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open up and look at me love

“the picture makes a promise and the flesh let’s it be broken.” (tracy chapman)

in life we are not that still image. we are not life in the pictures. like a promise of life eternal. life is human. do you wonder why so many women fall in love with you when they should know better? i think of this and the director with her actresses. is it bad to want to be immortalized in someone’s heart? i pick up the clothes on the floor and model in the mirror as strangers marvel at my pretty hands and i stare at my beautiful feet. if you cannot be written into someone’s life, and when you have succeeded to be written out of someone’s life, are you still a part of something sacred like love?

life is not a film. it is not your set design on casablanca boulevard. it is only a promise that we are all broken. all of it hurts. we embrace the morning, we give into sleep, we want it, we want it, we open our arms to it, we fall into it. how can it hurt us? when it matters, how can it not.

open your arms and let her inside, open your eyes and give her everything…even as she tells you it was a mistake. i tell her a story. when i was little in Japan when a gift was offered if you took it blindly, you had missed the point. you were never suppose to take it, you were suppose to give it back. give it back and in that moment you would be with them forever.

“did i ever love you?” she asks.

“maybe but if i did not feel your love does it mean you didn’t love me?”

“i love you.”

if i never say i love you, does it mean i don’t? and because i left, does it mean it was easy?

people look at me sometimes like i broke your heart because when you leave you don’t receive mercy.

i walked away from her as she called my name. mercy. love. forgiveness.

i stepped on the street and around the corner even though i heard her calling after me. i wish i could run away so far that there will never be a way to return.

i know life is a game but for once god…do we always have to play it.

i know my answer. it feels like punishment and you have no ones sympathy but this is not a test. this is life.

run away or choose to stay with you feet in the dirt and listen to the voice in your head screaming. don’t feel ashamed that everything is in pieces including yourself.

love is a gift not a promise. not a picture. it is flesh that is broken.

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