breathelaur
There used to be such a clear cut line where my morals were-- but that was when I was able to think for myself. That's when I didn't need people. I'm now spun in this web of societal and social approval, and there's a blur where that line used to be.
He spread his palms and extended his fingers against my hands. Looking in my eyes, he smiled as he moved our hands up towards my head. He stepped in closer, "I like your antlers," he said, relaxing his gaze down to my lips.
He failed me: like so many times before, he gave up. When a mutual friend moved in, he backed off; when I moved far away, he took distance as defeat; he failed me, by making me feel I was never worth trying for, he failed me.
We had history together-- but not in a conventional way. You see, he was always in the background of my life. We'd be at the same bonfires and parties of mutual friends, played frisbee with the same group, worked at the same movie theater-- but it was better that way. We were comfortable with each other, and then what came out of that was slow blossomed and beautiful.
In yoga it is believed that you not only store intelligence in your brain, but in every cell of your body. We are made up of highly intelligent living cells-- therefore, we eat, speak, breathe intelligence.
I held him in my arms for the last time, knowing he was no longer mine, knowing this embrace meant more to me than it meant to him. He held me out of courtesy, and I held on as tightly as I could, knowing he had already slipped far away.
Whether it's fact or faith, our happiness is based on belief. If we have confidence in our beliefs, it makes no difference in the end if you were right or wrong.
I wonder what it'll be like when I go back-- will things be the same? I can't imagine that time stood still, like my home was preserved as a state of mind, as if waiting for my return. Life surely went on, people surely have changed-- but still, I wonder.
Her smile was different. When she spread her lips, and revealed her teeth, the left corner of her mouth rounded up slightly more than the right, her lower lip stretched across her palet, unarched and her eyes wrinkled up on the sides as her full face gave way to her emotions.
He was coming on the train, and I was waiting. It was surreal, being in the station, among all the other people with their other stories. People reunited: a dad picked his daughter up and put her on his shoulder, a husband and wife brought their heads together and held one another soulfully when the met at the gateway doors-- but I was still waiting for my traveler. I wondered how our encounter would be-- a story like the others.
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