Amor

In so many ways I have two lives, the life I’m living and the life I live. In so many ways, I need to convince myself that it is impossible to have that disconnect, and I know this in my head, but I cannot seem to fully feel it my heart. There is a difference between walking and running, and it isn’t the speed. The difference between walking and running lies primarily in when a person picks up their trailing foot from the ground, in walking it is not until the lead foot is planted, in running it happens before. In running a person often has both feet off the ground, a person often has no stable footing, both feet in the air. This is a metaphor. In a thousand ways I ran into Panama, jumped into Panama, like the gulf was a hurdle, I found my footing and I kept going. In one way I walked, in one way I can’t seem to pick up my trailing foot. I love you. My foot is stuck in love, love that I cannot bring with me, but that I cannot seem to let go. I am heartbroken and hopelessly in love at the same time. And I have no idea what to do about it, or if something even needs to be done about it.

12/11/2003

Its funny how much a person can forget in a year, ten, how new experiences push and shove one another trying to wedge out a memory in order to take its space. For years you have seven numbers memorized you swear they're are impossible to forget yet 10 years and 14 numbers down the road they're all jumbled up, the order and exact numbers escape you now. People like me try to let the past go, what use is memorizing and remembering things when there are so many new things to experience, yet we all have things that we try to remember and for years the memories come up crystal clear, then five years pass and its a little fuzzy at the edges, ten and its just glimpses. But those glimpses the ones I held to tightly, those are still real to me. Its funny what memories mean the most.

My mothers hair smelled of patchouli and cigarettes.
It only existed braided, or wildly.
Strong and free.
Frizzy, frazzled, and damaged.
My mothers hair was unending.
Like her love, it never stopped.
Never compromised with dye or scissors.
In the wind it would wave wildly entangling.
Forming bonds with itself impossible to break.
Always slightly messy.
My mothers hair mirrored her soul.
Never compromised, but always growing.
It was sure to stay with you.
As pieces remained after each encounter.
My mothers hair was unforgettable
A defining characteristic.
My mothers hair represented comfort.
Safety. Warmth. Love. Peace.
Compassion. And understanding.
My mothers hair hid weakness.
Covered pain.
My mothers hair was beautiful
It smelled of patchouli and cigarettes.