Posts Tagged ‘need’

Writing You Love Letters

October 3, 2017

While you sleep.

The tears on my face still drying.

There are things I should do and things I could do.

But all I want.

All I ever want.

Is to be with you.

I want nothing more than to hold you close.

I die a little inside when I think about you being alone.

I don’t want you to be alone, I want you to be seen and held and strong and true.

I want you to know how much, how very much, I love you.

I know you say you know.

I know you do.

I know you know I adore you.

And I cannot stop saying the words.

Like the Raven in that one poem from long ago.

On a dark and dreary night who cannot stop repeating itself.

I repeat and repeat.

And it’s just true.

I can’t stop.

My heart fills with the music you send me.

You a poetry font of expression and longing and joy.

All wrapped up in a 90s love ballad.

You send me love letters in music.

It is the best.

It is beyond the best.

It is you tender and sweet and true.

Oh baby.

I miss you.

I do.

Once upon a time when I was a younger woman, a girl really.

Full of longing and unspoken need.

I would dream of someone like you.

Who would romance me with music.

Who would seduce me with song.

I would dance around my room alone and dream about you.

There are times I feel that I have dreamt you into being.

This revery that I am afraid to wake from.

A beauty so keen.

You have changed me.

I am in the presence of a dream.

I am smote.

You are my undoing.

And.

My doing.

You are my everything.

My dream made real.

My 90s love ballad come true.

 

My Knight in Shining Armour

June 10, 2014

In his red Prowler.

No white charger he.

Thanks friend.

Serious.

I got picked up from the house today and got a ride out of the neighborhood up to the Inner Sunset to see some fellows and sit with my leg propped up on an uncomfortable folding chair for an hour.

Of course, what was more uncomfortable was admitting that I need to ask for help and how challenging that is.

“Our Carmen’s asking for help,” my dear friend said. “It’s amazing.”

“Oh, Carmen, she’s not good at asking for help,” my housemate told a mutual friend last night when he asked how I was doing and how come I had not hit him up for some aid.

I know it’s obvious, but damn, I didn’t know it was that obvious.

“Serious, you just shut me down,” my friend said earlier this afternoon, “like nothing.”

He was sitting on the chaise lounge in the corner with an ice pack on his foot and I was in the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas on my ankle.

I joke, it’s the blind leading the blind.

When he peeped me earlier today and asked what I needed, despite having a list of things on the table that I was looking at, I said nothing, I am good, indicating such via text.

Then, I knew better, I could feel it, this manipulation through withholding my honest response, and asked for something.

“Actually, I could use the company, if you are inclined,” I texted him back.

He was inclined and I am stupid glad I did.

Having another person in my home and getting to relate war wounds–his are far more serious than mine, he’s been in a cast for over two and a half months, two months of which he could put no weight on the foot at all–was a boon.

Commiserate with me please.

I tried earlier to remember what it was like when I was in a cast for breaking my foot, three toes and a portion of the top bone on my left foot (damn, this left foot is a tricky bitch, three severe sprained ankles, three broken toes, one broken foot bone, it’s also the same leg I so deeply bruised a month ago on my scooter when I ran it into the light pole in the Whole Foods parking lot), but I couldn’t recall it being so arduous as it is now to crutch about.

I suppose I am older and it takes a lot more out of a grown adult, I believe than a kid who’s seven.  I think I was seven, summer between second and third grade.

I was in a plaster cast from my toes to my knee.

A cast that I wore through so quickly that I had to have it re-plastered three times.

The last time the doctor warned me he would put me in traction and not allowed out of bed if I didn’t knock it off.

I was trying to walk on it.

I have always, apparently, had a mind of my own, I will do it on my own, I don’t need you, I got this.

No, I don’t got this.

I don’t.

I had accepted an offer of a ride from my friend in red Prowler two days ago to the Monday evening event and he had also offered to do a grocery run too.

I wasn’t going to take him up on it, but as the condition of my ankle is still such that I can’t put weight on it, I have to consistently ingest ibuprofen and elevate it, ice it and be gentle with it, I decided that yes, though I had some groceries from the Saturday shopping my dear friend who came out and spent the night with me; I should stock up.

So, I asked for help.

I even asked for the grocery store I wanted to go to, although, he had to pull that out of me.  I admitted that I have a challenging time shopping at SafeWay and he took me to Whole Foods.

My pocket-book has a challenging time at Whole Foods, but I got what I needed.

In fact, my god, I offered to hobble along and help him shop if he pushed the cart and he said, no, you stay here, relax, give me the list.

“Do you like Amelie?” He asked turning on the stereo in the car.

Uh, yes!

“Good, I’ll just pop this in the cd player, you relax and I’ll be back in a little bit,” he walked into the store.

I reclined the seat and listened to the soundtrack.

I recalled moments in Paris when I was bereft of food, money, aching with longing for things to be different, forced to concede that my best efforts weren’t leading me to a life living in a fifth floor walk up in the Montmartre, but rather getting back to San Francisco and living in a garden studio by the ocean.

“Look at this,” my friend said, admiring my little home, “all you need is a boyfriend to snuggle with and watch movies and feed you in bed.”

Ok.

Can I ask for help with that too?

That actually ran through my head, my tough lady head, maybe this whole experience is to tenderize you, get you vulnerable, let go that tough girl act, let people in.

It starts with friends who offer to help and maybe eventually I will let that certain man in.

I mean, people want to be needed and if I don’t allow people to help me, I am not needing them, I am not letting them in.

Needy and having needs are two different things and I believe I have thought them the same for a long time.

I don’t want to come across as needy, so I act like I don’t need you at all.

But I do.

I truly do.

“You are warm and kind and sweet and generous, why wouldn’t I want to help you?”  My friend unloaded the groceries on the counter and gave me a hug, “you call me if you need anything else.”

Ok.

I surrender.

I will.

The only way I am going to change is to act different.

You guys win.

I need your help.

 


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