aggressively.stagnant.
If I knew the world was going to end tomorrow, and were asked to briefly describe Cicero, I would be forced to admit that I’m the very thing I always faulted my parent’s for being – a dreamer. A person with boundless potential unfulfilled, and so much talent wasted by inaction. I suppose this may be true for many people, but I honestly didn’t foresee this being my story. I have vivid memories of me growing up, paper thin and awkward within my skin, proclaiming to my peers that someday they would see my name written in lights. I was so unsure about many things, but I never faltered in my belief that my name would be widely known from a successful career in entertainment. After all, my mother was breathtakingly beautiful, and had the ability to paint and draw circles around anyone I’ve ever known. And my father was a devilishly handsome man, whose beautiful voice and self-taught guitar skills were the envy of every man he jammed with. And that goes without mentioning the countless other talents my parents possessed. But neither of them dreamed big. They didn’t aspire to the heights of commercial successes and nationwide popularity. They were content using their talents like an afternoon hobby, never on display for the entertainment of others. I assumed that was the key difference between them and me, and that a life of mediocrity wasn’t something I needed to worry about. I expected my dreams would fall into place as I rolled with the punches of day-to-day life. I knew life would present challenges along the way, and that sometimes I’d have to make decisions that may affect the direction of my life, but I wasn’t prepared to construct the road for myself. I was naïve. I was ignorant to almost everything. As I got older, the realities of the world started coming into focus slowly. But I always felt assured that I’d have time – that, without question, I’d do what was necessary to build the life I deserved tomorrow. But tomorrow kept coming, and I’ve continued to age, all while remaining aggressively stagnant. I’ve observed so many of my peers have achieve success. Hell, I’ve observed so many from the next generation of youth achieve success. This life of observing other people’s successes makes me bitter and resentful, as though I’ve been unfairly overlooked. But it’s at that boiling point of contempt that I stop to analyze the facts, to discern where I might’ve taken a wrong turn, and arrive at the conclusion that I’ve only ever had myself to blame.
beautiful.
For the past eight months, or more, it was that thought that never left my mind. It was a change that would bring me boundless relief, and it was certain. It was exactly what I wanted, until I didn’t need to want it anymore. A break up of a home is rarely all sunshine and rainbows. In fact, I’ve lived thru enough relationship endings to have expected this inevitable loneliness and disappointment since the very first day that I knew my relationship was doomed. But, true to my human form, I suppose I had a head full of false hope that this time would be different. That this time I’d only feel relief. Silly human! I will validate the wisdom behind the choice to separate my life from him, nonetheless. It was necessary for my growth, and hopefully for his as well. I just wish I could fast forward thru these nights of silence, wishing to communicate with a soul that already knows mine, but only finding temporary distractions by way of my TV or my iPhone. It has been five days since he walked out, never to return, and not until tonight did I feel sincere sorrow. Sorrow that flooded my being when I suddenly asked myself “now, who is going to tell me I’m beautiful?”
lonely.pill.
Today was peppered with mystical elements and an overall youthful appeal that, simply put, felt magical. Even so, my loneliness could only be kept at bay but for so long. The moments in this lifetime when I truly felt immersed in love and acceptance, forcing loneliness into extended hiatus,have been so few that I struggle to recall each of them. However, I'm almost certain those moments could be counted on both hands. Is the world to blame? Am I to blame? I don't know if I'll ever live in peace, feeling safe in the familiarity of loved ones' embrace, but I hope I'll someday know such a happy existence. Maybe these lonely nights in unsolicited solitude are all part of some lesson I'm unknowingly learning. Meanwhile, I wish I could get comfortable with this state of aloneness, after all, it's arguably my most frequented emotion to date. Yet, to my own dismay, swallowing this pill never gets easier.
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