"Simple little beauty-
heaven in your breath.
The simplest of pleasures-
the world at it's best."

Sitting in the chair that refused to stay still,
I watched them gather around garment bags.
Unzipping each one with my eyes before they
could reach the zipper pull, I could see it all unravel;
it all came together. Their backs turned to me,
I thought it safe to let out an inaudible gasp,
and an accidental tear.

The thought of having my face and name in
glossy printed pages is something I could never
believe to be obtainable.

Flashbulbs and rose petals at my feet.
Roughly four months ago this all started.
There's no use in stopping now.

While at work, a girl I went to college with stopped to chat.
We exchanged the usual questions.
When asked about what it is I've been up to,
I told her that I've been working and modeling, etc,etc.

"But what happened to your dream of being a writer?"
"Oh, right. That."
"Did you change your mind?"
"No, no. Not at all. I'm just a little preoccupied, I guess."
"Oh."

After we said goodbye, I stood paralyzed.
Since I can remember I've told everyone that
I'm going to be a writer someday.
And here I am, making excuses, finding reasons
to put off the one thing I've always wanted.
I think after a minor adjustment of priorities,
writing and I will fall in love again.
Not to say I ever fell out of love,
I just need to reignite the flame, is all.

Not knowing what would happen
or what would resurface, I was scared
to accept the open line of communication
that was offered to me.
But I trusted myself.
I felt empowered by my ability to say no
and I felt awakened by realizing that
what I want and what I deserve are one in the same.
It turned out to be painful in ways I did not expect.
I anticipated doubt, but felt nothing but indifference.

A Mexican dinner. I avoided eye contact. It felt new again.
I shied away from the lens and he got angry.
I threw myself against the booth seat, confessing
my discomfort with the conversation at hand,
hiding from his suggestion; the one where the focus was separation
because there's something from keeping me from
letting him in.

I will never understand why I hide my face
or why I disappear time to time.
All I am adept to understand is that
I want to be free. No walls, no guards.
Free.

Each night it seems as though I say something wrong.
We turn our backs to one another. We go to bed alone.
In the middle of our uneasy sleep cycle, we mutely forgive
whatever caused us to grow distant.
I am awakened every night by dream
induced kisses upon my back.

All I am capable of doing is apologizing.
I feel safest when the words "I'm sorry" fall
from my mouth, usually breaking into a million pieces
upon impact. Each time, I silently pick up each
tiny, invisible shard and swallow them
so I can prepare to avert my
glance until the words decide to spill out again.

It astounds me that someone can call me beautiful
and tell me they love me every single day.
It astounds me even more so that I can say I love you
and it is reciprocated in every way imaginable.

If someone were to ask me what my favorite moment is,
I have prepared an honest answer.
It is when a glint or two of early morning sun cascades
through the space between the blinds; specks of dust
glimmering in dance, light weaving in and out of heavy
eyelashes, casting prismatic rainbows in my eyes.
Those moments, which are reoccurring, are the singular
moments where my world stops, holds its breath and
threatens to resume to a time where everything seems possible.

The house has temporarily returned to my preferred state
of unoccupied. I will walk room to room, pretending that each one
belongs to me. I will tend to the garden as if I planted each seed.
I will make the noise that will surely shake the frames from the walls.
It will be me who decides to let the sun in.



(photo: christianog.com)