nathanael.ink

“I am free”
… well more than you could ever know

It’s been some time since last we spoke
the breathe of this blinking line…

I’ve been sick a day or two, it was strange
sickness is hardly a state of mind, I mean one could call it that, but it would do it no justice,
you see when you’re sick, it’s an alternate universe
it’s much smaller sometimes than the universe we typically call “the universe”
I like words like “foggy” and “groggy” to describe it, but, it is also something else
I suppose one must admit it is only ones perception of things that changes, but you Perception do know that, therefore in that moment Perception cannot account and adjust for such accusations.
No, it is the world that changes, everything simultaneously begins to mesh with each other, and after a certain distance for the person sick they lose color too; slip into a sort of grey.
It is as though everything carried some of the characteristic of glass when the humidity on its one side does not match the humidity of its other side. And then we’ve got all this medicine you think will get the heater blowing to dissipate the fog on your car window but no, in fact the medicine has turned the cold air on and now can’t even see through that small whole, it’s just all gone, all vision; so you go to sleep.
That’s just what they wanted you to do, sleep. Don’t move, don’t see, just sleep. Well what if I was going somewhere or had something to get done? -Well tell them you cannot because now you have to sleep. Well I could have at least done something perhaps, had I not taken this still sip of dark green tablespoons! -Shh  boy, just sleep.

This happens all throughout the night, and the day, and then you’ve lost a day entirely; as though it never were. The only thing difference is that now you owe everyone at work for not showing up

the way your eyes flit
to taste his name,
flash even
to see his face… I sigh
a deep sigh, the way I should hope you sigh
were I to call one sexy…

it made you uncomfortable that I should ask for it
but on him you’ll spend words priced too high to
afford for two

“Promise me…”
your words said “…that we will never argue again”
But more articulately was
“…that we’ll pretend to always be happy”

but what was asked:

Promise me you will bury pain and not tell me.
Promise me i will not know i hurt you.
Promise me to remember that no matter how much i care for you (and i do care for you)
that you can’t make me feel bad for caring more about myself.
Promise that when i want to do something, you’ll never not want me to, because you’ll promise nothing hurts you, because you promised that even if it does
i will not know.
Because i just don’t want to argue.

Let’s do this until we explode.
———————

…of course i love you… enough to lay down my armor and show you my wounds… not to make you feel bad, but so that someday we can both be absolutely tender in each others presence. So that we can feel deep trust, deep love, deep pride and confidence in each other..
The current problem is that you still refuse to take your armor down at all, so you wonder why i would.. it scares me.. as if we still both stay ready to leave and fight another fight… we are like two warriors lovers who have spent their whole life moving from fight to fight, but in a ditch at midnight they meet.. and no one wondered why we wear such thick armor, but as time goes, and the relationship grows.. one wonders why they feel such inclination to prove they are strong.. why when we’re together do you wear the same warriors armor? We both know sometimes we hurt.. but we’ve been trained, that for the sake of maintaining a good relationship with somebody, we just need to take the heat, stomach the blows and say nothing… we both are proficient at this.. but what makes you so awkward is how desperately i want to take off my armor.. to tell you how i hurt, not even just so we can medicate it, God is the absolute best doctor, but so that i can be real with you… and what i need more that strength, is honesty…
I will never promise to play happy. Because in everything i AM abundantly happy, just being around you, gosh i just can’t get enough.. it is when my honesty and vulnerability get rejected, it doesn’t just hurt me, but i leaves me wondering when.. like the two warriors, at some point one must wonder why they still wear the armor… it’s not that i don’t understand the inclination.. but it seems to me that love would within itself prompt the removal of the armor…
It is not the arguing that worries me, but your inability to even find cause to tell me when I’ve hurt you… and you expect me to so the same thing.. so that we can both silently carry or “pray away” the pain… its a disservice to bury it dear… i can’t convince you though .. so tonight i’ll bury it…

My love and me
unlike wildflowers at midday with halos on a hillside
while still of no particular color
or adorned with any or all the colors of flowers there could be
we are unlike smiling wildflowers one sights mid-drive
though to see us together still may sparkle one’s eye
and open a door for the rest of one’s day
to enter happy thoughts of wildflowers lit at midday

my love and I are unlike wildflowers
even though wildflowers and we sometime both share
wild uncanny spaces one does not expect to see
wildflowers all blooming in heaps of sunlight
or wildflowers expounding the idea that the earth
sometimes bares some unprecedented rewards
which comes in such multiplicity
and sometimes strange weeds
and sometimes roses and sometimes sunflowers and tulips, my love and I

are not here for the season
and gone the next

Don’t let it out
Don’t let me in

It is to share land
But build a separate house

Lay back down my ugly craning
clown neck
And try to deserve the sun again

It’s not about me. It’s not about me. Its not about you. Its not about me.
Overthink the little things, who cares, let me ponder away small portions of my brain, sure, but.
When i ask you of love… the time it takes, the thoughts you must think
.. they are the widest red lines between what it is and what it is not.  I’d say that is what it truly is to overthink..
On this side of heaven, of knowledge, of understanding, we know
that love is a choice. Or at least, we best understand it as such. A commitment.  Because without those, when we do actually begin to discover what love is, we would run from it. Its sad to only have one word for it, for i liken it to a race: it is a start line, it is the ability to run, and it is the goal set ahead… and it is the commitment to do all of those things…