Looking at old pictures can stir up too many emotions within this glorious bag of bones!

I am too sentimental - too sensitive to the time we spend going through the motions just to get through one day and then another. Trying to get from one paycheck to another without too many "turn-off" notices. I spend too much time regretting the time I spend away from my true self and even lament the loss of the identity of that person. So many of my standards lowered unknowingly or perhaps subconsciously with the inner understanding that I had no true choice - not crashing to the ground but not a soft landing either.

I see pictures of times that have past - strangers, family members or even of myself and I lament the time since. Have I lived it or have I just floated? Have i been the husband and father I always wanted to be? Have I done my best to reach the top bar or have I lowered that as well so its attainable?

Oh poor me? Well, not all the time - just some passing moments when the seconds clock skips a number or two and I find myself stranded - out of time.

I see the smiles on the old pictures - with smiles and the looks of determination and arrogance in the eyes of the posers. I ask myself where have they gone? Have they lived their lives as they had felt so strongly and confidently that they would? I know, I sound kind of morbid or depressing - but reality can sometimes cause me to overdose on the truth I try to suppress.

Basic truths that too much time has passed since I say with my love face to face over a candlelit dinner.

Truths that the bills need to be paid but only a supreme juggler could catch them all while looking down at a puzzle finding a way for the pieces to fit to create a full picture of, what? Life? Bank statements?

The truths that time is passing us by and the time for showing gratitude, affection and honor has passed along with the flying seconds hand. People have left us and we are left to wonder just what it was we could have done differently if we had the chance. Can we ever get that chance?

Our patience runs thin and the seconds hand keeps on turning up on that clock on the kitchen wall.

We conceive our dreams, conceive our love, conceive our children and they grow up and turn into walking talking commentary on how badly we live our lives - but we stand there, in pride and just hope they can improve on what we are, who we are and hope that they never lower the bar too low for their own expectations, their own standards.

Life happens and repeats itself over and over again - at times we silently adjust to the changes and adjustments - some times not so silently. We sometimes find ourselves fighting for the right to be true to who we truly are and know in our heart of hearts - that no one can ever truly understand that true definition.

Our hairs thin out - the muscles slowly turn soft and so many memories once stored in our mind - silently disappear ceasing to exist.

Forgive me for this trip through the tunnel of life and personal seconds of contemplation. Some times the water surrounding me feels kind of cold and at times I remember that I truly don't know how to swim and that I have been faking it all along. Will the audience discover that I am an actor who has somehow forgotten his part to play and his lines? Can the audience actually tell that I have been substituting the lines that were written for the ones I could make up on the fly?

Ah well - I am my own writer so I can guess I can flub all I want - as long as I keep the audience and my cast mates entertained I should be allowed to stand here on stage until the lights dim and the curtains meet center stage.

Yup - you see what looking at old pictures can do to me?

Waking to the sound

Of her breath

It's warms my chest

and yet send chills

Knowing she's there

Her lips smile

And a good morning

starts this day

Love never fails

It's hand is on us

these are dangerous thoughts

only to be entertained

in the shadow of 3am

or the fog of a few too many drinks

or perhaps even when trapped

within the labyrinth of your arms

with your breath on my neck

and my heart beating the words

for all to hear

I might love you

and nothing could ever be

quite so pleasantly terrifying

as those words beginning to have meaning

before this it was just four letters one syllable

as tall as an oak as wide as the sky

but feasible

and you were just a boy

with angel hair and technicolor eyes

and I was just a girl

with a Rudolph nose and virgin thighs

and now I'm churning

with doubt and suspicion

of something fearful and found

the sort of thing people write poems about

She would sit cross legged

in a lime green vinyl

bean bag chair.

A Walmart special.

It felt cool

under her hands,

and the styrofoam beads

would hiss

as she shifted her weight.

Stretch pants.

Scrunch socks.

Big t-shirts.

Her bare feet kept hidden

from the itchy green carpet.

She would read her books

or watch

Clarissa Explains It All.

Sometimes she would

play Super Mario Brothers

at full volume

when the screaming would start.

Alcohol.

Explosive anger.

Threats and paranoid accusations.

At seven years old

familiar with it all.

The sound of the crack

of a beer can

became physical pain.

Things were thrown.

Dining room chairs

would swing around

in the air.

She learned the best ways

to dismiss herself quietly.

How to escape

into a world of words,

to always be ready

to fend for herself.

my stomach drops,

my throat tightens,

my heart quickens,

my eyes swell,

every time

i hear your name.

is it because of regret?

knowing that something

could have been,

and thinking that

something,

anything,

should have been.

is it because of embarrassment?

resenting the words

i expressed to you;

the completely vulnerable

moments

filled with honesty

and passion,

and wondering

if you do, too.

is it because of fear?

dreading the look of

disappointment

and anguish

hidden behind

your dark eyes.

convincing me

more and more

every time

that i never meant

anything to you.

or is it because

despite the "what-could-have-beens," embarrassments, and the "never-good-enough-to-make-you-stay" resentments,

i still fall for you,

and i don't know

why?

His smile resonates

Echoing through her heart

Unbeknownst to her mind

Friendship

A catalyst for love

Brewing

Smoldering

In passions heat

Treasured memories

She does keep

Momentarily

Before setting them free

Easy conversations cease

As she becomes aware

That this is love that is blooming

Afraid he will see right through her

Avoids him

Driving him farther away

Hurting him

She tries ignoring his pain

Until her emotions spill

Carelessly into the open air

Silently he receives them

And answers

With a gentle kiss

I never forgot the last words she said, before she took her last breath.

"Don't let them tell you you're any different."

But, Ma... I want to be different.

Finally, I realized what she meant by that.

"You're one of a kind, not the same like them."

Thanks, Ma. I love you.