Forgiveness

When we’re children our parents attempt to instill in us certain morals and lessons. They try to teach us things that will be valuable to us later in life. One of those things is forgiveness.

Our parents tell us that when someone does us wrong, the right thing to do is to forgive them. We learn it’s not nice to hold grudges. We’re taught, almost in the same breath, that we should take the so-called “high road” and be the bigger person. In other words, stand by the age old saying, “forgive and forget.”

As children things are simply. When we’re young we have an innocence that makes life black and white, but as we grow older more and more gray areas appear and things aren’t so simple anymore.

What if the one who has done us wrong is a hypocrite?

What if the one who has done us wrong has done something inexcusable?

What if the one who has done us wrong doesn’t deserve forgiveness? At least not so quickly.

Anger is born from holding a grudge. Even if it’s not a grudge, anger is anger. Either way, I believe it’s unhealthy for us to hold onto the wrong doings of others. Even though what they did probably hurt us, we are only hurting ourselves more by stewing over it.

So maybe that age old saying, “forgive and forget,” is meant to help us. Maybe it’s meant to bring us peace.

But at a certain point forgiveness may be hard to give.

For those of you have been following along since the beginning, as well as those who know me best, then, you’re well aware of what I’ve been dealing with lately. And, for once in my life, I’m having trouble forgiving. I’ve having trouble forgiving him for what he’s done.

One day, I hope I won’t be mad at him.

But more then that, one day, I hope I’ll be able to forgive him.

Perfect Strangers

she gave him her mind
she gave him her heart
she gave him her soul
shame on her

she learned his mind
she learned his heart
she learned his soul
shame on her

he was a thief in the night
tore down the wall
exposed what was inside
heart and all

he wasn’t all looks
more then a pair of deep blues
and the greater the depth she swam in his pools
she fell in love

he spoke of the future
and his dark past
showed compassion
that wouldn’t last

he drifted
like the sea from the shore
but always returned
to brush it’s face once more

she thought it a phase
much as the changing moon
she held onto hope
which would wax and wane

she soon learned the changing tides
would bring heartache, fighting, tears
as distance grew
and words turned to dust

he made one wrong move
he crossed the line
he was the lighting in the storm
shame on him

he showed no remorse
he had no fight
he had no answers in darkness or light
shame on him

left with memories
in the aftermath
the shaking, quaking, that would slowly pass
until they were perfect strangers once more

Lovebugs

As I sat with my grandpa he continued to tell me story after story. He’s always been good at that – storytelling. Often times I find myself listening to him for hours, but I always enjoy every minute of it.

Now he’s telling me a story of the lovebugs. At first I think it’s something he made up, like an analogical story, but it’s not. It’s real. I’m not even sure how it became the topic of conversation, but it’s typical to jump from one thing to the next with no correlation. So he continued telling me about lovebugs.

“When they connect, they connect until they die,” he said.

So they stay with one mate their entire life.

“That reminds me of some humans,” I said.

He smiled at me as I thought about my grandparents, my parents, my brother and even some of my friends. They’ve all found their lovebug.

I’m still searching for mine.

I think we all deserve that connection, that love. We all deserve to find that one person who wants to spend the rest of their life with us. We all deserve to find our lovebug.

Final Destination

We all have those things in our lives that we don’t understand, that sometimes leave us with more questions then answers. We all also have a breaking point. It’s called being human. And, in this particular situation, I found mine.

I know he won’t see this letter. I know he’s probably never seen any of them. But, if he ever did stumble across it and actually took the time to read it, then he would know some of the final things I never had a chance to say. Part of me hopes with all my whole heart that, maybe, one day, he’ll see it.

Dear Handsome,

I thought you cared about me, but I guess I was wrong. There was a time where I know you cared for me and you did everything to show me how invested you were in us. You were patient and kind. You were sweet and respectful. You brought me flower and made me chocolate covered strawberries. You took me out. You hugged and kissed me with a passion. You simply made time for me, not matter what. There were a million other tiny things too. I think there may have been a depth to how much you cared, maybe a depth that scared you, but, either way, I guess those days are over. I guess some things really do change.

Why’d you do it? Why’d you touch another woman? Why’d you put your hand on her ass? Honestly, no man who’s with me, who truly cares about me, is going to go around touching another woman. Of all the people in this world, I never thought you would do something like that to me. I trusted you with my heart and, in the end, you threw it away.

The truth is, I’m tired of being the only one who seems to care. I’m tired of being the only one who seems to be fighting for us. I’m tired of trying to talk to you and you telling me you don’t have the time. I’m tired of trying to figure things out and you acting like I’m the one who’s wrong and like I’m the one who has the problem. I’m tired of playing this hot and cold, cat and mouse game. That’s not what I want and it shouldn’t be that way. It never used to be that way. For awhile now you’ve been there, but not there all at once, like you’re a shell of your former self.

Looking back, I think something broke months ago and as much as I tried to repair it, it couldn’t be fixed…because you didn’t care enough to help fix it. It takes two people to make things work, but, sometimes, it only takes one to break them.

I told you once that you had given me more then you’ll ever know. Despite the way you’re acting now, I still believe that’s true in many cases. You awakened a level of confidence and sexiness that I didn’t know I had in me. You introduced me to a world I had never known before. You showed me what it was like to have someone who truly cared for me. You taught me what it was like to feel safe with a man. You taught me what it was like to feel alive again. You taught me what it felt like to love.

I don’t hate you and I don’t want to be mad at you, but what you did, how you’re acting now and the way you’re now treating me is inexcusable. You crossed the line. You messed up. And when I confronted you, well, you couldn’t even defend yourself. You didn’t even apologize. You didn’t even bat an eye. Now you hardly talk to me. You barely look at me. You treat me like a ghost, like a perfect stranger, when just two weeks ago you couldn’t keep your hands off me and you couldn’t wait to see me. Is it because you’re ashamed? Is it because you know I trusted you and you shattered that trust? Is it because you know how deeply I cared for you and how deeply you ended up hurting me? Whatever the case, the turnout of these events is sad. For lack of a better term – sad.

Regardless, I regret nothing. Even if you asked me five years from now, I still wouldn’t regret anything. And if I had the chance to do it all over again, knowing this is how it would turn out, I would still do it.

But this seems to be the end of the road for us, where our journey together ends. So, my butterfly, fly free. As difficult as it is for me to say this – fly free. If one day you decide to come back then it was meant to be and, maybe, just maybe, I’ll give you another chance, but if you never return, then, at least I’ll have some wonderful memories.

Our last hug was beautiful.

Our last kiss was wonderful.

Our last time was magical.

What I wish for you now is the same as the first day we met. I hope you find your way in life. I hope you surround yourself with positive people who will always stand by you and encourage you. I hope you find the happiness that you’re so deserving of.

Always,
Nicole

Words

words
cut like knives
sharpened
by the tongue

words
slice like razor blades
until the job is
done

so peal back the skin
expose everything I am
my heart no longer in my chest
but cradled in my hands

a sacrificial offering
bestowed upon the worthy
given up in front of
you – judge and jury

words
slip through the lips – tiny grains of sand
become caught in the wind and
scattered across the land

words
stab like pins
pricking at the skin
crimson red, the wound begins

blood runs thick in the things once said
venom covered
empty threats, pointless pains
once spoken can not be unsaid

a mysterious language
until it’s too late
regrets, apologies
don’t take the pain away

words
have an aftermath
that ripples
through life

words
leave marks
leave scars
invisible to the naked eye

dig deep to find the lead
lodged in my soul
consisting of the hurtful things
you spoke so many times before

your mouth was a gun
and the bullets the words
that pierced the heart
and shattered the soul

words
speak volumes
yet, some are cheap
falling into the darkest deep

words
possess power
to change a life
for better or worse or out of spite

etched in the mind
called upon at night
dreams and nightmares
are never out of sigh

what could’ve been
will never be
as language dissolves
and there are no more words to speak

Fight for Me

“If I left, if I walked away, would you fight for me to be part of your life?”

“I don’t know.”

I continued to stare at him. So this was how he was going to act during this make or break moment.

His eyes flicked up at me – once, twice, three times. It was almost as if he couldn’t look at me. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he was just nervous.

Either way, his silence began to speak volumes before he even spoke.

“Would you fight for me?” I asked again in my head.

“I don’t know,” he said again. “Why don’t you try it and find out.”

It sounded like a challenge, like a continuation of this game that I had grown increasingly tired of over the last few months.

“You know what, babe,” I stood tall and continued to stare. “Maybe this is your chance to figure that out.”

And then I walked away.

I knew he wouldn’t chase me across the parking lot. I knew he wouldn’t follow me down the stairs. I knew he wouldn’t even call after me once I reached the door.

As hard as it is to admit it to myself, I know he won’t fight for me.

Whether it be that he’s a coward, afraid or simply doesn’t care anymore – I know he won’t fight for me.

I’m well aware that life isn’t a movie. I realize life isn’t a novel. I know life is more complicated then either of these medias illustrate (most times). But if a man truly cares, I believe he’ll be there no matter what. He’ll want to fix the things that went wrong. He’ll want to at least attempt to see if they can be worked out. He’ll fight for you.

I think we all, women and men, deserve someone who will fight for them. It’s another way of showing how much you care, to be there not only during the good times but the bad times too.

That’s what I want.

I want a someone who will always be by my side – who will defend, protect and encourage me. I want a man who’s going to love me as much as I’ll love him. I want a man who’s willing to fight for me, for us, when I start to become tired. I want a partner who realizes that I’m worth the fight (even if it’s a little ugly at the moment). I want a man who knows that the fight is simply part of the dance.

Please take a moment to listen to this song, if you wish. Not only is he a talented musician, but the lyrics fit the situation perfectly.

Love and The Butterfly

ButterflyThere’s a story that I’ve often heard about love which uses the butterfly as an analogy for that love. Now that I’m older, I believe the story makes more sense. Love is beautiful and fragile, like a butterfly.

As a child I was fascinated with butterflies and thought they were one of the most gorgeous creatures. They fly so elegantly and grace nature with their bright colors and unique wing designs. When they land on a blade of grass or a flower, I like to admire those colors and patterns. Although, when I was little, I was told to be careful when touching their wings, or not to touch them at all.

Recently the story of the butterfly has come back to me. It goes like this – if we hold on to tight then we’ll crush it, but hold on to loose and it’ll fly away. Just like the wings of a butterfly can be crushed, we can also crush and smother love. At the same time, just as a butterfly will fly away, love can also leave us, but give it enough space and it can blossom and flourish.

The key seems to be finding a balance.

Within the last few weeks, I’ve been told another story which, in may ways, complements the previous one. It goes like this – if you love something, set it free. If it flies away, then, it was never yours to begin with, but if it comes back, then, it was always yours from the start.

I believe there’s both hope and risk in these words.

We could end up with nothing or everything.

Maybe the biggest risk is holding onto the fear of ending up with nothing.

Maybe the greatest form of hope and love is letting that person fly free and simply praying they’ll return.

But that’s a decision we all must make on our own.