"Don't you love her enough?"

This is something that I have been thinking about for a long time. And it is something that I don't know if I will ever be sure about, and something that I have a hard time sharing, putting into words directly. So here is a story that I hope explains what I wonder about.

The story itself is fictional, but the situation that is portrayed is one that I feel embodies a lot of the concerns and questions that I know I have about life and relationships, and yes, love. And I don't think I'm the only one who wonders about them. . .

---------

Two friends were walking in a park on an early spring day. And as they talked about sports and their plans for the summer, birds sang in the trees and a small group of ducks swam in a nearby pond.

After a moment of silence one said to the other. "I'm in love."

His friend looked up. "When did this happen?" He asked, eyes widening slightly at the news.

"It's been coming for a long time, I think." The first replied. He looked down at the still winter-brown grass and stuck his hands in his pockets. He shrugged. "We met a while ago. And even from the beginning I felt like there was something special about her. But I was distracted by other things. I wasn't paying attention. But I know it now." He looked back up, and his friend couldn't help but smile.

"Have you asked her out?"

"No." He looked back down at the grass.

"Why not?"

"Well. I think she likes someone else."

"You think. Do you know?" His friend asked, half a chuckle escaping his mouth.

He looked up and saw that his friends smile was waning. "I'm pretty sure. And I haven't been wrong before."

"You should ask her out." His friend said as he put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you love her enough to risk that?"

"Of course I do!" He responded. "But I also love her enough to let her go. To let her be happy with someone else, if that is what will make her happy." He looked up and into his friends eyes, "I love her enough to be happy that she is happy, even if it isn't with me." His vision blurred as he said it, and he could feel his stomach tighten.

His friend's face softened, and his smile was gone. He let his hand drop. "Do you really? Or are you just saying that to try and deal with the loss? To deal with the fact that she might, might!, reject you? Are you giving up before you even try?"

He brought his hands to his face, trying to hide behind them. "I don't know. I don't know." He said as he failed at holding back the tears. "I don't know."

Running

Running

A controlling innate trait
hidden behind shining eyes.
A gift of compulsion and restless movement

It brings pain at times.
Screams of rebellion,
quiet, subconscious tremors.
A pacing, restless quivering
But the ecstasy is worth it.

The wind against my body
The ground beneath my feet
The exhilarating pull of gravity
and the quick, smooth, instinctual pleasure
of running.

Sp lit

             Sp  lit

             Split down   the middle

      with nowhere   left to go

          a worry driven   life was lost

                   and drives us   forward no more

       But still there stays   a slice of hope

             a promise of   true power

       to rule ones own   life one day

       and not tremble   for forever

                 But to be true   there is a part

                   of all of us   that fears it

                  but if we want   to live our lives

  we must continue   near it

Stealing a Moment

Stealing a Moment

As he sat on the river shore, not far from a small waterfall, he took a moment away from his day and decided to fill it with that place.

First he reached out with his eyes and scooped up the bright and crystal clear water, the way that it leapt up into the air without fear. He grabbed the small fish that sat, swimming in place in the sunny shallows. Then he gathered up the creeping carpet of moss and its tall tree-like fern companions, and swept his eyes up through the air and caught a gracefully flying dragonfly with their net.

Then he closed his eyes and recorded every sound that every drop of water made as it rejoined its friends or was lost, even if only for a moment, on a rock or leaf. He collected the sound of every quivering leaf that surrounded him like they were the small shining stones that he had, in another time, filled his small pockets with.

He took a deep breath, and captured the musty, moist smell of the air and caught along with it a bit of the scent of blooming wild roses and even his own warm and sweaty body.

Then he reached for and caught the sensation of sitting cross-legged on worn river stones that had been warmed by the days sun. The blades of grass that tickled his ankle, and the breeze that dried his face and blew through his hair.

Then he opened his eyes, emptied his mind, and made that moment his.

Sun Drops

Sun Drops

What if you could carry

a little drop of sun in your pocket?

balls of glowing warmth and joy.

Then, in that dark moment,

when you shiver

and put your back to the wind,

you could reach into your pocket,

pull one out and eat it,

and feel the warmth of the morning sun

warming your body from the outside in.

Oh what a joy that would be!

And what better way

to get out of your warm bed

than with a little drop of sun

early on a cold winter morning

when the real thing is still hours away

from showing its happy face.

Yes, I think that everyone

could use

some sun drops.

A Dream

A Dream

A flash of light,

A broken star– a cry from deep within,

The surly sounds of death blown wind,

And long lost hopes, begin.

The sod laden hills of ancient times,

Covered by bright blue flowers,

Now lay hidden once again

Under the newborn powers,

The thousand-eyes of looker on’s,

And the worries of an hour.

The dreams of all, consumed within,

and withered as a flower.

The Chaotic Mind

The Chaotic Mind

The Chaotic Mind is a human mind,

Layers of mysteries upon layers of wonder,

The mind is complex, the people say,

It is living,

It’s a computer,

It’s a marvel.

It won’t be told what to do,

It continues with its absurd thoughts,

Long after it is asleep, it continues to think,

To think of mysteries, of stories, of poems,

It streams through nonsense,

Through life,

Through logic,

Through unbelievables,

It continues to shock, to amaze those around it,

It continues to think,

Of life,

Of solving,

Of wonder,

All through it’s life it runs full stride,

a mass of whirling emotion and questions

but like all races, this one has an end,

a mind will only finish it’s race once,

Then it is through,

No more competing,

No more thinking,

Because the race is through.

But oh what a run it had!

Oh what a race was run!

And in it’s place a dozen more minds race,

powered by the rushing wind

of all the minds that ran before,

and those that run alongside.