Did You Notice I'm Not Perfect?
It has very little to do with my past, with where I've been and who I've done and what I've seen. But then it has much to do with my past, with how I felt, how I feel, how I reacted and am still reacting.
Once upon a time...and isn't that the way every story should start? "Once upon a time"? But mine starts with this: Once upon a memory.
Once upon a memory, there was a girl, so young and so innocent. Yes, innocent, innocent and naive. She was intelligent, frighteningly so, but also generous and pure of heart. One christmas (did this really happen?) she went out of her way to shop for her friends at school, trying so hard to find the perfect present for each of their personalities and desires. She was so happy, taking so much joy in the choosing. And then the giving day came. Everyone was running around, giving each other presents, giggling over private jokes and gag gifts. Our girl gave out her treasures, revelling in the looks on their faces as they opened and acknowledged her insight and care. Our girl, that day, spent nearly the whole day smiling with the knowledge that she'd done well. Was it not until she'd arrived home that she realized she'd not received a single gift? Or, perhaps, was that the hidden truth behind her smile all that day? I don't remember.
Once upon a memory, same girl, still so young and still so innocent. Still, too, naive. Only now there was a boy. Of course, a boy, a boy and a crush. And a night when the boy stayed over, a friend of our girl's brother. Movies and popcorn and laughing. And the boy, touching and receiving touch in return. But not with our girl. No, our girl sat and watched as the boy and her sister flirted, touched, wouldn't move away from each other. Her sister knew, of course, about her feelings for the boy. So did the boy. Bed time, boys to the left, girls to the right, and our girl knew she wouldn't see the boy again until morning. Giggles and laughter in the girls' room (other girls spending the night as well), until...where was her sister? She'd disappeared. Our girl didn't know until days later that her sister and the boy had met for a secret rendez-vous. Our girl didn't know until she saw the words printed on the page about nipples and kisses and sucking and tongues in hidden places. Or, perhaps, was that the hidden truth behind her smile that night? I don't remember.
Once upon a memory, our girl again, no longer young, and not as innocent. Still, though, somewhat naive. Her body she'd traded for momentary pleasures, for the illusions of happinesses she wanted so desperately to be real. And she's on the phone. She's on the phone and the person on the other end of the line is telling her what a horrible person she is and how dare she do this to her parents and if she was going to be a whore she should get a pimp so she could at least have medical benefits. Pregnancy, and this person on the other end of the line was taking it as a personal assault, as if our girl had done this out of malice JUST to spite this person, her aunt. Auntie Satan. There was no truth behind her smile; our girl surrendered to her tears. I remember.
Once upon a memory, yes, same girl, far from youth and innocence. Even her naivete has been sacrificed to the harshness of time. She awakens to his urgency, his obvious need for her. Standing, walking into the other room where he grabs her to him and won't let go. He's shaking, crying. She's there for him in his moment of loss. His dearest friend, dead. Heart so big, trying to cover them both and ease his suffering. She stands there forever, holding this Raven man, until his tears slow and she can tell him she's there for him no matter what he needs. That, I remember, too.
Once upon a memory, and there are so many MANY memories. And each one associated with its own tear.
Only one minute to work and I have to run to clock in.
Laters
It has very little to do with my past, with where I've been and who I've done and what I've seen. But then it has much to do with my past, with how I felt, how I feel, how I reacted and am still reacting.
Once upon a time...and isn't that the way every story should start? "Once upon a time"? But mine starts with this: Once upon a memory.
Once upon a memory, there was a girl, so young and so innocent. Yes, innocent, innocent and naive. She was intelligent, frighteningly so, but also generous and pure of heart. One christmas (did this really happen?) she went out of her way to shop for her friends at school, trying so hard to find the perfect present for each of their personalities and desires. She was so happy, taking so much joy in the choosing. And then the giving day came. Everyone was running around, giving each other presents, giggling over private jokes and gag gifts. Our girl gave out her treasures, revelling in the looks on their faces as they opened and acknowledged her insight and care. Our girl, that day, spent nearly the whole day smiling with the knowledge that she'd done well. Was it not until she'd arrived home that she realized she'd not received a single gift? Or, perhaps, was that the hidden truth behind her smile all that day? I don't remember.
Once upon a memory, same girl, still so young and still so innocent. Still, too, naive. Only now there was a boy. Of course, a boy, a boy and a crush. And a night when the boy stayed over, a friend of our girl's brother. Movies and popcorn and laughing. And the boy, touching and receiving touch in return. But not with our girl. No, our girl sat and watched as the boy and her sister flirted, touched, wouldn't move away from each other. Her sister knew, of course, about her feelings for the boy. So did the boy. Bed time, boys to the left, girls to the right, and our girl knew she wouldn't see the boy again until morning. Giggles and laughter in the girls' room (other girls spending the night as well), until...where was her sister? She'd disappeared. Our girl didn't know until days later that her sister and the boy had met for a secret rendez-vous. Our girl didn't know until she saw the words printed on the page about nipples and kisses and sucking and tongues in hidden places. Or, perhaps, was that the hidden truth behind her smile that night? I don't remember.
Once upon a memory, our girl again, no longer young, and not as innocent. Still, though, somewhat naive. Her body she'd traded for momentary pleasures, for the illusions of happinesses she wanted so desperately to be real. And she's on the phone. She's on the phone and the person on the other end of the line is telling her what a horrible person she is and how dare she do this to her parents and if she was going to be a whore she should get a pimp so she could at least have medical benefits. Pregnancy, and this person on the other end of the line was taking it as a personal assault, as if our girl had done this out of malice JUST to spite this person, her aunt. Auntie Satan. There was no truth behind her smile; our girl surrendered to her tears. I remember.
Once upon a memory, yes, same girl, far from youth and innocence. Even her naivete has been sacrificed to the harshness of time. She awakens to his urgency, his obvious need for her. Standing, walking into the other room where he grabs her to him and won't let go. He's shaking, crying. She's there for him in his moment of loss. His dearest friend, dead. Heart so big, trying to cover them both and ease his suffering. She stands there forever, holding this Raven man, until his tears slow and she can tell him she's there for him no matter what he needs. That, I remember, too.
Once upon a memory, and there are so many MANY memories. And each one associated with its own tear.
Only one minute to work and I have to run to clock in.
Laters
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