Commentary: And You Can Quote Me On That!

Just a small collection of a few of my favorite quotes. Enjoy!

"I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions." ~James Michener

"Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present." ~Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

"True evil entered the world not with the first sin, nor even with the first murder. It came when an otherwise decent man first looked at a sinner, and at a guiltless stranger with a similar appearance... and punished both of them."

"Be obscure clearly." ~E.B. White

“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep... wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you're just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky his is to have you.... The one who turns to his friends and says, 'that's her.'”

Poetry: Disease

Burrowing beyond blood and bone,
it takes root and grows.
Loss of feeling and sense of sight,
the life once lived passes.

Diving deep down and destroying,
it eats away at what once was.
Mind spins and thoughts unravel,
a new life is on the horizon.

Living lost and lying low,
so none can reach the truth.
Living not as once was,
the disease called love changes you.

Commentary: Seasons Greetings!

Hey everyone, I just want to say Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to all my readers! I hope you have a great time, full of fun and loving! I even made a video for you to enjoy! Again, happy holidays and thank you for making this year a blast and here is to more fun and writing next year!

Sonic Boom aka Brian Hinckley

EDIT:: I know I have a typing error, I was in a rush to get this up before family obligations occurred!

Poetry: Not Naming Names

Being where I am,
it's hard to voice my thoughts.
Though the miles are great,
I will do my best to speak my heart.

Our time has been short,
merely falling grains of sand.
I decided to give you my heart,
though I'm not naming names.

You know who you are and
you know what you mean to me.
The miles may expand and contract,
but you are always with me.

I count the minutes and the days,
passing like the leaves falling out your windows.
You drive me and my steps,
I'm your willing passenger.

I hope I made this clear and concise,
and haven't messed up too badly.
When I say I love you I truly mean it,
though for now I'm not naming names.

Writing: Moment in Time - I'll Be Home For Christmas

The icy roads gleam in the reds, greens, whites, and bright blues of the holiday lights shining from the houses as his car slowly drives past. The radio plays softly in the car, whispering Christmas carols almost as if not to wake the neighborhood. He glances out the frost-tinted windows and takes in suburbia, with each lawn covered in small armies of snowmen, tiny forts that were no doubt loaded to the brim with snowballs, wreaths hanging on gift-wrapped doors, and the occasional mistletoe hanging above those. He had missed it all, but in some way, he resented it all as well. He had been gone, living in a place where there was no snow. He lived a life that wasn't who he was. He had ran from this place as fast as he could, knowing that he couldn't take watching his love die slowly day after day. He left three years ago, Christmas Eve, and three years to the day, he had returned.

He wasn't sure what to expect now, with three years of no letters, phone calls, no signs of life. He left every shred of his past behind him and became someone new. The sounds of snow crunching under his tires as he pulled into the driveway he hadn't pulled into since the day she said she couldn't be with him pulled him from his own mind. He hadn't the nerve to admit he was wrong for three years. He hadn't the decency to contact her to tell her why he left and that he loved her for three years. After this long, he wasn't even sure if he knew why he left. Stopping the car in the drive, he looked to the place they once called home. Her, his sister and her life-partner, and him. The memories flood his mind, causing his hands to grip the steering wheel and tears to fill his eyes. He resisted the urge to drive away, to go back to his life in the sun and never come home again, but that thought snapped him from his misery. Home. This was his home - is. It is his home, not some condo on the beach in the south, no. This place, with its faded paint, rusted fence, and extremely sloping foundation was his home.

He stepped from his car and walked through the snow to the door, his mind a nervous ball of conflicting thoughts. Did she still live here? Was she with someone else? Was she with someone who deserved her and treated her better than he did? He knew that someone as amazing as her deserved so much better tan him, but as he reached the door, his body froze solid, leaving him standing there much like the snowmen he saw on his way here. Her hair was tinted and cascading across one wide and beautiful eye, her hand was pressed to her lips, and that one eye he could see was lined with unshed tears, three years worth of unshed tears. She was still so heart-stoppingly beautiful and he felt the same way he did when he first saw her. Neither of them moved, nor spoke, mostly because they were both afraid to say something and make the other leave again. His mouth opened and closed, his tongue heavy as lead. Her hand moved forward, towards him, then stopped and drew back, her body unable to move. He didn't know what to do, much less what to say, and with his eyes full of tears and his throat dry as sand, he said the only thing that he was able to.

"Merry Christmas..."

"Merry Christmas...", and before the last syllable left her lips, she was in his arms, both of them drowning in their love for each other, and both knowing that neither will be leaving the other again. Their lips touched as the snow fell around them and mistletoe gleamed in the soft porch light above them.

----------------------------------------------------------
Happy Holidays to all my readers... Brian aka Sonic Boom

Poetry: Flame

She burns like a midnight candle,
wicker taught and ragged.
Dressing in darkness and twilight,
she is the flame in my heart.

One step into insanity and two more to come,
she drips inspiration to the ground - words never heard.
Dancing where none will ever stop her,
she is the flame in my heart.

A spark turns to flicker and flicker to flame,
her love sets me alight - burning, caressing.
My lighthouse has been light deep in my chest,
she is the light that guides me - she is the flame in my heart.

Writing: Moment in Time - Longing

It's difficult to love from afar. When your heart wants to be with the one you love, but the one you love is with another. He sips his jack and coke, watching the sun fall in a molten pool between the mountains. So far away from her, no contact in days - his heart ached within his chest. He missed her so much, more than he knows he should. He really hasn't known her very long and they met by pure chance alone. She was difficult, indecisive, confused, and involved with another man, but he loved her. . . god help him, he loved her, he had no doubt in his mind about that. All her complications were outweighed by what she meant to him; by how she made him feel by doing even the smallest thing. He took another sip, his mood darkening like the sky above him. . .

Writing: Moment in Time - All Roads Lead to Her

He packed his car and took one last look at the mountains in the distance. He was not looking forward to having to drive the roller coaster road for the next one hundred miles of his trip. He thinks to how long it felt like he has been away - too long. He slams the trunk shut and hugs his mother and father goodbye. Getting in his car, he rolls down the window, gives a quick wave and is on his way. He takes the exit to the thruway headed north, lights a cigarette, and watches the clouds scuttle across the sky.

He felt a pull inside him since the day he left and it only grew stronger. Each mile of each state he has gone through, the pull grew stronger. He wanted to deny the feeling, that there was no other reason than wanting to be in his own bed again, but he would have to call himself a liar as well. She was in his mind in a most potent way. Each sign he drove by had her name, each mileage sign said the number of miles until he saw her again. He sipped at his bitter coffee and took a drag from his cigarette and tried to drive her from his mind. He flicked on his Ipod, hoping to drown out thoughts of her with music, but The Proclaimers "I Would Walk (500 Miles)" begins to play and he groans at the thought of fate laughing at him.

He drove through the day and in to part of the night when he pulled in his driveway, watching the snow swirl around his tires. He looks at his house and closes his eyes. Finally home, he thought, but the pull wasn't pulling him here and finally he had to admit that the pull was from his desire to be with her. He slipped the car into reverse and backs out of his drive, determined to hold her in his arms before he does anything else, because after being away for so long, nothing else but her matters to him at this very moment. He smirks and thinks, he is in deeper than he thought he would be, but he wants to be even deeper - he decided he is done trying to fight it.

Poetry: Two Hearts (Two Minds) [Two Loves]

When you love a person, you love them without conditions,
you leave your childishness at the door - you love them.
You learn to give of yourself and you learn you are not alone,
but it's hard to love - when your love is not your own.

You wear a smile as easy as a mask to cover the pain below,
turning from the one who you thought you loved once.
The heart demands another though the mind is torn between,
how can you love someone else - your heart becomes torn.

One half flutters and spins, living in the world you have,
bathing in the safety of comfort, never moving though screaming.
The other half drifts away to a place where you can be yourself,
no judgments nor demands - you cry over what might be.

One path or the other, the mind cannot choose either,
the heart shrieks and screams, but comes out as a whisper.
Both may love you, both may lie -
but one love is rushing forth; the other one dry.

Commentary: Love vs. Infatuation

I was using Firefox add-on, StumbleUpon, and came across this gem. Full credit is given at the bottom of the article. I did not write this, only found it to be very true.

Infatuation is instant desire,
one set of glands calling to another.

Love is friendship that has caught fire.
It takes root and grows,
one day at a time.

Infatuation is marked by a feeling of insecurity.
You are excited and eager,but not genuinely happy.
There are nagging doubts,unanswered questions,
little bits pieces about your beloved
that you would just as soon examine too closely.
It might spoil the dream.

Love is the quiet understanding and mature acceptance of imperfection.
It is real.It gives you strength and grows beyond you,to bolster your beloved.
You are warmed by his presence,even when he is away.
Miles do not separate you. You want him near.But near or far,
you know he is yours and you can wait.

Infatuation says,"We must get married right away.
I can't risk losing him."

Love says, "Be patient.He is yours. Plan your future with confidence."

Infatuation has an element of sexual excitement.Whenever you are in one another's company you are hoping it will end in intimacy.

Love is the maturation of friendship. You must be friends before you can be lovers.

Infatuation lacks confidence. When he's away, you wonder if he's cheating.
Sometimes you check.

Love means trust. You are calm, secure, and unthreatened.He feels your trust and it makes him even more trustworthy.

Infatuation might lead you to do things you'll regret later,but love never will.

Love lifts you up.It makes you look up.It makes you think up.It makes you a better person than you were before.


Found on: http://loveinfac.rediffblogs.com/

Writing: Moment in Time - Unconventional

He was speeding, but he didn't care, his mind was a wall of flames and his eyes barely noticed the cars flying by. All he could hear was her words, words that burned into his soul and set his thoughts aflame. He hurt me, bad. His foot presses harder on the pedal, his anger acting as fuel for his Monte Carlo. Soon as he heard those words, he went downstairs and to the garage, looking around for the thing that would show just how unhappy he was with the fact that he hurt her. Sliding a box of random holiday decorations out of the way, he saw his old hockey goalie stick. Fingers wrapping around the shaft so hard that he can hear the wood creaking beneath his anger, he took it and threw it in the passenger side of the car and pealed out of of the drive. He was close, he knew it. He could hear the fear in her voice still, her fear fueling him. He turned down her road and screeched to a stop at the head of her driveway, stopping a car pulling out. A car with him inside it.

A quick glance and he took it all in. She was curled up on her porch, the snow falling around her and the red pool that was forming below her. He got out of his car to meet the man, if he could be called that, who did this to her. He grabbed the stick and brandished it like a cugel, approaching the man who was desperately trying to escape the wrath he brought down on himself. He tried to throw a feeble punch at him and caught nothing but air. In his anger he saw her blood on his hands where his knuckle had caught her and opened up her lip. He took the punch but never broke eye contact, the only reaction was a smile. He swung his stick and caught that waste of skin under his ribcage, sending the air forcefully from his lungs. He watched the wretch double over and caught him with a overhand strike to his back. With a cry of pain, he fell to the ground, his eyes watering and a plead coming from his lips. He wondered if this wretch stopped when she said stop, when she bled, when she cried. He threw a knee to his face and watched him fall back into the snow, her blood and his staining the snow where his hands land.

He looked up from the pitiful excuse for a man laying below him and saw her watching with a hand pressed to her bloody mouth. He watched her run over and comfort him, the man who did this to her. His mind blanked, but his eyes took in everything. Without hearing, he saw her mouth apologies to this man, he saw her look up at him and yell in anger over what he did. He couldn't reply, because he could not believe what he was hearing, he only stood numbly over them as she apologized over and over to him. He turned and walked back to his car, dazed, not understanding what had just happened. His hand grasped the door handle when he felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up and back, then felt her hand striking his face, stinging his skin and reverberating down to his heart. He watched her scold, yell, and hit him again, almost as if he was nothing but a disembodied spirit hovering above himself. He saw his lips say he loves her, but all that brought was tears from her. She turned from him and went back to the wretched man who was still struggling to get to his feet, blood coming from his mouth. He turned back and opened his door and sat inside his car. He didn't know how long he sat, but the snow had already left a thin film over his gray blue hood. Starting the ignition, he pulled out of her driveway, his moist eyes looking at the two trails of blood that led back into the house.

Writing: Moment in Time - Part-Time Lover

He drove home, wind whipping snow around his car and tires spraying dirt-filled slush behind him, with her on his mind. He knew where she was going and he knew where he was going, but there was a part in him that wanted to go where she was going. As he weaved in and out of the traffic, his mind was full of them together, times the made him feel like this could be it. Shattering like the snowflakes on his windshield, those thoughts fade away, his mind pulling back because he knows he can't put too much of himself on something that may not happen. He presses harder on the gas petal, hoping, praying, that he can outrun his own desires. Faster he went, the faster the enjoyment of having her in his arms, the taste of her kisses, the touch of her skin, the smile on her face, fade. Faster and faster he goes, the snow whipping by until it looks like a white tunnel. His mind racing, his thoughts chaotic. No matter how fast he goes, she is still in his mind. He loves her. He slams on the breaks.

His car slides, the rear pulling free and forcing him into a full thee hundred and sixty degree spin. His fingers digging into the wheel, his mind going as fast as the car as it rotates out of control. He closes his eyes and even in this moment where death could be lurking outside of his ice covered window, there she is. Suddenly the world stops spinning, at least the world outside his mind. He opens his eyes, feeling the sweat bead up and run down his cold skin. He was still in traffic, unmoving, but he remembers everything so clearly. He relaxes and leans back, reaching for his phone. He looks down and sees a text from her. Flicking open his phone he sees a message she sent him from online. 'Though I'm here.. I love you'. He closes his phone and sets it down, moving his car a few more inches up the thruway, a smile on his face. Today he is a part-time lover, but someday he will be full-time, and giving all his love to her. He keeps smiling as the snow falls around him on this dark December night.

Poetry: Once

Once I had the world, or so I thought,
I had the girl, the job, the car,
but circumstances wouldn't pan out,
and alone I went to a land very far.
Once I thought I was happy with where I was,
but the days became the same, blurring in my eyes,
caffeine and alcohol became an interchangeable buzz,
I left before my bad habits could surprise.
Once I gave a girl a ring and thought she was the one,
I carved the diamond out of my heart, trusting her for all time,
but she used my mind and soul, locking me under the barrel of a gun,
I left and did what I had to do, saving my sanity from her filthy grime.
Once I thought I couldn't love again, but then I met you,
the one who taught me that love comes when we least expect it,
I offer up what I can, giving you love and affection for all you do,
you, that missing part of my heart, the part no one else could fit.

Commentary: Lovesick Lovefool (Part 2)

Welcome to part two of the Lovesick Lovefool commentary and if you have stuck around for this long, you have read about the end of a relationship, but you ask yourself, "Sonic, what about the other end of the spectrum, the birth of a new relationship?" Well, worry yourselves not, perusers of the internet, I will be going into it today. Unlike the death of a relationship, the start of one is generally painless, but there are times where pain comes in the baggage from one or both of the entrants into this union. Sit back and grab a drink (as always, I suggest a nice medium blend coffee) and delve deep into the birth of a relationship, and how to maintain it during those heady few months.

Young love, ahh, we all remember it well. Oh, I'm not talking love that was once had in those dim and distant days when you were barely grown into your body. I'm speaking of the love that has just entered your life. The love that suddenly has you spinning like a top. The love that has you singing in the shower, the streets, classrooms, and workplaces. You got it, that love. You found the person who makes you feel. That's it, they make you feel in a way you haven't felt about another person. They make you feel like you could conquer the world with only their minimal encouragement. These are the best days you can imagine. You're not laying down any rules on each other as of yet, you both just genuinely take pleasure in each others company and making each other happy. . . plus all the benefits of those in a serious relationship. After the honeymoon days are done, what then? It's possible that those feelings you had early on start to flag and the little things that your partner does begins to irritate you. We all have those experiences, but they don't spell the end of a strong-lasting couple in the making.

Understanding that these moments will happen is key. Understanding in itself is key. Things wont stay the same, but they don't have to get worse, though it takes effort to turn a negative into a positive. Keeping things from growing stagnant is important because you realize that the same routine just won't cut it now that you are in a serious relationship. It could be a simple activity as you use to go out for drinks on Friday night, now you do a different activity. Maybe a dinner and movie. Maybe a weekend trip together to someplace neither of you have been. These small concessions to the future of your relationship are sometimes necessary and you must be willing to bend. You will get frustrated and you will get upset, but it is up to you how you decide to handle them and handling them starts with understanding them.

Many fine relationship experts will tell you that sending gifts to your loved one on the spur of the moment is a good thing to strengthen your relationship. This is not necessarily bad advice, but I would take it one step further. Hypothetically, if you showed up at home or at your significant others residence one day, did all the hey-how-are-you activities, told them to grab a jacket and go driving with you, but you take them not only on a little drive, but lets say you arranged a picnic for the two of you way out in the hills. This type of activity doesn't break the bank, it doesn't put pressure on your partner if they received a ring or some trinket to like it. These small personal touches make a huge difference no matter the gender of your partner. There has been times I have taken my partner on car rides across state lines just to take them to a day concert of a band I knew they loved, but never thought they would see. It was simple, a tank of gas, tickets to a country fair, and food while we were there. Important notice, though, don't do things like this with the expectance to get anything in return. If you do things for your loved one with the expectation to be reciprocated, you might not be in the right relationship for you (depends on your partner, I would guess).

I am in no way an expert on relationships and this bit of commentary is in no way a definitive article on what you should or should not do. These are just a few things I have done in my life that worked well to help pass the months where the relationship starts to lose that "new car" scent. Coming out of a long term relationship myself, I have experienced both sides of this two part commentary. I have been so deep in love, done the little things that need to be done to keep a relationship strong, but towards the end, I began to realize the toxicity and how it was affecting me, choosing to severe the diseased limb before it spread to the roots and became too late. I hope everyone who reads this will never go through heartbreak, but sadly many of us have gone through it already, are going through it, or will be going through it at some point in their lives. All I can offer is support and the knowledge that things do look darkest just before the dawn, but the dawn is coming. Just keep waiting for it and if you haven't found that someone special, you will, and you will understand each word that I have put down a different way then than you do right now.

Poetry: Poetic Reasoning

What if I offered you what you wanted, but you turned away?
Giving you all you need with the desperate hope you'd stay,
knowing that I stood no chance from the start - punishing
myself with your love, but living every moment accepting.

Within this moment, I wish to hold you - spilling my heart,
but with that not possible, I content myself by sharing my art.
I write this for you and pour out my soul for you to drink
every emotion and kiss from this text - this indelible ink.

I can only hope the arrows I fire strike true in your soul
lighting the spark that now burns inside you beyond control.
If you feel for me as I feel for you now, let your kiss steal me
and dance with me, love, under the broad leaves of the pleasure tree.

Commentary: Lovesick Lovefool

Caring for a person can lead people in strange directions. It's a drug that most of the world population is addicted to. Be it attraction to another person, money, power, objects, or a feeling. We are all lovestruck in some sense of the word. Even though we are lovestruck, we are sometimes in situations where we feel prevented from showing, or telling, the world of our love. Not that being in love in one of those above ways is wrong, but because we feel like we are trapped. The truth is that we are trapped, but only by ourselves.

Imagine, if you will, you are married to a person, things haven't been smooth all the years you have been together, but you go through the motions anyway, just because you are afraid of hurting them and being alone. You meet someone through work or just a random situation. One meeting turns to two, then to four, then to multiple times a week. This person understands you, doesn't judge you, doesn't pressure you. This person makes you feel the way you know the person you're married to should be making you feel. You tried to get it through to your husband/wife that you're not happy, and it seems to work for a week or so, but then the cold shoulder only returns. What do you do? Do you attempt to take a chance? Do you make the decision to go on your own (if childless) and end the marriage that was made only for the sake that you thought you could do no better? Is what you feel real or are you just a lovesick lovefool?

These are all important questions and I am not going to answer them for you, because I can't. It is up to the person who, sadly, is stuck in the middle of two loves - one quickly rising and the other nothing but a flicker. No one wants to hurt another person intentional, or at the very least shouldn't want to, but hurting happens. Too many people stay in relationships, marriage/engagement/dating/etc., just because they do not want to hurt the person they are with and feel like that if they do end it, they won't be strong enough to stay away or stay alone. It's a tough choice, but toxicity in relationships is unfortunately not uncommon. When one prospers, the other suffers. Relationships are about a careful balance, from friendship all the way up through marriage, balance is key.

Why is balance an important aspect in a relationship? The answer is simple. Ask yourself, if I do this, it would make me happy, but if I do it it will make my partner unhappy, would I still do it? In menial actions, many people would say yes. Oh, if I go golfing today and my partner doesn't want me to because they want to go pick out a new couch we won't even buy, they will just get over it. Many people see the situation this way, but what if it is a more important action. What if it involves uprooting your lives and making your partner miserable? Do you still do it and make them just 'deal' with it? That is a question you need to ask yourself. What if they did it to you? Would you feel the same way if you were told to just 'deal' with it? Of course you wouldn't. Balance. The good comes with the bad, but concessions need to be made, and if one side won't bend, maybe the only right choice is to break (it off).

I'm not advocating ending of relationships over anything, but ending a situation before it advances to the point where it is impossible to end it is an important decision to make. Be sure in your choices. Once they are made, they are made, someone will be hurt if the choice involves ending something. Love is a grand thing and you can be deep in a current relationship when you find that the love you thought you had wasn't what you wanted, but suddenly it comes out of nowhere and sends you ass over tea kettle. This is going to be a two-part article, with part two dealing with the budding romance. Got to end the doom and gloom of dying romances as quickly as possible, eh?

Writing: Moment in Time - No Denying It

He could deny everything he felt for her, but as his lips touched hers, he knew that each excuse was spurious. His hand holding hers above her wealth of color tinted hair, fingers locked in an embrace all their own. His lips hovered less than an inch above hers and he could feel the electricity passing through that narrow breach between them. When it finally happened, he was sure they both could feel the audible click of a key entering a lock, but realizes that the sound could have been lost in the beating of two hearts that echoed throughout the room. The pressure of two bodies meeting erased all though as their fingers dug in to each other, losing sense of time and space in that first kiss.

His kisses trail down her lips to the groove between lip and chin, making her eyes close in pleasure. His free hand travels down the side of her face and down her shoulder, feeling the soft skin shiver as it exposes to the chilled December air. His eyes close as his lips trail downward, laying light kisses on her neck, forcing her body to respond with a slight gasp as she can also feel his hand travel slowly down the soft skin of her body. His lips trace a line between her breasts, the smile on his face and the groan of displeasure coming from her wanting lips tells him that he made the right choice. Sacrifice now for more later.

He lightly kisses down her stomach, lips closing in on the final destination of his previously sent hand. A flick and slow wrist movement allows the button and zipper of her jeans to open and slide to the side. His lips touch the top band of her panties and he feels an earthquake roll through her body. Hips rising eagerly to meet his eager lips, her now released hand sliding through his hair, pushing downwards and pulling upwards at the same time. His hand explores, lightly tugging and moving the fabric down slowly but surely. Her breathing becomes erratic, beating to the drumbeat of her heart that sounds in his ears, drowning out everything around them. His hand slides inside as a shrill sound shatters the still air around them, instantly freezing them into time-forgotten statues. Cursing the alarm, he looks at her, his eyes asking yes or no, but the answer he gets leaves a hot surge of disappointment in his mouth. As they started to get ready, she turns to him and kisses him lightly, the word 'soon' breathed into his mouth just before their lips touched. 'Soon', he replied with a smile as he pulled her into his arms once again.

Writing: Moment in Time - Mental Road Trip

I sit back on my bed, watching the stars glow above me, wondering where I went right. I reach above my head and slide a dart between my fingers and throw it at the map on my wall. Washington. I could see myself there. I would sit day after day writing, revising, editing, and re-writing, at a local coffee shop only to leave after a few hours to walk down the road to another coffee shop to watch the flow of humanity walk to and fro. At night I could head to a city and find where grunge was born, dance to songs forgotten since the late 1990's, and marvel at the waves of plaid and goatee's that come over me. I could see myself going there. Reaching up again, another dart flies towards the unknown.

Texas. I don't think I would enjoy myself there, though I only know of the stereotypes that most northeastern citizens hear. Steers, horses, country music, and all the racist fun that comes along with them. I could be wrong though, I absolutely know that. I could go to Huston and be blown away by culture, history, and a relaxed way of life that attacks me like the judgmental intruder I am. Another dart, another state, or maybe another state of mind. Florida. I gave that land my time, losing my friends and my heart all in one intake of breath. I'm no longer sure I could go back and it feel remotely the same. Sitting by the beach, watching the waves crash over the rocky coastline. Sweltering nights of liquor and romance that dies even before it has a chance to breath, like some prom night abortion. The uneasy feelings and the suspicions that you are not welcome are not things I would look forward to. I breath deeply, exhaling another part of a painful past, and reach for another dart.

Maine. I could see myself there easily. The change of seasons, picturesque landscapes, and snow filled nights seated by a roaring fireplace could fill my days. I would go down to the town and chat with the locals who have lived in this remote location for their entire lives. I could see myself settling down, making a family, living for love and writing, which is just another love of mine. I smile as I think about it and the image of the person I would spend my life loving and reach for another dart. New York. I would be able to see myself here if I wasn't already here. Living a life of quiet obscurity in a snow and poverty choked city like Buffalo. Living a life at the speed of sound in a city of lights and sounds like New York City. I could do it all and have done it all. I believe only a few things could ever keep me here; quelching my wanderlust with love and caring.

I reach for another dart, but they are all gone. Looking at the darts, I can see each of the locations vividly in my mind, the years rolling by one on top of the other. I glance at the clock and realize that I have been lost in my own little world for way too long, I almost missed my window - my chance. I reach for my phone and call my muse, my reason for the dreams I had while I watched the stars glow, and ask her when I will see her tomorrow.

Poetry: Stop Means Go (Refusal to Give Up on Love)

I refused to stop when the red lights flashed,
and I refused to stop when the signs pointed to no.
I refused to stop when you said we couldn't make it,
and I'll refuse to stop because I love you.

We had our chance to stop but the ball is rolling,
too big to stop even if we really wanted - but we don't.
We can refuse what we know and how we feel,
but we cannot refuse what's in our hearts despite our efforts.

I'm not worried because I cant refuse it,
my world is spinning as much as yours.
I'm not scared because I wont refuse it,
my love is such that it has no fears.

Let go.
Give in.
Relax.
Let love in.

Poetry: I'm. . .

I see you there, burning, waiting for me to taste you,
put you to my lips and feel you enter me.
Exotic and dangerous, you invade my thoughts,
to touch, to hold, to taste you - I'm weak.

I want to give in to you, just as you want to give in to me,
our embrace burning both of us with our mutual fire.
Consume me, defeat me, let me take you in,
you're in my bloodstream and I like it - I'm yours.

You're bad for me and I know it, but I can't help it,
I should leave you be and go away, I know it.
I want to quit you and sever you from my life,
but I can't escape how you make me feel - I'm alive.

Burn me down and take me for who I am,
charred remains of a heart once empty.
I can't get you out of my mind and I don't want to,
you consume me, devour me, swallow me whole - I think I'm in love.

Writing: Moment In Time - Office Romance

He wanted to go to her, take her hand, ask her if she really didn't have feelings for him. He felt confused, frustrated, wanting to know if she shared the same feelings he had for her. He sat at his desk and looked over to hers, his mind going back to the night they spent together a week ago. Everything felt so right that night, but now things seemed twisted and wrong. He knew what he was getting involved in with her, but he never meant to fall in love with her. Now, as he watched her boyfriend walk over to her desk, he couldn't do anything but wonder if she really meant what she said when she said she was falling in love with him. He lowered his eyes back to his desk and tried to get back to his work, tedious, mind numbing work, but his mind was anything but numb.

He finishes file after file, making phone calls as needed, all the while, trying to decide what to do about this flame that was growing inside of his heart. He hears a commotion near her desk and watches her boyfriend gesculating wildly. He half stands and watches intently, noticing her eyes growing wet with tears as her boyfriend storms away. He wonders if he was the cause as he sits back down. His mind is torn, wanting to go over there and make sure she is okay, but he doesn't know if he should. What were they, he asks himself. They weren't dating, so he had to be careful on what his heart tries to make him say. His heart screams at him to go over there and take her in his arms, tell her that he loves her, but his mind knows that it would only confuse the situation even more.

His friend walks by and tells him that it's time for break, breaking him from his indecision. He gets up and walks by her desk, stealing a glance towards her cube and seeing her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks which tears at his heart. In the break-room, he pours a cup of coffee and stirs in his creamer. Taking a seat in the recliner by the window, he watches the rain spatter against the windowpane and the gray clouds cut through the sky. He doesn't even have to turn to know she was there, but he didn't know if he wanted to hear what she wanted to say. Would she say she loves him, would she say that she is staying where she is, he didn't know. He knew he cared for her so much that he would support either of her choices, swallowing jealousy and envy, binding his heart so it can't speak those words that would drive her away. He feels her light touch on his shoulder. . .

Muse Files: Say You Don't Love Me (And I Will Show You A Lie)

You confuse me, muse,
and in your confusion I swim.
Do you want me to love you,
or leave you be?

Veiled hints and veiled clues,
your mystery runs deep.
Try and tell me you don't love me,
and I will show you a lie.

Commentary: Blue November (Or Why I Feel Like I'm On A Nowhere Road)

Holidays are always a stressful time for people, I'm no different. All over the world it's the same. Hopefully people have those in their lives that make them happy and I'm not saying that I don't, but this holiday has been lacking. I am grateful to my sister and her life partner for creating a wonderful meal and a wonderful day of cooking and laughing, but the feeling of something missing is still there. It's a time for giving thanks, and I have to do that for a few things before I continue:

• I thank the wonderful people in my life.  All my friends that span the United States and beyond.  Most of you have been with me through the rough and smooth and I am lucky to have you all in my life.
• I thank my family for the wonderful support they have given me no matter my decisions in life.
• I thank you people that come here and enjoy my writing.  I wish I could give each of you a personalized message thanking you, but I would spend most of my days doing that.  As a thanks for you, I strive to provide you with interesting things to read and hopefully you enjoy them.

Now that is out of the way, I can settle in and speak what I wanted to comment on today.  Like many people in this world, I spent the time today with family, but still alone.  Family is great, but having someone with you is another matter all together.  I rarely have spent a holiday alone in the last 10 years, but this year I will be spending two (unless things change by Christmas).  It's not a fun thing to do, but many of us do have this predicament.  We survive through it day in and day out, but on holiday's, the isolation is amplified.

My own situation is one of my own making, so the blame is squarely where it belongs.  I have tended to fall for impossible situations, which, as the word implies, is impossible.  Like approaching a wall 100 feet tall and infinitely wide and trying to punch your way through, I stupidly walk forward with my hand ready to play battering ram.  This is one thing I am not thankful for, but I am thankful I have been able to avoid getting too deep in each of those situations most of the time.  The far away, the married, and the engaged, these have for some reason become a few of my favorite things, which is just a form of self torture, really.  Maybe it is a way of not having to get too close.  Maybe it's a way to keep myself from falling for these unavailable women.  Who knows, but I can say the second of those is wrong.  I have fallen, but I still drag myself back up.  Another thing I'm thankful for.

To the lonely on this holiday, I love you.  Simple as that.  Those the feel that there is no one that cares for them beyond their immediate friends and family, you have me.  That can mean nothing, something, or anywhere in between those to you, but there you have it.  I look forward to providing more bits and pieces of me and the world around me for you to enjoy. I am thankful that you all allow me to do what I love.  Happy Holidays.

Added bonus:  A few pictures of the people in my life, all of which I am thankful for:

Poetry: Addiction

Bursting at the seams,
the words roll from my tongue.
Searing like hot iron,
they burn your soul.

I dream in vivid colors,
they twist and spin in the darkness.
Tearing open your heart,
my words flow in you.

Your body and soul are mine,
trapped in my words.
Violent or soft, you don't care,
you enjoy the ecstasy I give you.

My words drip like honey
on your waiting tongue.
Savor it, taste it,
they go down smooth.

Looking everywhere but up,
you search in vain.
I am higher than you, above you,
but my hand is always waiting to pull you up.

I don't say what you want,
I don't feel what you desire.
Candy coated lyrics
keep you coming back to me.

Sizzling heat
sears your soul, demanding more.
You need more, but baby,
I think you're addicted to me.

Poetry: She's A Tragic State

She's a tragic state,
seeing shadows behind every compliment.
Armor of hurt and betrayal gird her,
impenetrable by the sincerest of men.

She once held me in sway,
much like many unlucky men before.
She's a tragic state,
running from all those that care.

I tried to bring her sunshine;
she turned it into darkness.
I tried to bring her joy;
she drowned it in her sorrow.

I walked away from her tragic state,
no longer entranced by look or smile.
She's a tragic state, that girl,
one I cant help or get caught in.

Writing: Moment in Time - Three Words That Became Hard To Say

It's funny watching life moving around you. Flowing as a river does around a rock. The currents of time are almost visible. I stand outside, watching the waters ebb and flow through the people around me. A glance to the right shows a couple, hand in hand, talking in blissful contentment, simply enjoying being together. It makes me wonder what their life together is like. Does he treat her well? Does she run around behind his back, living a double life in plain sight? These are a few of the questions that rattle and shift like pebbles in that immortal riverbed. Though these questions fill my mind, this is not about those two strangers.

I glance to the left, towards the crux of this tale. Two young lovers, or maybe ex-lovers, stand in the chill November day, talking. I have to rephrase that. One, a young blonde girl, is talking. Actually, I need to amend that statement as well. She is pleading, begging, her lover about something I can only hazard guesses at. The other, she is a mystery to me. I want to say that I am watching two females, but it is hard to tell. I watch the gender-unspecific person stand as if a statue; no emotion or words playing across her face. It's almost as if she has already cried every tear, yelled every curse, and heard all the words she has to. This young lady, whom I decide at that moment to classify as female, is done.

The blonde goes for multiple hugs, but the statue stands pat, hands never leaving her pockets. The air around me grows even more chill and I'm not sure that little miss statue isn't the source. I pull my jacket tighter around me, sip from my coffee, and continue watching the tragic play unfold before me. I wonder what the blonde could have done to receive the frosty return she is getting now. Did she cheat? Did she lie? Did she insult? I quickly fix that in my mind. Cheating is a lie and an insult. Love is not a word to be casually thrown around. I wonder if the statue would agree with me. With the way times have made relationships, three simple words have become hard to say, let alone mean.

I watch the statue move, which draws me out of my internal reverie, and watch her arms slide around the blonde. On the surface, to anyone watching, it looks like a simple hug, but it is anything but simple - there is no emotion behind it. The blonde realizes the same thing and breaks down, her head falling her now ex-lovers shoulder and crying. I feel for both sides of this situation, but as they say, young love ends like this all the time. With a pause, the statue hands her the vest she was wearing and walks away. The blonde holds the jacket to her face, almost as if she would kiss that unfeeling material and it would reach the one who was not out of her reach.

Watching love die from the inside of a relationship is hard, but watching from the outside is no easy task either. The words I write as I remember watching their sad dance does not give either of them justice. I wish I could see the future and the past, seeing what happened and what time has in store for them, but that isn't possible. With their loss still fresh in my mind, I look at my phone and the messages from my own statue and sigh, remembering those three words that I will never hear.

Writing: Moment in Time - Thought Process

He packed up his laptop and slide his leather jacket on, tossing the strap of his back over his head and grabs his keys. Drifting down silent roads on this night of fateful nights, he still thinks of her and what she means to him. She is the reason he is out in the chill air, parking his car at a playground he use to go to as a child, sliding his earbuds in and walking over to a picnic table. She is the reason he sits down, takes out his laptop, opens it up, and begins pouring his heart into each and every keystroke.

He starts off by apologizing, ignoring the small voice in his head that he has nothing to apologize for. Loving someone is not something you should have to apologize for, it softly yells. He pushes it to the side and continues typing, letting her know that he understands; that he can be a grown up and accept what was said. His thoughts break free from that line of thought and skitter across the memories of her, teasing him with how happy she makes him. His muscles freeze and his eyes shoot up, looking into the dark field in front of him with unseeing eyes. He sees her smiling, lying on his bed, his hands massaging her soft back, sitting in the cafe while they talked about everything and nothing all at the same time - he slams his eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to accept.

He continues typing, word after word, each one something he will not remember what he said, but he will remember the emotion behind them. His eyes glisten as he tells her he never wanted to make her cry. He signs the message "From, Me" and sends it on its way. Closing the laptop and returning it to its bag, he looks back to the field and sees the faces of his childhood playing football in the chill November nights. He smiles, reaches into his pocket and flicks his lighter, watching the flame dance between his fingers. The heat touches his arm, his neck, his chest, all the way into his heart, shocking him to find that it hasn't frozen over yet. He lights up a cigarette, stands up, and walks back to his car. He shakes his head with a smile, silently laughing to himself, telling his heart and mind that he went and did it, he's fallen in love.

Writing: Moment in Time - Best Intentions

They never meant it to get as far as it did, but now it's beginning to get out of their control. She was young, he thought, someone who he shouldn't be falling for, but he had. He should have kept what they had before, friends with the possibility of benefits, but it advanced beyond that. He had to wryly admit to himself that he had fallen for her. It wasn't exactly an easy thing to admit to himself, mostly because he knew that the reality of them being together was damn near impossible. He lit the tip of his Camel Menthol Light and turned on his Ipod, and walked from her building, thinking about three hundred things at once. His mind is swirling, he wants to be angry, he wants to be upset, but he's not. He respects every choice she has made and without a single glance back, he knows she is watching him from the window.

He gets to his car, pulls the ticket from the windshield, and tosses it in the backseat. He sits there for what seems like an hour, just listening to the songs randomly playing from over one hundred various artists. He slides his key in the ignition and feels the car surge beneath him. Pulling away from her building, he still doesn't look back because he knows that if he does, he would go back to her, question her, asking her if she feels anything near what he feels. Turning on the thruway, he knows he made the right choice. The music turns up higher and the wind whips across his face, trying to forget the way she makes him feel, but he doesn't want to. They still have some kind of connection, they both know it, and only time can tell where it takes them. He has the best intentions for her and her peace of mind, and he knows that she knows this. He smiles as the knowledge rests deep in his mind and decides to keep his own peace to make sure that she realizes he supports her, even if their affair comes to an end.

Poetry: Falling Back To Earth

A glimpse of sunlight - piercing the darkness
was all we were, but not anymore.
Blame could be cast on one thing or another,
but the blame is where it belongs - on me.
I flew too high and now must fall,
streaking like a comet through the night sky.
My wings melted as I closed in on your sun;
I tempted fate and took a chance - foolish mortal.
Lesson learned and filed under heartache -
words mesmerized me and kept me entranced - until now.
We will keep up our game and play it out to the end,
but detachment is key - even as pleasure wracks our bodies.
The Tin Man without a heart, standing cold and hollow,
follows the girl with dreams and desires - and her little dog too.
I bust out the broom and sweep up the shards,
putting them together with careful precision.
Keeping what I know clear in mind from here on out,
I wont be as careless again.

Poetry: Game (You Cannot Win)

When the dice are loaded and the cards are marked,
you can't stop playing the game you cannot win.
Your desires and hopes could fall to the ground,
leaving your head and heart heavy; sick with sin.
You gambled with Fate and you knew the stacks were against,
but you had to try to play just for an ounce of knowing.
Now the die has been cast and you close your eyes,
you close your eyes - afraid at what might be showing.

Trembling hands no longer run her soft flesh,
no more soft kisses sending chills down her spine.
The dice roll craps and your hands part for good,
leaving you to live the lie that everything is fine.
But the dice could roll lucky and Fate smiles down,
what you both want comes to fruition and grows.
Your kisses ignite the sun and send the stars spinning,
you burst the dams and your love flows.

Either is possible as you play out your hand,
playing a game you cannot win.
You keep playing despite that fact,
hoping to finally be in a place you've never been.

Poetry: All And Nothing (You Want)

I make mistakes,
sometimes making you upset.
I am far from perfect,
this fact try not to forget.

I tried to be what you wanted,
I tried to be what you hated.
I tried to be your friend,
but my feelings remained unstated.

I wake today,
acting like it never occurred.
I live my life,
knowing what I feel is absurd.

I watch you from my seat,
smiling from down the aisle.
I sip my drink and watch you,
hoping what you find is as worthwhile
as me.

Writing: Moment in Time - One Week

She stepped off the plane, grateful to be anywhere but home. She grabs her luggage after fighting to make her way down the terminal, a violent pit of despair for those not fast enough to keep up with the pace. She looks around until her eyes fall on him, standing against the wall, just as silly and sweet as she remembered him. Time slows, the people between them take on a languid pace, but he remains moving in real-time. He looks up and see's her looking at him, a sun lighting up behind his eyes. He wants to move towards her, but his limbs are trapped in slow motion, just as hers. They think, at almost the same time, that this is way too movie-like to be reality, and suddenly time leaps forward like an eager dog.

They spent a week together, roaming the city and exploring its wonders. He bent over backwards, giving her a tell-tale sign that his feelings for her have not lessened, in fact, even after the distance and the men (for her) and women (for him) between their last face to face until now, they have grown. He cant explain it other than just being with her makes him want to be a better person, makes him happy in a way that is hard to describe. She knows this about him, but walking around, he opens to her in a way she has never had someone. She is speechless, unable to think, perhaps not wanting to think, about the possibility of more between them.

Besides that single spark from him, he spoke of it no more, sure that silence on her part meant no. He drives her to the airport, talking of the amazing things they have done in the week. He parks and walks her to the security gate, not wanting to say goodbye. She doesn't know if she has hurt him or might hurt him, but holds him in a long embrace. His eyes close as he wraps his arms around her.

"I'll see you in a week," he whispers in her ear.

"You better," she smiles against his shoulder.

They both lean up and look into the others eyes, faces only inches apart. . .

Writing: Muse Files - One Hundred Lives, One Love

He runs his finger around the rim of his glass, staring absently out of the window. His mind deeply diving into his vast past. Unlike most men, whose past ranges back a few decades, his spans centuries. A quick glance around his office would tell you he is a history buff, a collector of rare items of ages past. To a certain extent, that assumption is true, but only to the point where the possessions of an owner would be considered collection history. Each priceless item from civilizations long forgotten were purchased by him from stands and stalls, potters, carpenters, and blacksmiths throughout the misty halls of the past. He has lived a hundred lifetimes beyond the people he had grown up with, his original homeland has been destroyed and rebuilt countless times over the course of history until nothing remained of the place that has given the world a person like no other. A man who is living history.

A soldier in the Royal British Navy was once a guard of the great Cleopatra herself. A signature on the most important document in American history was written by the same hand that penned decree's that sent people to torture for their religious beliefs during the Inquisition. The man who sits in his comfortable chair, high atop the flagship tower of his multi-billion dollar company once sat upon a throne, watching slaves battle in a grand arena, surrounded by blood thirsty Romans. He has lived every type of life in almost every society the world had to offer. Prince or pauper, king or carpenter, he has lived them all. He has fought and died in battle after battle, yet always awakens completely whole. Over the years, he has committed acts of terrible evil, but has done acts of undeniable good. Never staying in one place beyond a generation, making sure to never arouse suspicion, his life, though long and full of countless people and friends, stands hollow, echoing empty down the countless years.

He had loved once, only once in the hundreds upon hundreds of years of his life. He had spent a deliriously happy fifty years with the only person he ever dared to share his secret with. He can still see her in his dreams, both those while sleeping and awake. It has been over three hundred years since he held her in his arms, felt her touch on his face . . . felt the life leave her frail, elderly body when her time finally came. He met her when she was only nineteen, living in a small house with her family in the middle of some country, it's name escaping his memory. In all the years he had wandered the world from one side to the other, he had never been touched by love. Her response was enthusiastic, love coming to her just as strong and fast, or so she told him over those happy years. They lived in joyous serenity for the remainder of her life. He shivers as the memories flood over him, clouds cover the sun, casting a shadow through his office.

Beside the death of his parents, he never felt that type of loss before. Even now, high above the world in his tower of glass and steel, he is wracked by the memories, even after three hundred long years. He stands up, his chair sliding back as he pushes it away. Draining the last of his cup, he goes to his cabinet, pushing the keypad to unlock his most prized possession. The doors open and she stares at him. He stares back into her acrylic eyes, getting lost in the almost perfect painting. With lips shaking from the loss and grief pouring over him, he kisses her painted lips and slowly closes the doors. He walks back to his desk, looking like a man who is all business. His desk is covered with papers, letters to assistants to make certain his belongings are shipped to fictitious family members. Bottles, both emptied and spilled, are spread artfully around the desk, as well. A note to the board of directors describing the stresses of running the company lay propped up against the phone. With a deep, slow breath, he watches the sun slide down the horizon. Like a man going for a Sunday stroll, he walks to the window, opens it, and steps out.

Writing: Moment in Time - Battle of November 4th

Two men, war weary yet still resolute in their ideals, battle on the field of patriotic duty. Sword and axe clang, shields bash, and the flow of slash and parry carry through the air. Both men, drenched in sweat, battled across the country, their armies facing off countless times. After months of battle and countless debates of nothing but denouncing the other, everything comes down to one day; one final battlefield.

One man, unorthodox in his manner and approach, feels he is the answer to his kingdom's needs. He girds himself inside armor of righteous indignation over the coals his people have been dragged over. His sword, the mythical and long thought lost blade, Change, gleams with his ideals. He swings with grace and his stance is one of offensive defensiveness, ready to strike when the time is right.

The other man was born in another age, his armor and ideals mirroring his upbringing and history. He swings his mighty battle axe with barbaric rage, calling on the war-like fury of his ancestors. He hides behind the battle-scarred shield Mavrick, his stance set for aggressive offense, ready to strike and keep his enemies, perhaps friends as well, off balance and ready to be defeated.

The men do battle even as I scribe their tale here. They stand drenched, battered, and beaten, both ready and willing to do what they need to win. I cannot speak to which warrior will win, though my support has been cast for one and in the teeth of the other. The future of our kingdom rests on this fateful day, the future of ourselves and our children as well. Problems wait for the victor of the bloody battle, but whoever wins will step from the fire tempered from the heat of battle, hopefully ready to assume command and lead us back from the edge of darkness.

Writing: Moment in Time - The Affair

He could feel his heart racing after their affair. God, nothing was hotter than fucking somewhere you're not supposed to. They had only been seeing each other for a month or so, and he knew that what they were doing would kill their respective partners, but he didn't care right now. The euphoria was running hot through his veins. The touch of skin on skin, pressed hard against the wall of the kitchen. . . suddenly he falls, his hand flying forward to brace himself. Snap, his wrist breaks. He cradles it to his chest in pain, looking backwards with tear-filled eyes. Shapes, coming towards him, he can't make out much more besides their number. Three. Three large shapes standing over him, close enough that his eyes can focus through the tears.

Slam, his head goes ripping to the side as one of the men hits him with a pipe. The other two rush forward and hold down his arms, gripping tight on his broken wrist. The man with the pipe ignores his cries and slides between his legs, a smile showing broken, yellowed teeth. He cries out, trying to get someone's attention, noticing for a moment a young girl run back towards one of the payphones on the edge of the park, when he feels the man enter him, over and over and over. He cries out, pain and horror washing over his body as they take turns with him, silencing any further cries with a swing of the pipe. Laying bloody and beaten, his vision slowly fading, he tries desperately to crawl away, somewhere, to his lover, when suddenly the pipe swings down one more...

"Sir?"

The detective looks up from the body of the young woman and glances to the young officer next to him, his eyes clouded with unshed tears. He realizes he has been staring at her for a long while now, the CSI were almost done with their investigation. He reaches into his coat and pulls out his pack of Newports and flicks open his zippo, his face illuminated by the flickering glow of the flame. He turns around and walks back to the squad car, his mind still picturing the last moments of the girl he once had an affair with.

Writing: Moment in Time - The Moment

The sounds of constant teenage drama fades from his mind as Abba circulates around on the loudspeakers. He watches her head toss back, her blonde hair, glowing in the neon bar lights, swaying in tune with the music. Her eyes close and the worries of the world fade from her beautiful face. He can almost see the music mix with the liquor that flows through her body; combining with the light of her beauty and the glow from her soul.

He stands up and takes her empty, unnoticed mug. Going to the bar, he orders two more Guinness and turns to watch her again. In the time it took him to reach the bar, she had let the music take full control of her. She stands on a wobbly chair, one of the ones you would find at a low budget school library, and dances with enviable grace and freedom. Her eyes are closed and her waist sways in a seductive rhythm, challenging the manhood of every male in eyesight. He watches the eyes of every man covet her; desire her, before his own eyes go back to their admiration for her beauty in motion.

The song comes to an end, but her dance doesn't. Her hair moves with the music she still hears in her head, her face glows with acoustic ecstasy. Her body moves with sensual grace and he cant help but fall for her. Slowly he walks to her and takes her hand, helping her down from her small stage. He hands her the dark brew, his eyes shining with his feelings; hers glow with the moment and friendship.

Writing: Moment in Time - Parents Nightmare

The rhythmic pounding wakes him up from his deep sleep. Glancing to the beautiful woman lying next to him, he is thankful she is sleeping through the racket. Softly untwining her arm from around him, he slowly slides out of bed, his bare feet making no sound on the deeply carpeted floor. Padding out of the room and down the dimly lit hall, he makes his way to through the living room, dodging half hidden chairs and camouflaged tables. He reaches the door, flicking on a light and turns the knob.

Strange voices rouse her from sleep, forcing her back from her sweet dreams. The low, steady buzz of unfamiliar voices continue as she rubs the last bits of sleep from her eyes; just now noticing the emptiness beside her. Sliding from the bed and donning her robe, she walks down the brightly lit hallway. Catching fragments of the conversation ahead, she slows slightly, not wanting to interrupt. Words like "there was nothing.." reach her ears as her steps slow to a minute crawl. With one last fateful step, she walks into the living room, her eyes locked on his tear stained face, knowing without looking, the golden medallion given to their son last year lay tightly coiled in his clenched fist.

Writing: Moment in Time - Phone Call

She hangs up "the horns", staring at the black and white comical cow phone her mother gave her for her birthday two years ago, unable to rip her eyes from that sad cow. He seemed to reflect her feelings exactly. He called, stripped her of her dignity not unlike the last night they were together, where he left her bleeding and naked on her bed while she cried. While a flying cow might have been humorous to her in another time and another place, the startled cow smashed against the wall with the force of all her anger. Shattered cow parts get thrown across the room, raining black and white plastic shards half way across her forest green berber carpet. She watches with an intensity that could melt those little plastic cow parts, tears welling up behind her ice blue eyes.

She let him in again, into her life; into a place he no longer had any right to enter. Crossing the room, walking over the cow graveyard, she reaches into the oaken cabinet that she bought last year, with him, to celebrate their one year anniversary, and pulls out all the pictures of the two of them. She kept them in a small metal My Little Pony lunch box she used when she was a little girl. Cradling the box against her Flogging Molly shirt, she sits on a giant blue bean bag chair, her absolute favorite in the entire apartment.

Moving with agonizing slowness and trembling fingers, she clicks open the rusted lock and looks at pictures that flood her psyche with emotions. Fingernails painted with sky blue graze across his photo frozen face, and gently lift the picture from the box. Holding it gently, almost as if it was a delicate and easily frightened insect, she slowly moved her unoccupied hand to a small pile of papers and miscellaneous items sitting next to her big blue chair. A click and then a sudden flame, the photo starts to burn, lighting her face with a dark smile. Picture after letter after photo after note burned in succession, her emotions as volatile as the fire she is commanding. The last one burns, scattering ashes in her charred lunchbox among the ashes of the other dearly departed pictures. She stands up and gathers up the innocent bystandard who perished because of him. The cattle graveyard vanishes and the forest green is no longer spotted. All gathered in her little box, she puts it back in the oak cabinet, closing it slowly, all tears spent.

Writing: Moment in Time - Chances Never Taken

He strums a tune on his guitar, his foot tapping to the beat. She watches him from over the top of her book, careful to make sure he doesn't notice her staring. He does this all the time to her, she thinks. He doesn't even realize what he does to her when they are so close. The melody flowing from him washes over her like a gentle rain, filling her soul like water flowing into an empty glass.

He glances up, a shy smile playing across his face. He likes this girl, but will never say the words. His actions speak louder and clearer than any words possibly could. His fingers dance across the strings; his eyes across her body. He is one of those rare types who the girls like, but never get with. Not because of any disdain for him or he for them, but because he doesn't press his desires. He is an artist in every sense of the word. He lowers his eyes and finishes his song. Standing up and giving her a smile that makes her melt inside, he turns and walks out of the room.

Writing: Moment in Time - Second Chances Only Come After First

All he did was turn from his barstool and fate took over. Guinness rained on them, a glass shattered, and hurried apologies streamed from them as they stood staring at each other. It was almost like a made-for-TV movie, he thought. He offered to buy her a drink and snatched some napkins from the counter to help her dry off, but when he turned back, she was gone. He looked through the crowded bar, searching the endless sea of people before him, but she was gone. Sitting back down, he wasn't quite sure if he really saw her or she was a figment of a beer fogged imagination. He shakes his head and turns back to the bar, beckoning the bartender for another drink.

He was back at the same pub the next week, meeting a group from work for a few rounds. Laughing and joking around for hours, he felt the tension from the week slowly drain out of him, until he saw her by the bar. Absently excusing himself with comments unrelated to anything he was thinking about, he started to make his way to the bar. His eyes only strayed for a moment, as he was shoved to the side while cutting through the dance floor. Looking away momentarily, his eyes raised and he lost her again. Pushing and shoving his way to the bar, he asks the bartender who she was, but the bartender had no idea who he was talking about, he had been swamped all night.

He hadn't been back to that pub in a few months, convinced that fate was just toying with him. Giving him a glimpse of what he wanted, then snatching it away with callous disregard. Damn fate, he thought, as he turned his back on that place back then. He went to other establishments around town, but he couldn't stop himself from scanning the masses for that glowing blonde hair that his mystery woman possessed. Last call brought an end to the night and he began gathering up his belongings and waiving for the tab. A hand rests on his and the smell of expensive perfume sends his mind spinning. He looks into her eyes again, the months erased nothing of what he felt in that brief moment they were together. They talked for a few hours that night and a couple more the next day; then the next, and almost every day after that.

Today, they can trace all the trials and tribulations they have been through just as easily as they can trace all the wonderful moments they have had together. They would never have had any of it if they didn't have that chance meeting, chance second meeting, and then taken the chance on each other. When asked how they met, they smile and look at each other, just like that fateful night, and say, "In the rain."

Writing: Moment in Time - Leave

He watches her walk out the door, feeling the emptiness close around him; envelope him. Turning towards the window, he watches as she leaves the building, her hair waving its own farewell in the cool breeze. He wishes he could have done more, knowing he could have done more makes it worse. His head lightly presses against the chilled glass and closes his eyes. He hears her car door slam and the engine turn. He feels the rumble of the car moving across the cobblestones in his bones, shaking him deep in his core. He opens his eyes as she rounds the corner, the corner where they first met. The corner where they would last see each other.

He slowly sinks down, settling in the chair next to the window, his eyes unable to lift from the floor. He stares at the dish she threw, shattered and broken, lying on the floor in a beautiful picture of chaos. This was one of his problems, he thinks to himself. He always saw beauty in everything else, but never told her how beautiful she was. He was the deep artistic type, he berates himself, always thinking how to turn his life into poetry in motion. He would get angry when his life didn't match his writing and would silently accuse her for being the cause.

Now what did that get him, he asks himself as he looks up, tears standing in his eyes. A sudden sight strikes him with the blow of a sledge hammer. He notices for the first time the beauty she created for him. The play of colors between the rooms she designed. The warmth of the bedroom, the inviting nature of the bed and candles surrounding it. She tried to make everything as how he wanted it, but he never saw it. He stands up and looks out the window, hoping. . .praying she would suddenly be out there so he could run down there and beg her to come back; forgive him. Outside the window the rain just began, falling on an empty street on this chilly night.

Writing: Moment in Time - A Day In Dublin

Stepping off the plane, he looks around for the first time since he left JFK Airport. He kept his eyes off the miles of water passing below him in hopes to keep his excitement lulled. His friend pushes him, forcing him to step out of the way of waiting passengers. He looks out the window, across the tarmac, and into the heart of Ireland. His friend joins him by the window, remarking about how close it looks to an American city. He doesn't listen after that statement. His friend cant see the differences out there; this is definitely not America. They walk down the airport, passing by signs for companies and products they don't know. His friend comments on how many Guinness signs they pass, eliciting a laugh from them that draws some stares. He knows they know he is an American, with all the gawking and confused looks that come with being one.

Stopping at a pub, he pays in US tender, drawing a smile from the server. She steps to the side and pours the drinks while he and his friend talk about what they are going to do for the next few months. The bartender himself brings over their cups, filled to the brim with dark stout. The bartender explains to them that things are different here than from the States and they will have to accept it and keep comments to themselves. They agree with the bartender and toast to his good health. With a smile he turns to his friend, after the bartender slips away, and tells him that this feels like second nature to him. A few rounds later, they leave the pub and catch a taxi to their hotel. They lug their belongings up to their home for eight weeks and walk out, not bothering to unpack.

Hitting the streets of Dublin, he looks around from the doorway of the hotel. To the left he see's a long busy road, covered in shops and restaurants. Down the road to the right, he spots a few pubs and an old building surrounded by a grand lawn. Choosing the right, he starts down the uncrowded street, his friend pointing things out as they walk. Jumping from pub to pub, they begin to sink in the differences between home and here. They chat up locals as if they had known them for years. He danced with an Irish woman, in Ireland, which brought a laugh from his friend. They crisscross the street, never feeling alone in a foreign land, until they reach the old building, which had to have been a castle back in the dark history of this country.

Most of the roof was gone, given way under the centuries of weather and torch. The top floor looked to be uninhabitable, but the lower floors, which they found out on the tour, were able to be salvaged before they turned it into a historic monument. He was mystified and touched, standing in the heart of Irish history, something he had only done online or through books. His friend was in equal amazement, but his mind, the mind of a mathematician, marveled at the way the angles of the arches were, and commented continuously about how this building should theoretically not be standing. Following the tour outside, they walked the great lawn, which had to be over 20 acres of well kept grass and trees. They wandered the lawn, reading plaques and taking pictures with decaying statues.

The night was closing in and the tour was over, despite the unanswered questions his friend had for their harried tour guide. They left the castle and made their way to a pub, which was aptly named, "The Irish Dragoon". Just as before, as soon as they entered, it was like they had been there before. Splitting up, with his friend going to the dart boards, he wandered to the bar in the midst of a sea of handshakes and pats on the back. Eyes rested on him as the bartender gave him a subtle cue on what he was to do to stay here in one piece. Raising his voice so the pub patrons, one and all, could hear him, he shouts, "This round's on me!". A deafening cheer and some hearty pats to his now sore back, he is now fully one of them.

Dancing and singing, darts and pool, drinking and storytelling, he had the best night of his life. His friend talked up a young Irish girl and was headed back to her place and would be back bright and early. He smiled and raised his drink, noticing the men around him doing the gesture as well. Leading a salute to a brother in arms, he and his new Irish family wish him luck and virility. Hours pass, and closing time finally arrives. He shakes the meaty hand of the bartender and hugs more than a large number of men and women before stepping into the brisk Dublin night. A glance to his watch shows two in the morning and he heads back to his hotel. Going back up to his room, he shuts the door and stumbles to his bed. Lying on his back, he turns and looks out the window, a smile on his face. Tonight was great, he thinks, but he was only getting started.

Writing: Moment in Time - Great Day

Stuck, just like every time before. I sip my screwdriver, tasting the sweet orange mix with the bitter vodka. I watch my girlfriend in the arms of another. It was my fault that I am here. I folded every time I resolutely turned away from her. I would tell her we are over, yet days later she is back with me. Watching them, I sigh bitterly as I raise the glass to my lips. Same shit, different day, I mutter under my breath. Greeted by a questioning look from the bartender as I spin to face the counter, a quick glance over my shoulder gives him the whole story. He pours me another drink and nods in understanding. I chuckle to myself, maybe I am not the only person alone in this packed club. I glance once more over my shoulder at my, as of this moment, ex-girlfriend straddling some nameless man at a far back table. I sip my drink and set it down next to a small leather bound book that wasn't there a moment ago. Looking up into the darkest eyes and shiest smile I had ever seen, I know I would be a fool if I did not talk to her right away.

Hours pass between us. She ignited a passion for speech that I never knew I possessed. She never slouched on her end, keeping me enthralled, begging for her next story like a starving man waiting for scraps of food. Never noticing nor caring when the girl I arrived with left, this woman had me hook, line, and sinker. We talked endlessly of love and life, books, music, and movies. We danced for hours and laughed the entire time. I drove her home, walking her to the door. A kiss and phone number was exchanged, followed by another soft kiss. On the short walk back to my car, I look to the just rising sun. It's going to be a great day.

Writing: Moment in Time - Precursor

He wasn't sure who kissed who first, but as his eyes closed, he no longer cared. Lost in the sweet smell of her perfume and the ecstatic feeling of her mouth on his, his mind reeled in pleasure. His hands sliding from her hips, up her sides, feeling the warmth of her body under his palms and fingertips. He was lost in her kiss; the force of her passion mixing with his. With a slight movement, his body pressed against hers. His efforts, which were not in vain, brought a moan from her lips as she melted against him. He felt her hands slide through his short hair, gripping, pulling hard.


His alarm goes off on his phone, eliciting a silent curse at his class schedule. Reluctantly he pulls away from her only to be dragged back to her waiting lips; all thought of the alarm forgotten. His eyes close and his hands slide down and into her back pockets, pulling her to him, pelvis to pelvis. His alarm shrieks out another warning, making him wish he could just throw it against a wall. . .with her against it not soon after. He breaks the kiss and says his goodbye. He watches her turn to go to her class, her hair waving goodbye as she turns and jogs, for she is late as well. He has trouble making his body move towards the door, his eyes locked on her. Before she rounds a corner, she glances back with a message in her eyes. His heart skips a beat as her message was read loud and clear. Tonight, they would continue where they left off. Tonight, he smiles and turns to the door. Tonight.

Writing: Moment in Time - Worthy

She sits across from me, eyes flickering across the pages of her book. Toes tapping on the glossy, tiled floor, she reads to the music in her head. I sit on the couch, glancing up from my own novel, watching her read while bathed in the fading sunlight. She flicks another page and continues to read with iron clad resolution, never noticing the smile playing across my face.

I stop watching her, returning to my own reading though the smile continues to light up my face. She glances up from her tale to give me a questioning look. I glance up and return the look to her, enjoying the back and forth. A slight shrug and a flicker of annoyance mar her beauty for only a brief moment. I lower my eyes to the book, but not to read.

Thinking of what to do, I reach inside my pocket for the ring I bought her yesterday. I steal a glance at her, hoping she doesn't suspect. Deeply engrossed in her book, she would not see it coming. Her hair, cascading down her face, shields her eyes from me. I hesitate to move, afraid of what her response might be. Do I risk what we have for what we might or do I remain content with what we already have accomplished?

A deep breath and a push away from the couch answers my question. Foolish or not, the is no waiting any longer. I walk towards her, my hand dipping into my pocket for her ring. . .

Writing: Moment in Time - Musical Therapy

A song plays in the background, feeding my mood exactly what it doesn't need. I lean back, listening to the lyrics, but not hearing the song. "You tell me you love me, I ain't so sure. Love is something earned and not just spoken. How can I trust again, when I'm knocked to the floor. You cant always fix whatever has been broken." eases through my speakers and replays in my mind.

"Truer words have never been spoken," I say to the song, but like always, it never answers. I sip from my Sierra Mist and chat idly with a friend in Georgia. I am not sure if my answers have any relevance to what he is saying, but it feels good to just freely type.

The song changes to Breakup Song by Cowboy Mouth. "How appropriate," I murmur to myself. It seems to be a contagious disease affecting everyone lately. I listen to the beat, but the lyrics are lost to me. The beat is uptempo, electric. It moves through me, shocking my system like Cowboy Mouth always seems to do.

"Why you wanna do me like you do?" says the next song. I can look at many relationships and I wonder why these words have not been spoken. I lean back and think of the people I met since I moved up here, specifically her. It seems she has a thing for me, but I don't act on it.

"Why shouldn't I?" I ask myself. Sometimes it feels like everyone's against you, sometimes it feels like the world doesn't care. What you gotta do is you gotta get up, you gotta find your heart, you gotta find your soul, you gotta find those strengths inside yourself that make you take on the day, take on the world, that make you feel alive, the song answers. "That doesn't help me." I answer back. I know why I don't act on it. It's no secret to myself. I don't act on it because it's not her I want to be with. She is an awesome person, but she definitely deserves someone that can give her his entire heart and soul.

My mp3 list shifts again, Lips of an Angel plays. I enjoy this song. It makes me remember someone I don't want to remember, but the song makes sure I don't forget so easily. She hurt me deeply, but I think I am finally over it. I can think of her and not think of only the time I came home to an empty apartment.

I'm standing here until you make me move, says Lifehouse. I enjoy this song too. It reminds me of how I chase things that will more than likely hurt me in the end. No. That's not true. Fate has a way of twisting things and things might work. Things might not. I guess that's up to what God has in store for me.

There is no you, there is only me, screams out of my speakers. Appropriate timing I would say. I have lost my faith somewhere along the line. My beliefs and faith have been stripped away layer after layer. Do I believe in God anymore? I truly do not know the answer to that. I grew up a troubled child, prone to aggression and one day changed virtually over night. Only things did not get better for me. Things got worse and have changed me. I did not have a happy childhood I hear my other friends had. I did not have a happy adolescence my friends had. I did not have a happy young adulthood that I hear people have. My life has hurt and has kept me closed.

I turn off my mp3 player after I listen to The Atari's The Saddest Song. I finish off my Sierra Mist and close the doors that I opened up to share this post with you all. I lock them tight and turn off the lights.

"Another time, perhaps," I say to myself. "Of course, another time never comes" a smile wrly. I turn and walk down the corridor passing one locked and barred door after another. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your mom and dad left you with me for the day. I don't care if you want to go on rides. You're pathetic, you know that? Stop crying. What are you, a baby? Stop crying or I will hit you again. You know your parents didn't even want to keep you? If your mom didn't have a miscarriage, they wouldn't be burdened with you. Here comes your sister, if you don't stop crying, I will REALLY give you something to cry about. How did her door open? I close it tight, remembering her hatred of me. My aunt. The sister of my mother. Family is supposed to love you, I guess she never got the memo. Her words carry with me to this day. I was 6 years old and at a fair with my cousin, sister and aunt. I got the pleasure of watching them ride rides while my aunt destroyed my selfworth. I close the vault and lock it.

"Another time..."

Writing: Moment in Time - Sleeping Beauty

Her eyes close as she rests her head upon my shoulder. Stray hairs cascade down her serene face as she slowly drifts into slumber. My fingers itch, burn, with the desire to gently push back those rogue strands. Her breathing becomes shallow as she slides further asleep, my arm gently wrapped around her; caressing. I tilt my head to the side, resting against her soft hair. Closing my eyes, I drink in the moment.

Her body shifts under my arm as her head slips lower and settles on my lap. My fingers continue to lightly dance along her back. My eyes slowly open as I look down at the quintessential Sleeping Beauty laying below me. I smile and turn my head to look to the sky. Her hand rests lightly on my leg as she sleeps, while mine continues to moving soothingly. I watch the stars glitter in the sky while a closer one rests here with me.

Her head raises as she temporarily waves sleep from her mind. A glance at me and her head falls again to my chest. I lightly kiss her sweet smelling hair as her eyes close once more. Resting head to head, I close my eyes. Lost in a moment that wont last, feeling things that are difficult to voice, I sigh lightly. Stop thinking, I tell myself. Just enjoy the moment.

Writing: Moment in Time - Lunch

Out of the corner of my eye I see him. Like clockwork, he sips his drink, twice, every five seconds. Reading a magazine that only confirms my guess behind his occupation, he sits in suited glory. He eats his lunch with a studied ease and from where I sit I can almost feel the tension and stress from him. He glances to his watch, shakes his cup, and looks outside.

A crunch from the hastily eaten chips notifies me that he is done pondering. He thumbs faster through his magazine as I realize his lunch time must be nearly done. I watch him and wonder if he even suspects I am writing about him. If he did, would he be upset or would he be grateful to have been captured immortally in a forgotten medium?

Sneaking a stealthy glance to his table reveals an orderly aspect that I should have guessed, but somehow missed. Napkins, papers, receipt, drink, plate, all stand within an order of convenience. It impresses me, as a fan of order myself. I glance at my own disorganized table and smile. One for you, sir, one for you.

Does he know that I admire him even though I have never said a word to him? How would he accept the admiration of someone who has never made eye contact let alone speak to him? Magazine closes and trash begins to collect in an orderly fashion. He rises and leaves, leaving me with only more admiration. Marking his passing, a stack of clean, unused napkins sit. A gentleman to the end.

Poetry: Flirt

Eye's dancing,
sparkling at you.
Eyebrow raised,
questioning.

Slow smirk,
matching wink.
Signal strong,
are you receiving?

Smiling coyly,
head tilted.
Ask yourself,
do you take a chance?

Leaving silently,
door closing.
Wanting more,
do you have the guts?

Car waiting,
door open.
Smiling at you,
doors don't stay open forever.

Poetry: Songbird

Her voice
cuts like glass.
Striking my heart,
I fall in instant love.

Higher and higher
she soars.
Hitting notes that
could make stones weep.

My eyes glassy;
my breath caught.
She sings with all her heart;
I can hear it breaking.

The song draws to a close,
her voice still ghosting the room.
In my mind she still sings,
a songbird soaring on golden wings.

Poetry: No Vacancy

Stop! Go back!
There is no place for you here!
You know
you are not welcome!

Turn away! Hurry!
This is where the heart breaks!
You have
been here before!

Please stop! Turn back!
You don't want to be here!
You are
not welcome anymore!

I warned you!
Now you pay!
You never listen,
after all the times I told you!

Lock you away!
That's the only punishment!
You are stuck
with the choices you made!

No Forgiveness!
You will listen next time!
You pay the price now,
and pray.

This is where the heart breaks.
There is no reprieve.
You came of your own accord.
You never listen.
You'll be back,
you always are.

Poetry: Watch and Wait

Watching and waiting,
stuck in park.
People come and go;
I am the only constant.

Live and learn,
I bide my time.
Mirthful eyes
watch them pass.

You had your chance,
but squandered the opportunity.
I am beyond your reach;
better off for it.

I closed the store,
suckers no longer for sale.
No longer waiting, but
laughing while watching.


I get up from my seat, the chair sliding back, scraping on the bare floor. With one last smile, I look at the two of you. I hope he knows what he is in for, I laugh in the confines of my mind. As I walk out the door, I toss a final thought to you, one that you will never hear.

"When you grow tired of the game, look me up. I warn you, I won't be around forever."

Poetry: Drive

Drive fast,
it's a nowhere road.
Dark and empty,
you ride alone.

Drive hard,
it's a nowhere road.
Soundless and maddening,
you being to slip.

Drive endlessly,
it's a nowhere road.
Infinite and finite,
you feel confined.

Just drive,
it's a nowhere road.
Soulless and inhuman,
this road is best traveled solo.

Writing: Moment in Time - Heat

His kiss inflames her, causing her to melt against his body. Her mind exploded with desire when he opened the door and, with a smile that could stop time, pulled her roughly against him and brought their lips together. She has never been so forcefully taken by a moment and she loses herself to it. Her hands slide through his short hair, locking to it; pulling it. She watches through partially closed eyes the lust hidden in his. She grinds against his body, making sure he feels every contour of her body. She feels his hands sliding around her, caressing, hard and passionate.

She feels herself pulled against a wall, the cold of it sharply contrasting the heat radiating off of them. She feels his lips in a hundred places at once while he holds her arms against the wall. She explodes in ecstasy as primal moans escape her lips. She pulls enough of her mind back to make a choice on where to go. The bedroom is too far, she thinks. A smile lights up her sweat covered face as she looks to the kitchen table. She releases her arms and leads him away, her fingers wrapped around his belt.