Unfinished Business

She sat there, looking down. Once in awhile a stray hair tickled her face and she'd push it away idly. I somehow wished she would do something else so that I could feel justified in staring. Her nylons were torn, and the green of her shirt was not it's original colour. Those details, however, were not what had drawn me to her figure. It was the hopelessness - the look of longing. She turned in her seat, folded her legs underneath her and looked at the darkening sky as it passed by in a panoramic picture.

I did the same, turned to look out the window and found that all I could see was her reflection across the aisle. The tears trickled down her face now, and I could see her mouth moving in a silent plea. What is it, I thought, that makes me cry with someone I don't know? For even without my summoning, tears had formed in my eyes. My heart told me to listen, my mind told me to change seats. I listened to my heart - but she only looked up at me, surprised and embarassed that I had seen her soul. "I'm fine" she spoke, as only a woman could, and I felt unsure, as a man who doesn't understand the female psyche. I pressed on though. "You don't seem like it, miss. I am unsure why I'm talking to you, but something told me I should. "

Apparently my something was the wrong thing, because she excused herself, and moving past me exited the vehicle, leaving her purse behind. I sat back in my seat, and put on my headphones. I heard her voice in every song.

When I exited the train that night, I looked around for her, but she couldn't be seen in the press of the crowd gesturing and hugging and moving. I walked slower that night, feeling like I had missed something, that I had unfinished business behind me.

It wasn't until two days later that my heart let go of the memory.

That is, until I sat in Richies later that week, nursing my drink rather than go home. "And in breaking news.." I heard, and looked up half interestedly. My heart stopped in that moment, for the newsreporter was telling of how a young woman had committed suicide that night by throwing herself over an overpass after losing her husband. I recognized the picture immediately - her eyes. I stood up, wandered into the street and looked at the night. I will never forget that moment, the shock, the hopelessness, the inability to change the cirmcumstances. And in that moment, I understood her decision - I hated it with everything I was, but oh, I understood.

I'm listening to Dire Straits. I've decided that it's "night music" - Mark Knopfler's voice is suited to those summer evenings where you're slowly dancing or thinking or quietly working and enjoying the breeze. Or it could suit a cozy winter evening, a fall night where you're sipping hot chocolate and making wedding plans. I mean, 'cause we're all making wedding plans in the fall. *cough* Annnyways.

I really miss my stereo being gone - I'm used to it now, no throwing that CD in, my hand doesn't even move to put on the stereo face anymore. Ah well, one day when I have $200 to throw around..

Today at work I was dragging around like a dog carrying his pillow but never lying down. It was rather pathetic, I tried to be energetic, but certain circumstances rather coloured it badly. There was a highlight though, playing 2on2 b-ball after supper in beautiful weather. That was good times. I feel like I haven't left work for a month. I come back in the morning and I'm like, did I leave? I'm training all this week, which sucks at times, because not only are you trying to get everything done, you're trying to explain it too.. However, in an effort to have a positive attitude, I think that our new weekend staff is great.

I'm grumpy tonight. It's been a familiar feeling for the past while, which isn't really a good thing, but I'm being honest. And I wont' go into all the details that precede and stem from that state of mind, but I will say that I'll be thankful for relief of PMS. And now you're all really glad I'm not going into details.

Good night all.

I remember when I was about 7 or so, I received an award for my writing. It had a picture of an elephant on it. I wrote stories, I wrote in my journal about important things like, what time I had woken up, how much I loved my journal, and drew pictures of my swingset. It was a little hand wrapped around a pencil, intently capturing the world.

The world seems a lot larger tonight. I look down at my hands as they type, they're small, but a woman's hands. The nails are long, like my Mom never let me grow, and the time I wake up is dependent on what time I work at. I write, still. Volume #7 of my journal is almost done, and this time there are no pictures. Maybe thats a bad thing, maybe not.

And maybe it's because everytime I watch a movie with Julia Roberts in it I get to thinking - or maybe it's because I'm spending more time by myself than I used to. Either way, the thoughts are here tonight.

See, sometimes I feel like I'm just doing what I'm supposed to. I'm just writing about the world that everybody sees at this stage. I'm in love, I'm working, I'm ... and then it stops. Even my dreams of getting outside the box are nothing new. I could write about that and still be "one of those". I want a dream. Just for me. Something nobody has thought of before. I want to be unique, but then again do I? Because to be truly unique doesn't mean you don't shave your armpits and you travel to Italy on a whim - it's to be something that the rest of the world shuns because your not the right kind of unique.

But then I realize that I've already found it. Maybe my dreams are not all new, but what is. The combination, the texture that my life creates is not reproducible. HE made sure of that. Maybe this sounds cocky, but I don't think I would mind watching a movie of my life. I think I might be surprised at how blase and original it is. Besides, with the right lighting and put to music, anything can look like a Cannes Film Festival winner.

Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Weirsma!! 

thoughts

Hope, a strange thing. It's what separates one of my desperate moments from one where I can see a glimpse of light. I spend a lot of time in my head feeding myself hopeful thoughts. I wonder, if I stripped those all away - what would be left? Would it be reality? Would it be worth living? Would I realize that I actually HAVE a hope, instead of just hopeful thoughts?

Last night, I wrote a song in my head. It had something to do with walking the edge too many times, and just diving into the darkness because I couldn't stand the gray anymore. Does anyone know what I mean? I'd rather be in pitch black then surrounded by a grey sky. I'm an extreme person, this I know. But it seems more right to be in despair than to exist on this balancing line where you just barely keep yourself from falling - especially when the life you're living isn't anything beautiful either.

Maybe, from Gods perspective, to someone who watches me objectively - this journey I'm taking is beautiful. Maybe in my falling and rising, in my tears and laughter there is a hint of a swooping and graceful flight. Maybe someone can see the Hand pulling me closer and showing me life, maybe this isn't all just about weeping in the dark but about His purpose. I wish I could see. Just for one moment - His hand. Because I fear that if I didn't tell myself He was there - I'd be alone.

And of all the reasons why I cry in the night, that perhaps has the sharpest edge of despair.