2006-11-05
love of lizz
I once wrote a story about a peculiar incident that happened to me last summer. This guy knocked on our door when my parents weren't home and asked if he could use our clothesline in the backyard. I said yes, left for work while my little sister was in the house. My mom got really mad because I let some stranger onto our property and left Elena there by herself in that situation. In my story, I recreated the situation more vividly than the pretext I just offered. Then I speculated about if I saw this guy again on the street, after my mom got so pissed about it. With a unique flare, I speculated upon connecting with him in a deeper way, offering him my love for him as a human through the simple yet universal act of a kiss. Here's an excerpt from that part of the story.
And when our lips softly depart with the quietest sound of release and memory of the feeling on their surface, let's remember that love is there. That I don't even know you but isn't it amazing because you're human and I'm human and we can do kind things for each other no matter what the world says, because your lips are my lips and we all are in this together. It is so amazing.
When I read over the story occasionally in attempts to revise it, I usually skim over this part. But today I gave it some real consideration, and then Lizz sent me an email.
o, my dear leesah, please fall in love with someone today. truly, madly, deeply, in love to the point where you cannot see gray because love transcends dimensions and its colour permeates your vision.
but why should you do that? fall in love so completely that you open yourself up to so much pain? because there are people that love you that way.
I have not thought about love in a very, very long time.
I don't mean romance. Of course I've thought about that. I'm self-centered; I've speculated and fantasized about decent-seeming, attractive guys here. Because it's cutesy and it would mean not being alone.
But what about love. The real, homey stuff where you deeply appreciate someone and open yourself up to the warmth you can offer each other. Where you allow the deeper understanding to seep in past all your inhibitions and selfish ways, where there is unconditional acceptance and genuine fondness.
The type I once wrote about in the excerpt above, months ago. Love that is just there, so solid and real, for anyone and everyone. Love I once knew so well and naturally, like breathing, for so many people. What about it.
I don't have it. And for this I cry. Dear, you would be disappointed if you saw how brittle I have become. I am now so cold and hard. I would not want you to see me this way. It is so not what you know of me- there is no awe-ing or gaping, no beaming smiles that make my face muscles hurt like they used to.
This is not me being emo. This is me coming to terms with one aspect of my life that I've been completely disregarding for the past few months. Holy shit. Love.
There is no warmth. There is no love in me, it's like I've decayed. I'm not freaking out about it, but it is startling to realize and it puts me in a state of despair.
The despair will end. It always does. Until then, I ponder it. I ponder the love I have for the clothesline guy, and how I could ever not feel that way about the brilliant people that surround me. I want to give them my warmth. I know I have some, somewhere. I read some of my poetry and it beckons me back; I speak to Julian and I feel traces of it once again.
I want it so truly, Lizz, for the love to permeate my vision. You know how I will try, you know I will lament over these last few despondent weeks then rise majestically once again as the Leesah you know and love best, one of jovial spirit and resounding love. I owe it to us, to our bubblebathism and sanguinity. The Song of Myself will undulate into the Song of All. And you will feel the love across the miles and we will both rejoice. I love, love, love you.
leesah-likes at 7:18 p.m.