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 Nov 2014 Taru Marcellus
r
19
 Nov 2014 Taru Marcellus
r
19
when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.
r ~ 11/30/14

Hey, Son. :)
The scene is a certain school courtyard, full of certain adolescents. Boys and girls are criss-crossing haphazardly and are bustling about, caught up in their respective little lives. They go in, out, from and to their tiny and certain daily adventures.

A certain boy and a certain girl look at each other as they walk; their eyes meet.


CERTAIN BOY:

When I look at a girl in the eyes, I imagine both of our lives up until the singular moment of iris and iris, me and her. I imagine us somewhere in the beginning of a little chick flick movie of sorts.  Or the starting line of a flowery poem. Or the prologue of some great literary novel... Though that moment of pupil and pupil is the first ****** in our mini romantic comedy.

I can see the whole story being laid out:

The nervous greeting, the fruitful giggling, the blossoming smile. Then the shy hand-holding, warm hugs, the sweet first kiss, the ***** grab and tag and rustle in whatever shadowy make-out spot in the school. Followed by commitment, sentiment,  "I like you"s , "I need you"s,  "I miss you"s, "you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life and I don't wanna lose you"s and finally- "I love you"'s.

And then of course the inevitable bored, lifeless, un-innovative, sad, miserable, heartbreaking and mundane conversations that happen once the mysterious honeymoon period disappears. The under-appreciation and the desperation and perhaps some cheating, but more likely to be found is loneliness.

This then ends in a 'break' or break-up, which are essentially the same thing.

However that may not be the end just yet, they might just get back together. Maybe. Maybe not. But no one has that much time to worry so... On to the next big thing.

But-

I can already see that whole story being laid out:

The nervous greeting, the fruitful giggling, the blossoming smile. Then the shy hand-holding...


CERTAIN GIRL:

Why... why is he looking at me like that?


End of scene.
This brief moment is called a 'Certain Story' and is originally from my blog...(http://lifeinthethirdperson.blogspot.com/2014/06/a-certain-story.html)

Hope you found it somewhat amusing.
To be what they want
Is to win a battle
To be who you are
Is to win a war
 Nov 2014 Taru Marcellus
Juneau
religious figures
are depictions of the same
we call it the sun
November 27, 2014

thirty-two
The fires of memory
Burning brightly in my mind, I must
Remember the agony I endured
Desires still rage in me
Pangs of anger mixed with lust
I won't forget the way it hurt

To be alone
Truly alone
With no one to talk to, cause nobody loves you
Sitting at home
Rotting away
Broken & pining for the day you will die all alone

Alone... In the dark
Shadows surrounding
Deep in my own black abyss
Will I wait
Where I have no shadow,
And am truly alone with my hate.

My inner demons miss me
Since I abandoned them for you
The poison deep within me is long overdue
To venomize my love with scorn
A hypnotizing spell
And leave me but an empty shell
Desolate and worn

The thorns of darkness tear my flesh
As I briefly feel the ghost's caress
Of what seems like an old nightmare
I used to have back then
And though my smile retains its warmth
I confess to harboring a storm
Just beneath the surface of my calm exterior

But I remember when
I contemplated death
As a viable prospect
For my future
And never again
Will I fall so far
To consider the ending
A suture.
I was feeling lots of feelings around the time I wrote this. That's what I DO remember about it.
You called yourself a philosopher—but
The only depth you cared about
was intravenous.



*The boy who loved God too much,
he tried to find Him

in his head.
Deeper
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