Inner Dialogue

      I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows.

                                                                                      Oscar Wilde



Meshuga

---"every one has a story" I told him. "Most people just want to be heard. Validated somehow, ya know?".   I wonder if what I said just fell on deaf ears. How could someone so worldly and who came up in such a hard background be this daft when it came to understanding other people? I am forever puzzled by this sticky little grain in his personality. The lack of tolerance for the meshuga of other human beings. Still he touches my heart in the deepest places.


Wrinkled

---I saw him walking towards me from a distance. I am attracted to my child's therapist. What the hell is wrong with me? In a supermarket, in the meat aisle no less. He says hello with a big smile and the bottoms of my feet feel tingly. Both of us immediately apologizing for our sloppy Sunday morning appearances. My hair a bit too messy. His khaki shorts a bit too wrinkled. What does this mean? Why are we apologizing for the way we'd probably look if we just had a roll in the sack? I'm a horrible mother.

Headed South

---Looking in the mirror, I often wonder if it would have been easier to be born homely. There would be no obsessing and fussing about aging whatsoever. There would be no resentment that what was once firm, full and lush is now falling south. Your repayment for years of effervescent beauty or handsomeness is a sagging jawline, a nose turning far too bulbous or once sparkling eyes now shrouded in wrinkles. Still attractive but a sad echo of what we once were.


Flesh Wounds

--- They are the faintest little scars now but everyday when I put my clothes on they are ghostly little reminders of a time when I wanted to climb out of my own skin. Once thin gaping wounds.... made by a butter knife no less--are now stoic, decades old reminders of emotional pain so deep that I didn't want to inhabit my own body. My insides literally trying to escape the skin they were in.
Now, they are war wounds. Badges of courage for battles firmly won.






Disclaimer :

• This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.