And X Marks The Spot

They do say Mom that when people show you who they are, believe them. This is the them they are perhaps in denial of… but whatever you see behind the lying eyes, believe in it.

I have recently come to terms with the fact that this is my Achilles heal, I always somehow manage to be concentrating on what they don’t show, and miss altogether too often this aspect of themselves they can not hide.

I only ever want to see good, so I in fact can be a bit of a Paulianna, as my name might suggest. Rose-coloured glasses, caring and accepting, are my weakness, and thus I sometimes overlook the very things that will in the end sting me, the fatal bits.

That’s how I’m feeling today. Feeling robbed, and stupid. Wishing I could just be something I am not, be less caring, less passionate, less sure, less blind to the fatal bits.

He told me once how after his father died, he went what I would term almost like some feral child. He would be gone all weekend, living in the woods around London with his best mates. Living on sandwiches and stolen beer, in tents, tree forts. His Mom at some point just quit trying to keep him at home, she had a lot of other kids to deal with. Mr.Blue.Eyes was the black sheep, the wild one, and that he will always be.

As enchanting as I have always found these lost boys, they are fatal, and they in the end always dance off into the sunset. They need to be free, and after Mr.Blue.Eyes was captured for 35 years, wounded, then set adrift, he is in no mood for females within his fort. Regardless of their loveliness, regardless of their feelings, he is quite good at pushing away the feminine soothing touch, whenever he needs to.

I find that so frustrating, and so alluring, and god damn-it give me strength and distraction to wile away these long vaca hours. I have now but today left, as tomorrow morning I return to work. Yesterday and the day before I was a complete bum and short of grocery shopping for the days vittles, and a jont with Irish around town for an hour or two, my accomplishments were few.

I have wiled away the other hours in the day with Law & Order | UK, and am quite intrigued. The British are so good at weaving in their particular character, the city streets that have no gun-toting cops, whatever would their stories be about? Aha…they can mix the posh, the panhandler, drug dealer, smuggler, etal, as any great big International city can…deaths are a dime a dozen in the many ports of the world.

Anywho, that’s my current distraction.

I realize though now that I suffer from the need to tame these wild beasts, as if I have the skill, the will, the right. If I could just learn to let it be…let them be. I can, but I sometimes just have this need, this worry, this compassionate yet stifling need to smother people. Born of what, I have no clue, but out it will go as I am not incline towards shortening anyones leash.

You can’t love a wild thing, or shouldn’t. Not really love them, care for them, admire them, feel peace and joy for them, but never fall for them, never. If you do manage to tame them, you will kill the very thing that you loved. Simple.

You know Mom, he texted me last night. The full content consisted of but one letter… X…and that’s all. I have no idea if that was a mistake, or a symbol, or an aborted something… but I am walking away from it…it is being left behind.

I don’t want to be anyone’s savour, no more. No more taming wild things, nor soothing quiet tears of childhood horrors, no more. For now I desire an equal, not a lesser one, a wounded beyond repair one, no more of that sort. As you well know though Mom, I will have to be double vigilante, as that sort is attracted to me like bees to nectar.

Always,

Paula

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