Late Night Ramble #657

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It is almost midnight and I must confess this immediately. I must speak quickly so as to bare it all and leave nothing unsaid. I must tell someone and who better than a late night drifter. An insomniac. A night shift worker. An over thinker. A single mother. A married mother. A guilty heart breaker. A lonely heart breakee. Point is, thoughts are clearest closest to dawn and also judgment free.

Listen. Please. I have stumbled upon something magnificent. The culmination of 22 months and several days of brooding over imaginings and maybe he does like me or maybe he’s just nice or maybe he’s keeping his options open or maybe I’m his only one. Maybe he’s just as afraid as I am. Afraid of something bigger than rejection. More frightening. Acceptance? We aren’t equipped for fairytale lives. We cannot handle meet-cutes. The script we were given is plain and simple and says things like “love is hard” and “certain things only happen in the movies, sweetheart” so move along. It rambles rubbish like “He’s not waiting in a bookstore in the Classics aisle for you to walk over in search of something Cummings. He’s not sitting on a park bench looking for a passerby who instead of passing by, stays. He won’t stare at you from across the room until you both make your way over to one another and drown awkwardly.”

Oh, but what if he is? We’re so brain-soaked into believing we may never be truly happy that we settle for what is only satisfying. I want to be fuller than full. I want my heart to race. My palms to sweat. I want to live every cliche’ ever written or thought. I want to dance in the rain to no music and have him promise me the moon. I want the Notebook and Nottinghill. I want Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

So this, indirectly and very subliminally, is a letter to him. In hope that he might be a sleep-walker or like me, a late night stalker.

My dearest boy. Your fear is not unnoticed. I see it now and I welcome it. I, too am afraid of loves embrace. But is it not true there exists nothing stronger than fear?

(Megan Celeste Lucas 2014)

A Brief Second by Megan Celeste Lucas

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I woke up one day, lost and afraid and desperate. He had left me desolate. There was no turning from this pain only ripping of dry blood again and again with every thought of his touch in every memory that clutched so longingly to songs and poems and clouds and it’s hard to make tea just for me now. You see, he started as a thought, an idea, a wish shouted out into the vastness. an answered prayer. And time stopped every time he was near and now it’s as if all of those missed minutes and hours and days came speeding up and smashed right into my face the sadness I neglected and the joy I overspent and the tears I selfishly held on to because I was too busy playing around with the different ways in which I could turn my smile right side down. I am a wreckage of mass proportions. And that’s okay. I need not explain when they complain that he’s not worth it. My tears, my anger, my solitude. He was worth every piece of me then, nothing has changed. I will give him my wrath as freely as I did my body, with trust that he will know what to do with it. I will hand him my tears in cups made from hands he promised would always be my harness. He can take my pride and my dignity and I will show him that being the lady-part of human does not always mean composure nor does it mean grace or turning away my face from his nonchalant cavalier attack on my heart. I loved him with every fragile bit of my being and the evidence was seen in the shattered porcelain on the floor and the key tracks in the door and the briefest second in which I calculated the trunk size of my car or the stamina with which I could carry his heavy heart over my shoulder with its leg attached to a boulder. I will take this brief second to break, for the longer I wait the smaller the frame will become leaving me with no words to shout, no dishes to break, only wishes I had taken this courage of mine to speak my mind and bare my insides. They were full of you but I am rid of you and wish everything of the best with you.

I woke up one day, found and okay.

A letter to my father (21.06.2013)

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Dear Daddy

It has been a year and I have been silently struggling with the absence of your smile and understanding and wise words. I wish I could have known patience then. You were ill and I was selfish and I was frustrated with you for not wanting to get better. I realize now and I know that it is too late, to treat everyone with kindness and love whether or not I think they deserve it. They probably do. Our last moments together were not pleasant and I think mum still secretly wishes she hadn’t listened to me when I said we should leave early.

That night, when the hospital called and said we should come because that was probably the last time we’d see you, I still believed you were just needing a little extra attention and needed us there. I imagined you forced them to phone us. I imagined you’d be waiting in the hall for us. I imagined that would not be the last night we’d see you. I knew you were too strong for death. You’d outlive us all. I imagined wrong.

The last few images I have of that night break my heart. Us walking into the ward and seeing the nurse shake her head. Melinda breaking down. Wesley and I holding one another outside the room. Mummy. Your warm peaceful face. The black bag full of your things. It was almost like you knew and I wish you had said something. I wish you would have hinted at the idea of a life without you. I wish you would have begged us to stay until we absolutely had to go. I wish you would have stayed until you absolutely had to go. 

I miss you with every fiber of my soul and I’d use all my wishes on bringing you back if I had the slightest inkling of a feeling they would come true. I know you knew how much you meant to me irrespective of that day. Nobody loved me like you did and I miss that love. I miss the hugs. I miss the music. There are so many special things that have happened since you’ve been gone and I wish they could have happened earlier; my graduation, Wesley buying his first house, Melinda’s first baby, Mummy’s trip to Greece. You would have been so proud. 

Life is unpredictable but I am so grateful for having known you. You taught me the greatest and hardest lessons in life and because of you I am equipped for this world and its hurdles and lemons and speed bumps. Thank you for being my father and the best friend I could have ever asked for.

I love you. I miss you.

Your daughter and friend,

Poncho

A Series of Events

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He disappeared for a while and often and feelings were forgotten and flowers didn’t seem as pretty and sleep came back and my stomach was a house for food and no longer for butterflies and I stopped plucking my eyebrows and shaving my legs and the scale got dusty and so did the treadmill and my clothes started fitting better and then not at all and I started feeling empty and stopped eating and stopped going out and covered the mirrors and my clothes started fitting better and then not at all and I was an invisible speck floating through the cosmos.

He returned for a while and flowers were pretty and I started searching for sleep in the darkest part of the night and my phone was constantly connected to the charger and I was smiling at fruit flies and the kettle while it boiled and food while it heated in the microwave and when my friends would speak I’d only hear them because I’d be listening to myself narrating conversations from last night and the night before and last week and the sun was brighter and I was writing love poems on serviettes and playing Ella Fitzgerald on loud until I was singing Ella Fitzgerald in my sleep.

He disappeared for while that lasted longer than usual.

He hasn’t yet returned.

(Megan Celeste Lucas 2014)

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