Monday, September 05, 2005
A Time for Honesty
As he wrote to her online (technically "chatting", in truth, coldly exchanging hostile fire) he was struck once more that she was not a creature of words.
She did not possess the ability or words to make herself understood to him, and she in turn felt that he did not possess the ability to intuitively understand her. Her temper flared.
She was wrong though; he had always believed in empathy and intuition... but more than anything, he didn't believe in making assumptions. He believed in truth.
She did not understand his guilt, or need for forgiveness; she was too simple a creature to understand his mind - only hers, their minds too different to meet in the middle for a simple act of reconciliation. She offered instead a dismissal of the past, because she was not angry.
In turn, he began to wonder why he even felt guilty. Is being too honest necessarily a sin?
She did not understand his motivations - it was not regret at an almost-relationship soured... it was not that he almost-loved her still and wanted to continue the status quo, at all. "These things always see so important at the time" - the words She used once.
It was simply guilt at having hurt someone he had cared about, through his callous obsession for truth.
In truth he had held back, those past weeks, months - perhaps subconsciously - because he had sensed an absence of words, and grace in her. And while he had still been charmed a little... without words, without grace, without "magic" -- there is little to hold on to, that time, and selfishness will not erode.
Sitting at a table drinking coffee with a friend (whom he had also wronged... sigh) she asked him : Is she worth it?
He had thought then, about the hypothetical scenarios in his mind, perhaps taking this creature home to his parents and, with her first words, watching their reactions... the "intimate talk" with them that would have followed... their eventual grudgingly uneasy truce...
And he had known (see Sarabat Store Owner post below) that love was worth it.
Perhaps he had thought in some vaguely narcissitic way, that he could have taught her the words, and the graces that she lacked. He was reminded of another creature from long ago, much more beautiful (ok? ok?? beautiful. not pretty. this to the friends who say I use the word pretty too often... hmph!) and graceful to the eye - but within her heart... much the same. His reaction then had been the same, to try to guide, lead, and perhaps even fall... For it is only by their sides that we can truly stay for long enough, to lead. It was a very... paternal, and rather patronising response. He knew it too well.
As they sat side by side cradling their coffees and gazing into the distance he too had wondered ... is she worth all that?
*****
My last day of leave, sitting here listening to the trickling splashes of my brother's fishtank and looking out over our morn-lit garden... I actually feel at peace.
Life is very mundane indeed; having muddied an almost-not-quite-romance and experienced the whole gamut of human emotions... life goes on. I've been steadfastedly trying not to remember my past. It is past the time for that now; I have moved on.
But I re-read nonetheless. At some point I wondered what it had been like once. I think I'm honestly beginning to forget the details, denying them slowly out of existence.
And as I read I remembered. My own words moved me - I, the cynic.
My mind was not mine to control for a while, as the images flashed back - not in sepia, but fully-fleshed colour.
Those times are dead, K.
But what I felt, perhaps even what we shared for a while... those were not mundane, not insignificant, not transient. Not quite eternal either... time has eroded us away at last.
But I can take small comfort in knowing that there is more to life than this. Somewhere, out there - perhaps, perchance - our truths shall find each other - whoever you be.
Look not to the past, dwell not in the present.
*****
Reading her latest entry, as always, made his heart ache for her.
He posted half the lyrics of a set - they seemed to sum up her words neatly.
The other half goes -
"just as long as you know, this land is mine"
Oh, dozer. Would that you know how often I hate that these fools tresspass upon you, how I watch you let them in and they invariably defile the sanctuary of your gentle soul.
It sounds crazy to write, "gentle soul" -- but yours truly is, hidden beneath that veneer of irrepressible insanity.
You've never believed me, I think.
Let me try again : tears do not make for a lack of courage; fears do. I've watched you so often rise up to the challenge, risk all in the name of love. And hoped that you wouldn't be dashed down again, broken yet again by some callous fool, yet graceful enough still to want to remember him well.
You are so much braver than I.
I've always loved you, you know. Just... a little too much to dare to tresspass on that remarkable land, where you reign as queen, with Grace, and courage.
Be well, my friend.
She did not possess the ability or words to make herself understood to him, and she in turn felt that he did not possess the ability to intuitively understand her. Her temper flared.
She was wrong though; he had always believed in empathy and intuition... but more than anything, he didn't believe in making assumptions. He believed in truth.
She did not understand his guilt, or need for forgiveness; she was too simple a creature to understand his mind - only hers, their minds too different to meet in the middle for a simple act of reconciliation. She offered instead a dismissal of the past, because she was not angry.
In turn, he began to wonder why he even felt guilty. Is being too honest necessarily a sin?
She did not understand his motivations - it was not regret at an almost-relationship soured... it was not that he almost-loved her still and wanted to continue the status quo, at all. "These things always see so important at the time" - the words She used once.
It was simply guilt at having hurt someone he had cared about, through his callous obsession for truth.
In truth he had held back, those past weeks, months - perhaps subconsciously - because he had sensed an absence of words, and grace in her. And while he had still been charmed a little... without words, without grace, without "magic" -- there is little to hold on to, that time, and selfishness will not erode.
Sitting at a table drinking coffee with a friend (whom he had also wronged... sigh) she asked him : Is she worth it?
He had thought then, about the hypothetical scenarios in his mind, perhaps taking this creature home to his parents and, with her first words, watching their reactions... the "intimate talk" with them that would have followed... their eventual grudgingly uneasy truce...
And he had known (see Sarabat Store Owner post below) that love was worth it.
Perhaps he had thought in some vaguely narcissitic way, that he could have taught her the words, and the graces that she lacked. He was reminded of another creature from long ago, much more beautiful (ok? ok?? beautiful. not pretty. this to the friends who say I use the word pretty too often... hmph!) and graceful to the eye - but within her heart... much the same. His reaction then had been the same, to try to guide, lead, and perhaps even fall... For it is only by their sides that we can truly stay for long enough, to lead. It was a very... paternal, and rather patronising response. He knew it too well.
As they sat side by side cradling their coffees and gazing into the distance he too had wondered ... is she worth all that?
*****
My last day of leave, sitting here listening to the trickling splashes of my brother's fishtank and looking out over our morn-lit garden... I actually feel at peace.
Life is very mundane indeed; having muddied an almost-not-quite-romance and experienced the whole gamut of human emotions... life goes on. I've been steadfastedly trying not to remember my past. It is past the time for that now; I have moved on.
But I re-read nonetheless. At some point I wondered what it had been like once. I think I'm honestly beginning to forget the details, denying them slowly out of existence.
And as I read I remembered. My own words moved me - I, the cynic.
My mind was not mine to control for a while, as the images flashed back - not in sepia, but fully-fleshed colour.
Those times are dead, K.
But what I felt, perhaps even what we shared for a while... those were not mundane, not insignificant, not transient. Not quite eternal either... time has eroded us away at last.
But I can take small comfort in knowing that there is more to life than this. Somewhere, out there - perhaps, perchance - our truths shall find each other - whoever you be.
Look not to the past, dwell not in the present.
*****
Reading her latest entry, as always, made his heart ache for her.
He posted half the lyrics of a set - they seemed to sum up her words neatly.
The other half goes -
"just as long as you know, this land is mine"
Oh, dozer. Would that you know how often I hate that these fools tresspass upon you, how I watch you let them in and they invariably defile the sanctuary of your gentle soul.
It sounds crazy to write, "gentle soul" -- but yours truly is, hidden beneath that veneer of irrepressible insanity.
You've never believed me, I think.
Let me try again : tears do not make for a lack of courage; fears do. I've watched you so often rise up to the challenge, risk all in the name of love. And hoped that you wouldn't be dashed down again, broken yet again by some callous fool, yet graceful enough still to want to remember him well.
You are so much braver than I.
I've always loved you, you know. Just... a little too much to dare to tresspass on that remarkable land, where you reign as queen, with Grace, and courage.
Be well, my friend.
