Disaster.

My thirties so far have been an unmitigated disaster.

...

White ceilings. Every time it's white ceilings. I'm staring at one right now and I'm the loneliest person in the world, even though you're here with me now. I don't know why you even came over tonight. To torture me?

When I held you earlier in my arms, you were so warm. Your hands were so hot to the touch, just like when we're in bed. It felt right. It did. For a minute. And then you started to push me away again, with your words, your gestures. You're pushing my buttons. You won't let me be nice to you tonight. You're closing up on me again. I dread what's to happen next.

I hate this holiday season. I hate that I thought so much about you and that you have brushed me off again. We're hopeless. I'm hopeless. Play with fire and you're liable to get burned, they say, I say. Why don't I listen to myself? I haven't been so unhappy in years.

gently weeps

He sat down, folded his arms in front and set his chin on them. Then, with a long slow exhale, his whole body slumped forward as his heart began to bleed. It was a dull pain, the kind that lasts forever. She had marked him, gifted him with her troubles, dragged him down. He felt the weight of it, the crush of a hopeless and helpless girl.

It was the lips. Nice lips and a beautiful mouth. The lips reminded him of another girl that he once knew. She was also a deceiver, a basketcaseful-of-crap-etcetra. He thought wryly, I guess I'll avoid girls with beautiful mouths now.

Then he grew angry and just needed to shout, to spit, to cuss and yell. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. They're all fucking whores. Fucking whores. Insecure little whores. And fuck this society that teaches them to be that way. That when they encounter somebody who refuses to play by the rules and shines bright, they don't know what to do. It has always happened. Fuck! Fuck my luck! Fuck me. I'm such a fool.

I wanted so much to accept you, he thought. But you just couldn't help yourself. Why why why? Goodbye, love. Goodbye...

zen mastery

Breath in. Breath out. Wax on. Wax off.

Ah, Mr. Miyagi. You were so right. Just relax and focus on the tasks at hand. Life is too short to worry about the little stuff, or even the not-so-little stuff.

Concentrate, Daniel-san, on what you can control and bob and weave through the rest. But now I'm mixing metaphors.