LJ Idol Week 9: My Scars
What a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun
There are some people in life that utterly change your world view. You hope it is for the better, and that it happens in a positive way. You hope to emerge stronger, encouraged by something inspiring and uplifting. You hope to find beauty in the things when they do go wrong, and in the people who hurt you.
Or, maybe, you dare not hope for any impact; that you will drift along and remain untouched by the people with whom you share life, and leave few marks on them.
What a beautiful dream that could flash on the screen in a blink of an eye and be gone from me
A few Januaries ago, I was a junior in high school at my best friend's birthday party. I had just dumped my boyfriend of two years, and while we were on shaky terms, it had not been a particularly horrible ordeal. I was excited to be single for the first time in what seemed ages, and when an acquaintance of mine named Kit appeared to be flirting with me a little, I extrapolated and took a chance.
Soft and sweet...
We sat on my friend's lawn in the cold for I can't remember how long, the party raging inside, and spoke frankly about an assortment of pains and joys. My parents were just beginning the bitter tangle of relationship problems that persist to this day, and I was scared. Kit tried to comfort me, or at least express his empathy, by telling vague stories of his own parents' divorce. We got cold. We sat in his car. I told him his shampoo smelled nice, and we talked about robots. He told me, quietly but without passion, that he thought I was beautiful.
We spoke easily and without awkwardness about how we should try going on dates. Not because we liked each other, but because we think it would be fun to get some practice dating. We planned one for that Monday.
The party eventually came outside to play frisbee, and we were ridiculed for sitting in his car, especially since the windows had gotten foggy. We shrugged it off, sincerely, with no inkling of ulterior motives between us.
I promised myself I would not fall for him, that I would let him come to me if he wanted me. Besides, he was a little chubby; I could do better, right?
Let me hold it close and keep it here, with me...
On Monday he picked me up and we went into town. We didn't have much time together, but we ate subs and talked and laughed and I felt as though I had found a good friend.
Then he drove me home, and sang a song to me.
And one day we will die, and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea.
But for now we are young, let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing that we see...
The amount of pain and sorrow and ecstasy attached to that song is without measure. There are other instances during the course of the past few years that Kit has broken and mended my heart with this song, but the first time was pure. He sang along to it in the car that afternoon, and I looked at him and he drew his eyebrows together and looked back, singing so sweetly at me, and I fell.
It's taken me two years to get up, and my soul has been shattered and reassembled so many times in between, I often believe I would barely recognize myself if I had had a chance to check the future.
Love to be in the arms of all I'm thinking of, with me...
I could write for days on everything that Kit has done to and for me. From playing hard-to-get and torturing me; to making me despise him, forcing me to distract myself with other crushes; to finally getting close and breaking down and admitting, far to late, that he loved me; to the overwhelming joy and unbearable agony of our short, doomed romance this last summer.
They are all trenches along a deep scar, a scathing ravine that has toughened with time and frequent abuse, and is now healing over with a softness once more.
Now how I remember you, how I would push my fingers through your mouth
to make those muscles move and make your voice so smooth and sweet
Who is the person that crawled through and stood up at the end, bloody and tender, achy and filled with remorse and hope? What have these scars done?
Kit has made me paranoid. I fear myself and my feelings; they were too strong for him. How could anyone bear them? And though I want to hide and protect myself and others from them, the very nature of them bursts through my efforts and leaves me wondering why I cannot control the love and hate that I possess.
Kit has made me value openness. I have always considered myself a very open, honest person. Let's talk about our feelings. Let's try to understand each other. Now, more than ever, I recognize the need for this; Kit is a shell, clamped shut and nearly impossible to really read. Our misunderstandings escalated, and his silence tempted me.
Kit has made me want to be a psychologist. His enigmatic emotions, unreadable and unpredictable psyche, and secret depth all pushed me to find an inner propensity for intuition and curiosity towards all humanity. I wanted to understand and to fix him, and over time this desire has grown and enveloped me entirely.
And more than anything, Kit taught me what it means to hurt.
But now we keep where we don't know
All secrets sleep in winter clothes with one you loved so long ago
Now he don't even know his name...
I am several hundred miles from him now, and my heart has found new blades to run itself against. But although my story with him may be over, the beauty and tragedy that resides in me is very much based in what he did for me, intentionally or not. I can only hope I had some impact on him, but his crushing apathy denies me any glimpse. For that I am bitter.
I do not give him credit for who I am today. That goes to my feelings, my reactions, my mistakes. Kit was merely a catalyst for great growth: the water that I drowned in, the breath of air, and the hypothermia; the knife I threw myself on, the band-aid, and the agonizing ripping off. Through it all, I made the choice to jump, to breathe, to cut, to tear.
What a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun
My bandages still fall, from time to time, and the scars have distorted other relationships. But here I am, and I can listen to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea without crying now.
And when we meet on a cloud, I'll be laughing out loud;
I'll be laughing with everyone I see
Can't believe
How strange it is to be anything at all...
This post is for LJ Idol. Please check back on Friday if you would like to vote for me.
There are some people in life that utterly change your world view. You hope it is for the better, and that it happens in a positive way. You hope to emerge stronger, encouraged by something inspiring and uplifting. You hope to find beauty in the things when they do go wrong, and in the people who hurt you.
Or, maybe, you dare not hope for any impact; that you will drift along and remain untouched by the people with whom you share life, and leave few marks on them.
What a beautiful dream that could flash on the screen in a blink of an eye and be gone from me
A few Januaries ago, I was a junior in high school at my best friend's birthday party. I had just dumped my boyfriend of two years, and while we were on shaky terms, it had not been a particularly horrible ordeal. I was excited to be single for the first time in what seemed ages, and when an acquaintance of mine named Kit appeared to be flirting with me a little, I extrapolated and took a chance.
Soft and sweet...
We sat on my friend's lawn in the cold for I can't remember how long, the party raging inside, and spoke frankly about an assortment of pains and joys. My parents were just beginning the bitter tangle of relationship problems that persist to this day, and I was scared. Kit tried to comfort me, or at least express his empathy, by telling vague stories of his own parents' divorce. We got cold. We sat in his car. I told him his shampoo smelled nice, and we talked about robots. He told me, quietly but without passion, that he thought I was beautiful.
We spoke easily and without awkwardness about how we should try going on dates. Not because we liked each other, but because we think it would be fun to get some practice dating. We planned one for that Monday.
The party eventually came outside to play frisbee, and we were ridiculed for sitting in his car, especially since the windows had gotten foggy. We shrugged it off, sincerely, with no inkling of ulterior motives between us.
I promised myself I would not fall for him, that I would let him come to me if he wanted me. Besides, he was a little chubby; I could do better, right?
Let me hold it close and keep it here, with me...
On Monday he picked me up and we went into town. We didn't have much time together, but we ate subs and talked and laughed and I felt as though I had found a good friend.
Then he drove me home, and sang a song to me.
And one day we will die, and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea.
But for now we are young, let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing that we see...
The amount of pain and sorrow and ecstasy attached to that song is without measure. There are other instances during the course of the past few years that Kit has broken and mended my heart with this song, but the first time was pure. He sang along to it in the car that afternoon, and I looked at him and he drew his eyebrows together and looked back, singing so sweetly at me, and I fell.
It's taken me two years to get up, and my soul has been shattered and reassembled so many times in between, I often believe I would barely recognize myself if I had had a chance to check the future.
Love to be in the arms of all I'm thinking of, with me...
I could write for days on everything that Kit has done to and for me. From playing hard-to-get and torturing me; to making me despise him, forcing me to distract myself with other crushes; to finally getting close and breaking down and admitting, far to late, that he loved me; to the overwhelming joy and unbearable agony of our short, doomed romance this last summer.
They are all trenches along a deep scar, a scathing ravine that has toughened with time and frequent abuse, and is now healing over with a softness once more.
Now how I remember you, how I would push my fingers through your mouth
to make those muscles move and make your voice so smooth and sweet
Who is the person that crawled through and stood up at the end, bloody and tender, achy and filled with remorse and hope? What have these scars done?
Kit has made me paranoid. I fear myself and my feelings; they were too strong for him. How could anyone bear them? And though I want to hide and protect myself and others from them, the very nature of them bursts through my efforts and leaves me wondering why I cannot control the love and hate that I possess.
Kit has made me value openness. I have always considered myself a very open, honest person. Let's talk about our feelings. Let's try to understand each other. Now, more than ever, I recognize the need for this; Kit is a shell, clamped shut and nearly impossible to really read. Our misunderstandings escalated, and his silence tempted me.
Kit has made me want to be a psychologist. His enigmatic emotions, unreadable and unpredictable psyche, and secret depth all pushed me to find an inner propensity for intuition and curiosity towards all humanity. I wanted to understand and to fix him, and over time this desire has grown and enveloped me entirely.
And more than anything, Kit taught me what it means to hurt.
But now we keep where we don't know
All secrets sleep in winter clothes with one you loved so long ago
Now he don't even know his name...
I am several hundred miles from him now, and my heart has found new blades to run itself against. But although my story with him may be over, the beauty and tragedy that resides in me is very much based in what he did for me, intentionally or not. I can only hope I had some impact on him, but his crushing apathy denies me any glimpse. For that I am bitter.
I do not give him credit for who I am today. That goes to my feelings, my reactions, my mistakes. Kit was merely a catalyst for great growth: the water that I drowned in, the breath of air, and the hypothermia; the knife I threw myself on, the band-aid, and the agonizing ripping off. Through it all, I made the choice to jump, to breathe, to cut, to tear.
What a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun
My bandages still fall, from time to time, and the scars have distorted other relationships. But here I am, and I can listen to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea without crying now.
And when we meet on a cloud, I'll be laughing out loud;
I'll be laughing with everyone I see
Can't believe
How strange it is to be anything at all...
This post is for LJ Idol. Please check back on Friday if you would like to vote for me.