There is the Italian man in the balcony of the square. He’s closing his window and I know he’s been watching me down here at the café. Of course he was watching everyone else too, but I know he saw Ancie look at me from about 15 feet away. I looked up and he was looking here, smiling.
I can’t take much more of this. I’m tired, exhausted really, and need affection. I feel beaten down. I understand his point. I tried to stay out of the way and then came all the love stuff followed by the jealousy followed by the anger followed by the love stuff followed by the anger and more anger and more anger…
I’m really tired. I’m lost again. Feeling crazy again. Why can’t he admit to me what he really thinks…why can’t he see the sickness? So I do what…I listen to him and don’t get listened to. I get a hard dick when I can’t have it and a soft one when I want it. I get peace when I don’t want it and no peace when I need it. What’s it all for? Is this some test for me? When do we take the things in life as a test and when do we decide that it’s a test too long and going no where? When do I decide to let this go? Are the good things in balance with the bad?
I’m ready to leave. I don’t know why I even stayed. It’s one broken promise after another. I’m scared, really. A fear like no other and is this what love is? Being so afraid? Us both so scared?
Later-
I am sitting at the bar that K just left from, sitting in K’s chair actually. He was butt-drunk wasted when he left. A sick man he is. I don’t think I’ve seen him any sicker. It’s this fight against something.
How do I do? What do I do? I do just like I am and be honest with myself, with my life, with everything. How much patience it takes I don’t know. But now, I’m secure and safe with this city. I think that makes it hard for him. I have been fed by these people in all the ways I want him to feed me. I am loved in all the ways that I want to be loved. It is passionate, and sad at times, but this is a story of a time in my life. I am learning what I need to learn. It is a true test of character, of grace, of destiny, and of miracles. It’s of angels and devils and God, that big big that’s reaching out to me is breaking through. Such strange things are at play.
The readings of these Sufi masters are affecting the way I look at my life. These mystics are still here, playing. Maybe I am one of them. Maybe he is. Maybe together we strike up the heavens with thunder and rain and blossoms and weeds and life as well as death. Perhaps perhaps perhaps…something is at play…he will see that he has to let go of me in order that I fly.
The amount of gifts falling into me I cannot understand. It is truly a holy thing the way I am looked at here. How I, a woman, can be sitting here so safely alone in this bar writing. With not a soul grabbing at me but all reaching out gently to make sure I still stand. They are telling me to be patient, that all this means something. That I will be loved by people no matter where I am.
I can’t take much more of this. I’m tired, exhausted really, and need affection. I feel beaten down. I understand his point. I tried to stay out of the way and then came all the love stuff followed by the jealousy followed by the anger followed by the love stuff followed by the anger and more anger and more anger…
I’m really tired. I’m lost again. Feeling crazy again. Why can’t he admit to me what he really thinks…why can’t he see the sickness? So I do what…I listen to him and don’t get listened to. I get a hard dick when I can’t have it and a soft one when I want it. I get peace when I don’t want it and no peace when I need it. What’s it all for? Is this some test for me? When do we take the things in life as a test and when do we decide that it’s a test too long and going no where? When do I decide to let this go? Are the good things in balance with the bad?
I’m ready to leave. I don’t know why I even stayed. It’s one broken promise after another. I’m scared, really. A fear like no other and is this what love is? Being so afraid? Us both so scared?
Later-
I am sitting at the bar that K just left from, sitting in K’s chair actually. He was butt-drunk wasted when he left. A sick man he is. I don’t think I’ve seen him any sicker. It’s this fight against something.
How do I do? What do I do? I do just like I am and be honest with myself, with my life, with everything. How much patience it takes I don’t know. But now, I’m secure and safe with this city. I think that makes it hard for him. I have been fed by these people in all the ways I want him to feed me. I am loved in all the ways that I want to be loved. It is passionate, and sad at times, but this is a story of a time in my life. I am learning what I need to learn. It is a true test of character, of grace, of destiny, and of miracles. It’s of angels and devils and God, that big big that’s reaching out to me is breaking through. Such strange things are at play.
The readings of these Sufi masters are affecting the way I look at my life. These mystics are still here, playing. Maybe I am one of them. Maybe he is. Maybe together we strike up the heavens with thunder and rain and blossoms and weeds and life as well as death. Perhaps perhaps perhaps…something is at play…he will see that he has to let go of me in order that I fly.
The amount of gifts falling into me I cannot understand. It is truly a holy thing the way I am looked at here. How I, a woman, can be sitting here so safely alone in this bar writing. With not a soul grabbing at me but all reaching out gently to make sure I still stand. They are telling me to be patient, that all this means something. That I will be loved by people no matter where I am.
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