I woke from a dream this morning with a smile, no unusual occurrence. Yet, walking over to the mirror, that smile welled larger than life when red stained teeth stood before my eyes. You know the feeling when you wake up from a dream too good to be true, and you can't help but fantasize if it were. In this rare moment, real memories flowed in and filled the mind with butterflies. A river of hope and glee, not sadness and disconnectedness, flowed. Months of dating in a new, unfamiliar world, with little more than a sexual, pent up drive behind each encounter. A real date had transpired, not ending in sex or even a kiss, but a hug that gave me goosebumps all the way into fingertips. We matched on a dating app, as did I with the rest. I sure didn't see it going anywhere and stepped out for one more chance. His profile bored me, but I didn't see it fair to judge his ability to swoon me. Maybe a changed perspective could lead to something less casual? I only selected that option because I believed people feared the serious word these days. Anyways… I’m getting carried away. See last time I went for the pickup line, the guy left me in the middle of the night… No note, no message, no call, nothing. Looking in the same mirror, a blank face stood before me, no smile, no hope, and no sleep, much less dreams. Well, there were dreams, but one’s of discomfort and uneasiness, a rustling which woke me to realize I was alone. Oh, how good it felt to grasp something real for change. Thankful to have interacted with a heart beating whole, not torn, something was different. The heart sank for a moment as I walked down my stairs and out the door. I thought I saw his truck pull away, but couldn’t tell. God, please tell me he’s not a stalker. Why would he run away? Surely, he saw me if that was in fact him. Scratching my head, don’t overthink this Desi, you are meant to be desired and loved. What’d I even come out here to do? Oh yes, the mail. Letting out a yawn, it stopped half way. Aarzoo had stopped by after all. A bouquet of meticulously selected flowers, the daisy and the daffodil, hand-picked and wrapped in Mississippi forest picked twine. Not only had he heard me last night, he noticed me. The bouquet on my blouse he brought to life. Of course, I closed my eyes as tight and slapped myself silly. Desi, you are dreaming, and this is not reality. Nestled in the mailbox, a little letter sat. The mind settled into euphoria, arms crossed, the letter cradled into the chest. Opening the heart to receive words, no longer daydreaming, but living, breathing, breaking a seal of a letter written to her. How the emotions ring different in this moment from the rest, a seal being broken, not my heart. Well, don’t speak too soon Desi, read the words first: Desi, I’m not one to jump to conclusions until now. You asked me to set up the date, and to each event selected, you were wowed. Two beings united for one simple night. I left from you feeling love existed last night. From the hammock sunset on Lake Lorman, to the char-grilled fish we attempted to eat, to you laughing at my wine matching, Merlot unfit for the fish we caught, much less chocolate fondue dipped sweets. You lovingly enjoyed every moment, as did I, and the conversation rang in my head long into the night. Thank you for bringing light into the world in these times. I know this wasn’t your first rodeo with dating apps, but I hope it’ll be the last. When our mouths opened and stated this at the very same time, something within me changed, and I had to grow tough not to cry: You make me believe in love at first site. These words we both carefully selected as we considered each other’s eyes, laugh, smile, touch, voice. Maybe this moment was too good to last, but I bring you these flowers to continue a night unsurpassed. Pick your poison on how to respond. Your words sure don’t have to be poetic, but “if music be the food of love, play on.” This only stands at my attempt of being your modern-day Shakespeare. Soo until we meet again, may your dreams be vivid and beautiful, and may I be included. For you filled my heart again to believe in love, and for that alone I am thankful. Smiling into the Mississippi Sunset, Aarzoo The letter grew close to Desi’s chest again. What she had longed for so long finally came in. Unlike the creeping love had done before, loved poured over her every pore. Love disconnected from her body and attached in mind, spirit, soul. Desired for who she was at the core, not the surface, of course she wanted more. So back inside she ran, again looking to the mirror to let out a grin. Teeth stained from the night before, desire met desired, and true love emanated like no time before. Pen met paper for Desi as well, and there flowed her sonnet. Dear Aarzoo, No matter where I run to, it will always be with you…
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Awkward is Alright
A little story about being a late bloomer Today I’m a pretty difficult person to figure out. Hell, I’m working on understanding my “brand” daily. Over the past 10 years, my jobs have scattered as dust in a desert, as have my passions. Few have any correlation, but it’s all been a journey away from being defined by my peers and grabbing those reigns myself. From the time I was born, it was clear I was different. I loved wandering the woods, picking up critters, and received the nickname “bug” after refusing to refrain from picking up spiders in a Mississippi Swamp. I wowed teachers with my voice at age 7, a time when I had perfect pitch, and I walked with my head held high. My teeth were so wacky, I was the first of my class to get braces in 2nd grade, and even that drew my shoulders back a bit. You could say I felt like a king of elementary school. I was cool. I’d go on to become quite the athlete, friend to all, and wearing a Livestrong bracelet and Phiten necklace (ensured perfect balance), tube socks, and smedium shirts, I’d start dating a 6th grader in 4th. Standing 6 inches shorter and just a few weight classes under, my charisma could not be shaken. Her friends and sister would pass me notes in the hallway, and we’d rarely talk in person. The parents couldn’t know, so we’d secretly talk on the home phone, and I’d sneak over to the neighbor’s house to, awkwardly, pick up love packages for holidays (Santa claus build-a-bears and one lb Hershey bars). Thirteen years later, common law must apply, cause we never broke things off. Exiting Elementary school, you could say things seemed to be on the rise. Middle school was supposed to be grand, sports were only ramping up, and this summer was poised for grandeur. My, was I in for a rude awakening. Braces would become uncool, growth spirts would be delayed, the singing voice would be marred by upper-classmen bullies, and I could not have been less prepared. The future Eagle scout motto I’d embody, be prepared, was not in the mental wheelhouse, and the vehicle driving my life began to break down. I’d been passed up on the sports field, my friends were hanging with girls while I was searching for critters in the creek, I gave up singing and started speaking in a deeper, forced, voice, and I used sharpie to try and create armpit hair (until I got called out for it). I rocked one hell of a bowl cut, and did erroneous things to gain attention: nearly got kicked out of summer camp for bringing cigars I'd found walking around my neighborhood and cut my own hair in the locker room to avoid in school suspension. I was the laughing stock of the whole school, and I’d join them in banter. My insecurity blanket was up, but I was hiding behind it. The world couldn't know I was hurting. I’d get my youth pastor to pick me up on CrossFit days to avoid the potential bullying if had to take a shower with my 15-year-old, still prepubescent body. It’s tough when your balls don’t drop till your 17. I’d given up on pursuing music or becoming a professional athlete. I found little joy from anything. I’d let other people define what made me “cool.” Instead of walking with the head high, picking up chicks with braces, singing at the top of my lungs because it made me feel good, walking up to swing a baseball bat knowing I’d hit the ball (dad always told me to keep a loose booty), and picking up critters to continue with Steve Irwin aspirations, I’d fallen victim to the cultural norm storm. The fact that I was different had not changed, but now I was just entertaining for it, rather than accepting raw form Daniel. I ended my sophomore year of high school alone and totally unsure of who I was. Just as summer approached, I was just getting curious with fitness for the first time. Sitting at a buck twelve, bench pressing all of 70 pounds, I got under a squat rack for the first time. Lineman from the football team were set up on a rack with 3 plates on each side, making the total weight 315 lbs. For some reason, I saw it a good idea to give it a shot. Five spotters, scared I’d collapse under the load, surrounded me as I stepped under the bar. I politely asked them to provide no assistance, and proceeded to inhale deeply as the hips sank down. To everyone’s amazement, no assistance was needed as I exhaled up from parallel. Endorphins pulsed through me, my mind was stupefied for the first time in years.. From where did this strength come from, I asked myself. Apparently, my scrawny little body did have some fight after all, and I left from the gym different that day. I now know that true strength in life come from the mind, not the body, but this moment provided a powerful Segway into that mentality I embody today. The next week I would be told I couldn’t come over to some “friends” house because my presence would be embarrassing, and I would call my best friend to have his butt answer on a Bluetooth call. I listened to my name belittled to the point of hilarity. To be frank, I was heartbroken, but I could not be more thankful for this page of my story. I elected to upend my life in search for true friends, who embrace me for who I am at the core. After a transfer of schools, lonely experience in college, and a big move out west, I’m thriving again. I’ve gone on to love soo much more fully, and life smiles back at me in return. I got back into singing, started dancing hard whenever music turns on. Journals are now being filled about life reflections, and I’m totally okay with not fitting in. Life’s thrown me more curveballs at 25 that I ever bargained for, but that’s why I learned the game of baseball, not to be a professional. I’ve picked people up in the darkest of times and watched happiness switches turn on. I’ve fly fish guided, hated it, ski instructed, loved it, guided on the Appalacian trail, became a story teller, used that to become a poet, write children’s books, and become a yoga instructor to expand my mind to continue meeting life’s storms. My health’s taken a shit, but I’ll figure it out. It’s still hard for me to trust friend’s these days, but I’ll still try my dardest to make people feel love every day. There are soo many more steps to be taken, and I know the miles will be tough. Sometimes the bad weather must come to remind us of the good times past and to come. No weight you hold over your mind can ever be too great if you remain true to yourself, just as the greatest storm can produce the most beautiful rainbow. It's silly to me how this all started with iron weight on my back, baby pit hairs finally finding their way to my armpits and other undesirable places. It just goes to show the silliness of what we yearn for in life and the true beauty of the awkwardness when we embrace it. Storms are good. Bring em on. I only ask for a rainbow at the close. I feel the leprechaun stands at the end to show us that we are gold. That's more precious than some metal you can hold. I’m a misfit, you might be too; smile about it; be original .
By Daniel Trussell3 years ago in Humans
Enduring Love.
What is love? The four letter word is thrown around and taken in many different context. We love our friends, we love our children, we love our passions, etc.. Everyone has something or someone to love. We even express our love for foods, but what are we truly expressing? This word tossed around has many different meanings and perspectives.
By Gena Adamson4 days ago in Humans
Perfect Little Pirate
The rough, sodden rope bit into her fingers as she swung over the roiling water far below. Reaching out with the toe of her boot, she managed to catch hold of the rain-soaked railing of the ship- and promptly slipped. Throwing herself forward, she landed hard on the deck, slamming her elbows against the wood planks. The sharp yelp of pain quickly bubbled into a laugh, and she rolled onto her back, laughing up at the gray sky as a torrent of rain washed away the soot covering her skin.
By M. A. Mehan 3 days ago in Fiction
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