the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
as long as you're a stranger... ~ July 3, 2003 - 9:15 p.m. I've been realizing something about the way I've been loving. over the past couple of years. it's like I'm intentionally sticking with the hard ones. the ones that are difficult to love. what can I live with? what can't I live with? what can I forgive? these are questions, I just now am realizing I've been trying to answer. doing it all the hard way. I don't know why I need to learn this now. but I do. it used to be so easy to walk away. or maybe I just tell myself that. I think I am left more than I leave, but maybe I just tell myself that, too. in my head, when I think of it, it feels more like 50/50. but I don't really know. who's keeping score anyway? and of course, for a couple of recent years, I was never in one place long enough for the leaving to be strictly metaphorical. no need to leave when you're always. leaving. maybe I'm trying to learn how to stay. maybe someone is ahead on the road who will be worth staying with, for a good, long time. so maybe I need to practice now. with the difficult ones. who the hell knows. love is always a mess. and while I'm on the subject, let me tell you about the mysterious stranger. the one who appeared, recently, on my landlady's porch, playing guitar. playing guitar beautifully. and singing. beautifully. musicians, a weakness of mine. my landlady's porch is behind my house, facing my door. there is an indeterminate number of people living in that house, and of that indeterminate number, I have no idea how many are actually family. maybe all, or only some. stumbling out the door and down my stairs to the bathroom (which can only be reached from the outside) in the morning, bleary-eyed and bed-headed, I can never be sure how many people will be on that porch to say sabaidee! they like me, thank god. and I them. and then, one day last week, I began hearing amazing guitar. and then I saw him. and I think he is beautiful, but it's hard to say because I almost never look at him directly. he makes me very shy, not least of why because when he is there and I am outside he is always watching me. fingers teasing the notes from his guitar, and every time I glance his way our eyes meet. and I walk into the kitchen (attached to the bathroom, downstairs, from the outside), and I blush and cover my face and say no. down, girl. because I'm quite certain this man must be somebody's husband. boyfriend, at the very least. single men my age are not common in lao. and he. is. beautiful. I think. and I think, too, that this is a thing I do. brush up against the skin of the idea of the ones I cannot have. so much safer, softer, less messy than the rest. patti rothberg singing as long as you're a stranger, you'll stay beautiful to me... I feel like such a cliche sometimes. hearts are like that.
(((rings))) |