FAITH

2011-03-16T11:50:00.000-07:00

Through the various tides and time, she gazed upon the sky. The three stars dotted the sky, in an exaggerated triangle from the bond of memories. She followed the lines that formed them, and said a prayer for each of those who made her life, and silently then walked towards a healthier shiny moon. It lay ahead, beyond the streetlight threatening to bring her back to reality.

Frozen in her own time, writing her mental memoirs, she recollected the childish games that thrilled her when she was kneehigh, and the sounds of childish fights that often led to crying or churlish giggles, depending on who fought with whom. Aah, cliques, the protector of thy identity. How the saviour becomes the demon of relationships.

Gazing at the star that stood just north-west of the moon, or was it north-east, she could never remember, in any case, it stood blinkingly looking back at her from comfortably nestled in the bosom of the crescent moon. Today she said a prayer for herself.

As she steeped herself in memories of faces, faded, and voices that become echoes, clear in the desperate yearning of dawn upon the settling of the night, she walked from the same patio towards the frumpy looking driveway, into an even frumpier looking sedan. Somehow, the greying red of the paint was a mirror into herself. Unfixed, fading from weathering use and abuse. Somehow, she drew comfort from the fading of the sedan, racked with memories from better days.

In a coughing, wheezing and sputtering start, the car jolted out of its state of sombre and became a reckless device in the hands of a reckless soul. Driving along the pathway, into the moonlight, every now and then, glancing towards the four stars, occassionally lost under city lights and saying a prayer. Saviour. She hoped, foolishly enough, that it would be a saviour. She didn't know which; her, the prayer or the star, but she was looking for a saviour. Oddly, but usually enough, it failed her wisdom or lack of it, to ask for one.

She pulled into the bistro, alive and rampant, ominous to all things wonderous, and positive. How stark from the precariousness that somehow kept her from carrying the echoes from the patio into this moment ahead. Instead, she shook her head, as she tried to shake out the little change of memories that never leave without breaking the person, and was once again wondering what it was she was doing there.

As she stepped out of the repeatedly reparked car, now perfectly within the white lines of definition, she stood for a moment subdues, wondering when she submitted to an archaic life of wills and fancies, filled with misunderstanding and mistrust. Yet, she comforted herself and stared at the star which was now behind her, as she drove past it, while she tried to drive past herself. Aaah, the sheer transparency of carelessness in a heart that didn't care if it hurt itself, for someone sure was to do it.

She walked into the room, five miutes before time, in a hope to reminice, remember and revive fondness where confusions and bitterness had begun to dwell. Hopeful, she gazed at happy strollers and diners, as they talked, sometimes through words, otherwise, through their silences and wondered where she lost herself so that she forgot that that could be real.

Thirty minutes after she has sent the waitress on her way with a modest order of coffee, having first sent her away with hope in her eyes, she looked up into the sky, the star still blankly blinking, without so much as a look of regret and traced the corner of the coffee cup with her finger. She remember to herself, the one fact she learned, that trust is fragile. Understanding may be rebuilt, but trust is a story, without an end, and the end cannot be written without having written the beginning before. Trust, was the end. She looked at her face, twisted in the spoon, and apathetically wondered why she bothered to come at all.

As she walked up her driveway, where the echoes resounded from the children playing and laughing. She looked at the streetlight, that brought her back to reality, and she remembered her wounds. She remembered, it was not her to trust. She remembered that she had forgotten the hurt from betrayal, for she had forgotten how to trust.

The misdeed that come from such intimacy as trust wants, is easily broken in a moment of weakness and comes with the shattering of faith in onesself, when one's mirror image is broken thus. Alas, then one asks, could it really be, that she could no have been there for me, and hope sustains that the truth is really the untruth of losing faith.

TOAST

2011-03-13T03:44:00.000-07:00

Ready to receive. Welcome back words, stay with me, and this time I shall try and fail you not. Keep my thoughts wrapped in your sublimity.

To new beginnings and new hopes, new days and new will, to that spirit sir, I toast from the depth of the bottle of my words.

Me cherche

FAITH

TOAST