Monday, February 11, 2008

just a cage of rib bones [and other various parts]

I posted a blog last night [maybe some of you read it]. Its life was short-lived. I was on the fence regarding its content - back and forth about standing firm or conceding to the fear of probable judgment. Leave it posted or remove it? To be myself, or leave parts of me out of view so as to seem stronger [more like him]?

Ultimately I took it down.

I knew he would eventually read it, and then think...the things I wish I he wouldn't. [I'm no soldier, Love.] I wear my heart on my sleeve. I don't normally alter my self for anyone. It's always take-it-or-leave it, granted I am courteous of my crowds and refine antics when need be. But I never hide.

We have a number of fundamental differences. He is so reserved, I am the most open book. He epitomizes his role of Soldier, and I, Artist...feely, impulsive, unrestrained [his opposite]. There are times I know that he wishes me to be more like him, and in the nature of balance, there are likewise times when I want him to be more like me. At the end of the day, though, the reasons I love him are those so foreign to my conceptual existence. He is brave, mellow, honest and convicted. He is sturdy, still, patient and wickedly funny. I have been known to uselessly confess my selfish desires...that his job would be less risky, that he wouldn't have to trek to the ends of the earth, that something would miraculously blanket the world in peace. His answer is always gentle, but matter-of-fact: if these things about him were different, then he would fail to be.

[occasionally even I wish I were more like him.]

"Never, 'for the sake of peace and quiet,' deny your own experience or convictions." - Dag Hammarskjold

The truth is, I will probably never be the best army girlfriend by societal standards. I'm not used to being a rock [or a conservative]. While most of the time I have an upper hand in my on-going war with patience, sometimes I buckle. Sometimes I just miss the hell out of him, and that's just who I am.

Last night's post, reborn:

By March, the seasons will have changed. Green buds will balance at the end of branches and the crisp of spring will hang in the air.

Tonight these thoughts are heavy in my mind. The time apart seems long as Winter begins to dissipate, and longer still with the extension of six unexpected days. It has already been several weeks, and they have passed more or less, without issue of separation...but when one hangs such hope and forward looking on a date, on a conceivable number of hours until reunion, it takes very little rescheduling to wound an ardent spirit. A change of plans that perpetuate the divide will do it.

Tomorrow will be a new day, the beginning of another week to mark off the calendar. Monday will offer infinite chances to sew silver linings. I know that my heart will be well after a good night's rest. Tonight however, it aches...for missed kisses, for the expressions I can hear in his voice but cannot see on his face, for nights I haven't spent listening to the rhythmic change of his breath as he falls into sleep. I miss his chocolate eyes. I miss his pure voice having not been muddled by a flip-phone's speaker.

But I'm fine. [read as
always fine, SSG.]

1 comment:

Maggie said...

I've done this. Put it up, take it down, put it up, take it down, heart beating a million miles an hour the entire time.... It's so hard to write for yourself, to not let the knowledge of who's reading it change what comes out. I still struggle, but ultimately, I think, you need to be brave. It's good you put it back up.