Wawa Aba

All summer I've dreaded the arrival of the past few days, and the next few to come. I wondered for hours on end how I'd say goodbye to the other half of my life who has always been by side, literally, for the past four years. I wondered if I would cry as I hugged my love and joy for the last time in what could be weeks. I wondered what my days would be like, without them.

And though I did have to say goodbye to my best friend, and I will have to give a final hug to my boyfriend, I won't have to know what my days would be like without them. I am finally beginning to realize that the bond I share with these two guys cannot be broken by distance, nor time. For no good relationship is ever always stagnant, as with changes come character and strength. And the separation or loneliness I may sometimes feel is nothing that a phone call, Greyhound bus ride, or occasional flight cannot remedy.

It doesn't matter if we're 40 minutes or several hundred miles away, or if I see you in December, or in a few weeks, I know that in some capacity, you guys will always be in my life, and I'm ashamed that I ever doubted the power of the love I feel for you, and the love you feel for me.

Retrocede

A year ago I wouldn't have ever imagined we'd be here today. I knew you only as the weird, skinny kid, who used to sing Mary Jane to me, but would change the words to Marie James. Though it was funny, I found it to be incredibly creepy.

I remember the day of homecoming you called me a bunch of times to see if I was still coming. I was in the car with Kalisha and Brandon, and I told them, "I wish he would stop calling me!" And when I got there, you was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, flowers in hand. I felt weird because I barely knew you, and didn't like you, and I didn't want you to waste anymore money or time on me. But I thought it was incredibly sweet that you did that.

Or the time you showed up at two in the morning to see me off to Philadelphia because we wouldn't see each other for two weeks. You brought me Sour Patch Kids and cranberry juice because those are my favorite. To this day that's the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me, but I remember telling Brandon as we pulled off that I thought maybe you were far too into me, and I not that far into you.

Now sometimes I wish I could hear you singing that song, or walk down a few stairs just to find you waiting there for me, or get a random surprise visit.

I guess I didn't appreciate it much then, and I suppose I'm paying for it now.

Primrose Path

I was listening to Anywhere by 112, and thus inspired.

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Never has my flesh been inspected so thoroughly. My maculate ebony skin becomes beauteous at the pressure of his perfecting fingertips. Eager sweat gathers in the small of my back as dew begins to settle upon my lips. A closed smile lingers there, begging to be parted by your touch. Cleverly you tantalize me, your wandering fingers carefully avoiding my unwavering breasts, your saccharine lips only gently grazing against mine. Submitting to my hushed pleas, you turn my body into your clay, gracefully sculpting me against you. Your shoulder fits perfectly in the crook of the back of my knee, my left leg wraps tightly around your core. Frozen, for only a moment, we appear to be a bronze statue, glistening in the light of the distant stars. And then you enter me. Slowly. Cautiously. I sense the passion in your loins as your excursion of me quickens. My soft flesh buckles beneath your strength. Calamity grows deep in my lust. Rough trembles begin at my thighs and travels in quakes over my body as I explode. My fingernails dip deep into the earth beneath me. My walls collapse making it impossible for you to escape. Every trace of my pain is waved away as your delectation pours into me.

Your body comes down upon me heavily, flattening my breasts. Slumber captures us, and it isn't until the sun rays shine upon us that you retreat from me.

De Novo

Friday, at work, I heard someone talking about choosing our days. "You can choose what sort of day you'll have," she said. And I, who am the apparent victim of circumstance, shook my head no. No, you certainly cannot. But today I feel otherwise.

Yesterday could've been a bad day for me. Things were said, and other things were not said, that could've left me hurt and upset. But I chose to have a different day. Instead of crying, worrying or regretting, I cleaned my room, took a long shower and had a great time with my friends. Then I came home, and stayed up for hours talking to friends and enjoying music. I had a good day.

And I will have a good day today. And tomorrow. Some things are simply not in my control, and it's about time that I learn to accept that, and not allow things that I cannot control to control me. I have a choice.

And I'm choosing a better life than this. I have spent years, years, unhappy, burdened and hopeless and I am finally tired of it. I've had enough. I deserve better than this. I deserve happiness, I deserve peace. I have allowed her issues and problems to keep me from enjoying what is rightfully mine.

And I am finally done.

Trepidation

I am pitiful.

If ever there was a person who lacked deeply in self-constraint, it was I.

Or was it? Or am I?

What, exactly, are we?

And, you, of course, have it.

Syndrome and Rosary

Idleness is normally when the throbs of a painful reality can be felt. Idleness, silence, and solitude. So it's no wonder that this is the first time since that I've felt this deep sickness, this jolting in the pit of my chest, now that I'm sitting idle, silent and completely alone.

Well, that was about thirty minutes ago. Now, the streams of unwanted tears have dried upon my cheeks, burying into my skin, and burning into my soul. They also decorate the silver paneling of my laptop, and have left an invisible path from one wall of my room to the other, a path that has been walked raw by my pacing feet, my racing mind. A quiet voice in my head is hopeful. "It's all for the better." "It could be worse." All for the better, could be worse. The better, be worse. Better, worse. It's hard for any portion of me to believe it.

If I ever faced such a daunting internal conflict, I cannot remember when. The love for him just wants him to be happy, no matter what must be sacrificed. The love for myself just wants.. him, and his happiness. I try to look back and remember when those two could no longer coexist, and I cannot.

Harder than looking back, is looking forward. I believe the ill feeling in my chest, the one that makes me want to double over a toilet and purge every ounce of emotion from body, is caused by the fact that I pray that one day we'll be, and I'm not sure if he does. I pray both silently and audibly to any One deeming me worthy enough to hear my pleas that seven days ago wouldn't be the last time, not knowing if that was his intentional secret goodbye.

I feel weak, fragile and certainly confused. Yet, grateful. Grateful for every moment, every kiss, every touch, and even more importantly, every thought he had of me. I'm grateful for our continuing friendship. And I'm grateful for our destines, that allowed our paths to momentarily align, and will perhaps align them again.