Objects of My Affection


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Like seeds we have blown worlds away from the soils where our mother roots lie, carried by the breeze of adventure and propelled by wild ambitions. How, in such a mobile life so many fingerprints have been left on my heart I can not understand. How in such a short time, daily encounters and tiny moments can become engrained in memory, heart and soul, mystifies and comforts me. The gentle touch of so many beautiful lives have helped to carry me all along, and I often wonder how many I will ever see again, or if they are even aware of the fingerprints they’ve left behind.

Transient and fleeting as life may be, it is the connections we make, the relationships that touch us, that prevail through all of the movement and change. I carry each tiny one in my heart with every step and feel so grateful I was lucky enough to be a part of so many lives, if even for only a short while. Existing through infrequent notes, an occasional phone call, or maybe only as the fingerprints of a few memories shared, these bonds are a rare eternal fixture in a constantly changing and moving world, and I am grateful for the things that stand still. 

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West we went, chasing dreams, adventure, and a sky full of more colors than I had ever seen in one place before. Even the wrong turns felt right and when we were lost we soon realized that off the beaten path was right where we needed to be. We watched in wonder as the majestic rocky mountain horizon rose like an oil painting from the plains and I said that I had never seen anything so beautiful, but you were looking at me when you replied “me either”.

Now the mountains stand by, mighty protectors looking on as the vibrant city that will become my home dances along in her lively way. My head rests on couches and I long for a place to call home and the touch of the golden haired boy who has left with my heart. Luckily though, nothing stays the same very long, and in the meantime new and beautiful places are begging to be explored. The west is a good place for the wild adventure craved by my restless soul.

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Who knows how to make love stay?

1. Tell love you are going to Junior’s Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if loves stays, it can have half. It will stay.

2. Tell love you want a momento of it and obtain a lock of its hair. Burn the hair in a dime-store incense burner with yin/yang symbols on three sides. Face southwest. Talk fast over the burning hair in a convincingly exotic language. Remove the ashes of the burnt hair and use them to paint a moustache on your face. Find love. Tell it you are someone new. It will stay.

3. Wake love up in the middle of the night. Tell it the world is on fire. Dash to the bedroom window and pee out of it. Casually return to bed and assure love that everything is going to be all right. Fall asleep. Love will be there in the morning.

Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker

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“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” ― E.B. White

I seek refuge between the margins from my doubting troubled mind. If I’m not careful she can swallow me whole without chewing, crushing me with worries, fears, doubts, and what ifs. Here I slink away from the looming choices I must make. Inside a fire burns that cant be ignored, a burning need to save need to help need to fix the wrongs in the world that are too big for me even to wrap my arms all the way around. Sometimes I just don’t know if I am big enough.

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At the weeks end we hover on the breaths of expectation, suspend in anticipation. Leaping towards enticing possibilities without looking twice until the inevitable plummet. Why do we jump if we know we’ll always fall back down to earth? It is that moment in the air when we are as weightless as the visions we create for ourselves, for that moment of expectancy and hope where the ground still seems so far away? This moment for which we hunger, when all voices of reason seem distant and soft and all I can hear is your laugh and all I can feel is your hand in mine. I think it is for this moment for which we fall, and will continue to fall for a million and twenty times over, no matter how often or how hard we may hit the ground. 

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Tonight I saw you. I saw your hands. Your eyes. Her lips. Her hair. Your look. Her nod. Her hands, your care. The water was glass and the moon was full. Together you left and the moon said goodbye but I was not so strong. I found solace in her light and the hand I held. I only wish I didn’t still wonder if you wondered too, if maybe the train was meant to bring me to you. 

I suppose as long as your hand has another to hold and your smile is frequent and your heart is not cold. 

Maybe we’re strangers now.

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As I sit watching the waves crash the shore while the gulls dance over the ruckus, a leaf from a nearby tree floats lightly from her branches on the breeze to settle in a mysterious place I can’t see from where I am. I notice a gull wander away from the bunch in my direction. The surf breaks on a rock and the ocean throws sparkling bits of herself high into the air to catch the suns rays. I turn to the gull and ask, “How do you leave a place so beautiful when the winter comes?”

With a smirk she answers “You fall in love too easily.” and with a few flaps of her wings disappears down the coastline.

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I’m a bull in your china shop of hearts and I let the pieces of you fall and scatter. I stomped and crushed and kicked and stumbled. We both know I’m too big and clumsy and this is not the place for me. As much as I want to, I can’t pick up your pieces, I cant unbreak your porcelain.  Your parts may be scattered on the floor but if you choose to see it they become a mosaic of possibility and they are beautiful. Here is no place for a bull, but perhaps it is right where you and all of your pieces are meant to be.

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I think we need to get dirty. We need to make a mess of things and turn it all upside down. Art was never created inside of the lines. Mistakes will be made, chances taken with the most delicate of matters. Everything will be at stake but we have everything to gain but also everything to loose. It wont always work out. Sometimes we will find ourselves so buried in rubble that the hand of another will be our only saving grace. I don’t want perfection. I want the mess. The raw. The ugly. The real. I know the safe but questioning heart will never lie at peace.

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