Eyes

It's hard not to notice the sadness sometimes...

I see their eyes, and they cause a deep, transcending experience into their gray scale dimension. No silver lining, no light at the end of the endless tunnel. Just gray. Sure, there are different shades of gray to tell the objects in this space apart. You know that there have to be objects in this particular dimension, otherwise this would just be a dimension of delusion, insanity. Discerning it is what keeps the mind from being influenced into insanity.

Sometimes they put on that war paint to hide the sadness. They illuminate the corner of their eye and bring some color and brightness to the somber backdrop. Who are they kidding? But sometimes the war paint mirrors the sadness. The curves of the black pen take on a despondent turn, a depressive sigh materialized. And I begin to examine those lines further, but my eyes begin to sting. And right before I back away, I notice the glossy look of their eyes and the red veins rooting themselves in their eyes. I know they're about to explode with vigorous emotion. I take a step back anticipating the mushroom cloud, and see myself staring back, convulsing in tears and repressed sentiments...

"They" is me.

Shit.

Ain't It Funny

I am so far beyond offended. That I would actually be taken for a fool. But of course, you would be the one to underestimate me. You would be the on to assume that everything about you could offer would make me fall to my knees and beg for it. You'd just have to dangle it in front of me and I'd bit, the bait would bite, wouldn't it. You've forgotten who you're dealing with.

But Ain't It Funny how the tables turned eventually.

Sympathy from a City Gal

I don’t know what has gotten into me lately, but as a (practically) born and bred New Yorker, I am becoming way less selfish than I boasted I was not even a year ago. A couple days ago, I was approached by a young man sitting on the train that I came into. I, of course, with the nasty glance that only a true New York gal can give a man, shrugged him off and moved out of his line of sight. The young man then got up from his seat and came over to me. Now, the number one thing you learn whilst in the city that never sleeps is guys that approach you that way are usually creeps to no end.

However, this young man (who was my same age) was genuinely interested in striking up a conversation. I was not interested from the very start in this guy, but his realness and, frankly, courage are what lead me to not turn him away. Not a lot of guys these days will come up to a girl interested in actually getting to know the girl. Often-time, what girls are greeted with is catcalling and perverted remarks.

While we may feel flattered and disgusted at the same time, we are also annoyed already. It was oddly refreshing to not have to deal with either the catcalling or perverted remarks. I admit, I was little more than receptive to this encounter. My responses consisted of very short comments in contrast to his info digging genuinely curious questions. At the end, he asked for some form of contact path where we could keep in touch. I, again, was not too keen to the idea of handing out my info to a perfect stranger, so I provided him with my Twitter and justified my reasoning by saying it was the only social network that I really used which is not too far from the truth (although, lately, I have been on Tumblr for the majority of my time).

Earlier today, in the Starbucks where I am currently writing from, I witnessed another one of these curious interactions. A 15 year old boy was sitting with his mother. In walk a group of college boys and they order their Starbucks and grab seats a couple feet away from the boy. All of a sudden, the boy speaks up and asks one of the boys if it’s alright to ask him a question. The 19 year old boy says yes. Now, what happened next shocked me. The 19 year old boy who was approached did not mind continuing the conversation. In fact, it was both of them who tangoed. And, for the cherry on the cake, I was not at all annoyed by their interaction. Let me clarify something for you non-New Yorkers. Even if we are not the ones approached but we are witnesses to an attempted approach, WE STILL GET ANNOYED AND ARE ANNOYED FOR THE OTHER PERSON.

I did, for a couple split seconds, let my mind wander to those thoughts, but overall, I was pleasantly surprised how cooperative the latter party was. The 15 year old boy told the 19 year old boy that he didn’t have many friends and didn’t mind making new friends. He then proceeded to ask if the 19 year old boy could be his friend. And the latter accepted. This really did warm my heart.

And finally… I was sitting on the bus yesterday and I know this bus always gets packed.

I always sit in a single seat. No matter how many bags I have, I am never that ass hole that takes up two seats for him and the non-living objects in his accompaniment. When the bus is beginning to get full, an older woman mounts the bus. I can see and very clearly tell that she is tired of standing. But I continue to sit. I do not give my seat up to her. I consciously made a choice to not be one kind of asshole, but a different kind of asshole. Now, this is where I new that the New York mindset is one very hard to get rid of. I was battling with myself the whole time. Pretending to disregard her and feeling terrible because being courteous was not second nature to me. When she got off the bus, I beat myself up for about 3 seconds and then felt relieved that that pressure I had been self-imposing, was gone. I feel horrible about that and it is definitely not one of my brightest moments.

The change that I am slowly but surely to make is one of a wholistic nature. If I want to be good, every aspect of my life needs to vow to make that change, too. Because once you delve into that goal, you cannot waiver and you cannot falter.

That Darned Post-Coital Bliss

There's something about the sense of satisfaction felt after coitus. Something deliciously raw. Something that emanates from every pore and sore muscle. It feeds your aura and your spirit. It relaxes. Flows from your walk, your talk, your sight. It's addicting. It'll hook its fingers into your jeans, pull you close, and volunteer your willing nature to stay and acquiesce to its presence in your very essence. Yup. It's that good. That gosh darn post-coital bliss.

Simon

Oh, I finally see what you're doing here. This is a game to you. It's all a game. You may have my interest at heart, but that's just a fraction of what's going on here. It's most certainly not a game of monkey see, monkey do. The see monkey doesn't do right, so the do monkey can't possibly do right either. No, the is a game of Simon says. You say, I do. Simon does whatever he wants, but I still have to do as he says and not shows. Well, I'll play along. I'll follow everything you tell me. I'll cross my t's and dot my i's. But I'll be waiting until you seem confident. And before you even know what hit you, it'll hit you. And you'll regret the day you made me play along. You'll rue it, I swear.

Friends

They're with you when your soul is turned to ashes and your heart is smashed to pieces. When you think your wings can't possibly soar any higher, they take your hand and pull you up past the clouds. They're with you when the ground begins to give in beneath you. They take you under their wing. That shield you, scold you, protect you, and challenge you. They're the people you should always value the highest. They're your friends. No, they're your family. The only vinculation missing is the blood flowing through your veins but don't worry; they were drenched in yours while picking you up from the misfortune you were in.

Realizations (Yes, Plural)

This is a word that often may scare me, but in the end only embraces me with the only form of love that I know. The only form of love that solidifies and is my companion through thick and thin. Certainty.