would not mind...

This is the story. Be my best friend. Click this link.

Read Winter Hands. Heart Winter Hands. Request your friends to do the same. And as a sign of gratitude, when all the voting is over, I will post the 600 word version to this blog. That's 100 extra words I had to splice out of my favorite piece for it to qualify for the contest.

I'm dedicated to this. Please help me.


May the odds be ever in my favor.

It's Winter Where I Am

Music is of maximum importance to me, and while Jason Mraz is undoubtedly my favorite musician, that doesn't mean I don't dabble quite a bit in the affairs of others. Jason Mraz is my go to: I can listen to him when I'm happy, sad, trying to take a nap, any number of things I don't need to list. But, I've found he is an anomaly, primarily because with other musicians I have to be in a certain mood.

And it has to be the appropriate season.

I'm a very visual person; when I memorize lines for a show, or back when I played the piano and performed in piano recitals, I'd memorize the location of the words or notes on the page. It wasn't the words themselves that stuck with me, but the way the page looked. Which is why it was such a big deal when Taylor wrote allover my Charley's Aunt script, but that's beside the point. Like memorizing lines, I memorize and take in music with regards to what I'm seeing at the time. Which is why I avoid listening to exclusively Jason Mraz on the bus; the last thing I want is to connect his brilliance with the monotony of an hour drive through backstreets day in and day out. To satisfy my own overwhelming excitement for winter and winter music, I am going to impart to you, the three readers of my blog, the best winter music. Beginning, naturally with

Matt Duke: Winter Child 

I found this album my junior year (2009-2010) of high school. I listened to it through December, driving my car through the biggest snow of the season with it playing. This album has become winter to me, to the extent that I nearly feel nauseous trying to listen to it when there isn't snow to be found. The sky has to at least be grey before I can pop this baby in. Which is a little disappointing if you're Matt Duke. Sorry your music didn't transgress the season restriction like Mraz, Matt.

With Winter Child it's more than the fact that I found it in winter, it's that the songs have this dark/moody quality to them, even the upbeat ones like Tidal Waves. Matt Duke doesn't write filler popsongs, at least not on this album. Even the "happier" songs are really about something darker like committing suicide. It's appropriately titled, so I've appropriately categorized it.
 
-Tidal Waves

The trouble with not having stalker fans like Mraz is there are hardly any youtube videos of this guy. But his lyrics are miracles.

Charlotte Sometimes: Waves And the Both of Us

Charlotte's first album is labeled under winter because, after finding her single How I Could Just Kill A Man in the summer of 2008 (by watching the top 20 music video countdown to see how rad of a job I'm Yours was doing) I knew I'd love everything she sang, so I held out for Birthday Christmas where I could get her whole album.

It happened. And I was right, she is in the trifecta of Favorite Female Artist, swapping places with Daphne Willis and TP depending on my mood.

And the season.

Charlotte pulls an Alanis Morissette with her first album, focusing her songs on heartbreak and wrongdoing and moody womanly opinions. She now expresses that that's really not what she's about anymore, but it's an excellent album, and it's dark enough to pair with snowfall and have a good time.

-Build the Moon

I've always thought this would be the ballad I'd sing on American Idol.

Come on. Tell me you don't plan things like that.

Matt Nathanson: Modern Love

This was the first album I listened to in its entirety on the bus, so Matt Nathanson should be excited that I moved this album from that-boring-bus-album category to winter.

Matt's album doesn't have as defined a reason why it's so wintry to me other than the fact that this is what was in my car at the end of last fall semester and beginning of spring semester when I was constantly driving to and from campus in snowish/sloshy conditions.

But there are songs like Love Comes Tumbling Down, Kept, Drop To Hold You, Bottom Of The Sea, and Kiss Quick that flow with snow. Perhaps because they're slower songs. Perhaps because the melody's richer. But to me, Faster is just as snowy as Kept, regardless of how happy-pop it is.


-Kiss Quick

I'm addicted to this song. He's good with poetics, this man.

Diane Birch: Bible Belt

This album is also from my junior year, though I believe from the other side of December, after Matt Duke. Diane has the dark jazz sound with a rich, flawless alto voice. Her piano chords dance around like snow in a flurry. She's awesome. And very wintry. If I knew things about different keys, I'd probably have more substantial reasons for this album being winter. I feel like they have a darker quality, like a minor, perhaps.

Now I'm just embarrassing myself.

She's probably one of my favorite winter picks. I should have put her higher up.

Seriously get this album for all your winter loving. I'm just remembering how great it is.

-Fools

I seriously love this lady. I'm going to go see if she's done something recently. I could use a new winter album.

Ingrid Michaelson: Everybody

This album is also from my junior year. I was really in a dark place through the end of December until May, really. If you've been reading this blog, that darkness is clearly illustrated by the slew of posts that came with the onset of this blog. I was shifting through music to find something that would take the pain out, but what I found was a series of musical installments that accepted the pain and the dark, cold world around me and reflected them back at me in a way I was able to calmly understand. I found winter in my heart and my music.

I hadn't really noticed that before. Interesting.

Maybe there was a deeper reason I felt like writing this post.

This album has the same storm of piano that Diane had, but with less of a jazz feel and more of a singer/songwriter. Ingrid is calming, pensive, soft. Winter.

Plus one song's title is Men of Snow. That has to mean something.


-Sort Of

This song is really empowering to belt in a very angry mood, which I'll admit to doing on occasion.



That's it. If you made it this far. I have a couple others, but it became rather obvious that my only foundation for winter albums is how "dark" they are.

Here's for a fun game. Go through the post and see how many times I said "dark." I'm guessing eight.

Am I right?

I hope someone besides myself benefited from this. Check out these artists. Let me know your winter music. No Christmas, please.

It's pretty obvious that's winter music.

Bonus Track!

I'll admit there is one Jason Mraz song that embodies winter for me. Maybe that's because it's so mellow, acoustic, and chill, or maybe it's because he mentions winter a lot. Either way, I love this song.
It's an unknown, so the only two live recordings of it were terrible quality. So stare at his naked chest and enjoy.