FREESTYLEVISION

Some people are scared of ages. The ones you pick up are more of a burden, it would seem. Like it didn’t mean anything. I don’t doubt that. Especially when you’re reading symbols. The story is yours to create – No, not always. To tell – Maybe, if you wish. To remember. To personify – Yes. But experienced knees are such a hassle.

Some people look at ages as building blocks. Concrete, not the philosopher’s stone. Like that point will be the point. There, all things stop, settle. Come together. Perfectly. Not journeying there, but getting there. The point.

Life: Means to that End

But some people look at ages as ages. Who were you, really? It matters, in an encapsulated way. Someone said that our selves regenerate every 7 years. It feels faster now… So since birth, we’ve lived many lives, many lies and many truths. And there is much to take from all of them. Not definitions of self. Experiences of. Through a whole bunch of eyes.

But the key is, to only be there. Not seeing age as a burden, or a block. Not anything to run to or from. See it as a stage. Try to be aware of every word and most movements and it becomes something instead of. Something instead of another nothing. We get too concerned with how far away from it we are. This is it. And why would you want it any other way?

Carpe Diem

“I’ll steal you.” that’s what I told her. Her eyes looked at me with sort of a intrigue. Her lips smiled and I knew she was flattered. “ You’ll steal me?” she repeated, dimples penetrating her cheeks harder now as her eyes sunk into more of a seductive tone.
“Sure… you don’t have any security tags on you, right.” her voice exploded in laughter, breaking the silence of the bookstore. “ No I don’t.” she said under chuckles. “But I do have a husband that may put up a fight.” her laughter continued as I joined in with a grin.

This woman who only stood five feet off the ground, made me sore stories above that. In fact I haven’t touched the ground since I met her, and every time we were together the earth seem to move a little further from my feet. A beautiful woman of Asian descent, her shanghai accent still attached to each word she spoke, enhancing her wonder and inflaming my interest.

The laughter continued, as she slid her pale fingers along her forehead, removing the long black hair from her face. “ Do you like cookbook?” she asked. Pointing down to the one in her hand. “Like you, I like anything that has to do with food.” she smiled at me again and I smiled back.

Time had not seem to touch this woman in twenty years, although she was older than me, it could not be seen in her features. She would joke at times about how old she was, and how beautiful she use to be, but to me she was perfection, with a smile that out weighed gold. “ Big cook book, many foods for you.” the words left my mouth with a horrible Chinese accent. She looked at me and laughed, returning her eyes back to the book her face took a more serious tone. “This book no good… you get to fat.” the look on her face was priceless as usual and I blurt out laughing. This woman could change on the drop of a dime. From serious to funny to intrigued, her mind set truly marveled me. She would be talking about a topic, stop and then jump into another. Things she liked, things she disliked, things she loved, but in the time I knew her she never lacked a smile nor a laugh. My eyes scanned along the wooden shelves following the titles until stopping atop a diet cook book. I reached out and grabbed it.

“ Would you like this more?” her face held suspicion as I handed her the book. Eye’s pointed, she read along the title. “ Oh, this one is better.” her face held the same expression as she flipped along the pages, until finally stopping at something of interest.
“ Oh look.” her eyes expanded as she gasped out in joy. “ Shanghai veggie roll, sound good, right?” she flipped the book around and showed me the page, pointing to the enlarged picture of the dish. Her closed ended questions where a everyday occurrence, and I loved the way she got when I disagreed. “ What do you mean you don’t like?” she would become so animated, disapproving your disapproval. “ What’s in it?” I asked has I moved closer to her, the creak in the wooden floor boards applauding my advancement. “Spinach, cheese, onion, pepper..” she continued to read on but her words where lost to me. She smelled good and I became lost in the scent. A fruit concoction that tinkled the senses, just like a commercial would promise. “ Did you wash your hair?” I asked her, my words cutting off her aloud reading. “ Smell’s good right?” fluffing her hair with her hand, she looked at me and smiled.

In times like these I felt astray. My mind was conscious of our friend relationship but my heart beat for more, it raced with hopes of a conclusion. Either this woman could see my desires and maybe meet them with her own, or my heart would stop this foolery and reside to its normal state of nothingness. A simple thing, being no more than the tool it was designed to be, pumping blood along the body and supplying life to its inhabitants. A familiar existence for this four-chambered device.

Love had found it’s way to me twice before. Once during my high school years and returning again after college, but only for a brief stay. It was no stranger, but it was a companion who pursued different forms every time it entered your life. From the constant thought of the person, to the shear over enjoyment you had around them, to the way your heart yearned for them, love was a sickness with extreme symptoms.

Mental and physical affects reside from its infection, each person experiencing different exposure, but the final over bearing of the heart was inevitable.

I stood there, lost in here beauty once again. I relieved a sigh, unenthusiastic of the events next to come. My knees went limp as she touched me, and I prayed for this to be a crush and nothing more… Time will only tell if those prayers will be answered.