Fleeting moments

slipping

He stood at the bus stop, waiting for the bus that would take him home. He casually watched the people that were sitting and standing around him, wondering who they were and how their life had brought them there to that bus stop. It was then, as he looked around passing his time in random thought, that he saw her.

Only, he had not seen her… He had seen her face in a stranger that resembled her in hairstyle and physique. A stranger that could have easily been her, apart from the simple fact that she wasn’t.

Again he found that he had, for a brief moment, allowed himself to get excited, allowed himself to hope as he had done so many times before. It had happened yet again. He no longer thought about her except on occasions such as this, occasions where a glimpse would trigger his sub conscious and unlock a memory from deep within his psyche.

He closed his eyes and succumbed to the memories that surfaced. Suddenly he could, once more, smell the sweet scent of her skin when he held her close.

He could, once more, feel the soft touch of her caress against his cheek.

He could, once more, wonder at the beauty of the eyes that gazed so happily into his.

And finally he could, once more, feel the pain deep within his soul as he watched her leave his life forever.

He had always know that they could never be. He knew that the extent of their companionship would be but a series of memories. fleeting moments, and nothing more. He had come to accept it and felt relief in the knowledge that, sometimes, those moments are enough.

He smiled to himself at the knowledge that destiny had fated them to never meet again and he wondered when he would see her next, not in person, but in a stranger that walked past him in the street.

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Pour ma dame en rose

Si seulement je pouvais vous dire

tout ce que je voulais dire:

Je voudrais vous dire que je veux me perdre dans vos yeux

qui brillent comme la lune sur l’oceon

Que j’ai envie de sentir tes levres parfaites

donnez-moi le baiser parfait

Et que je donnerais mille couchers de soleil

juste pour voir votre sourire

Je voudrais vous dire que vous etes mon ange, mon seul…mon tout

Happy Birthday Dad

On the 26th of April 1942, my father was born. Today is his 73rd birthday.
Watching him dozing on the sofa beside me, I see the man that worked so hard to provide for his family. I see the man that made sure we were never without. He, along with my mom, made sure that I saw the very best orthodontist to rectify the problems with my teeth, and endeavoured to see it through to the end. All the long journeys, the surgeries, the overnight hospital stays. On top of that, they always had a new gift to cheer me up at the end of it and help aid my recovery.
I shudder to think of the expense of my treatment, but they never once mentioned the cost of it all.

I see dozens of images of my dad flash through my mind. Memories of him driving, sitting in the garden reading the newspaper, laughing with my mom, timekeeping at the swimming galas that my sister and I used to attend, adding another sticker to his growing collection on the back of his 4×4, deciding which hat he will wear from his hat collection, falling asleep on the sofa, working at his desk until 4am, the list goes on…

I remember the first time I saw my dad cry. I had gone into surgery for my teeth, but the doctors hadn’t detected that I had pneumonia and it caused complications with the surgery. I wasn’t waking up from the anaesthesia and my parents were worried I wouldn’t wake up at all. I eventually woke in the early hours of the next morning, and when I did, there he was waiting for me to wake up. I will always remember how he walked over to me with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face, a look of such relief at the knowledge that I was going to be okay. I can’t imagine having woken up without him there with those tears in his eyes.

I realise that I don’t know everything about my Dad. Born in England, his family left for Africa in his teens. Some of his life was lived in the likes of Kenya, where he was a part of the Kenyan regiment. He had a lot of stories to share about his days there where, I learned, he also used to race motorbikes. Apparently my old Dad was quite the rogue, always managing to get up to something. He later moved to South Africa and then finally to the country of my birth, Swaziland, where he founded a football team and raced rally cars with my mom. Later on he started his own company and worked day and night to try and make it a success and provide for his family.

I wish I could learn more about my dad, and the adventures he got up to at my age. I wish that I could sit and have a long conversation with him, laugh with him and learn from him.I wish I could thank him for everything he did for us. I wish it could be so, but it can’t…. My father has Alzheimers.

So, Dad, I may not be able to have a conversation with you, tell you about my day, get your advice or laugh and reminisce about the good old days…but I will always, always love you with all of my heart. Happy Birthday Dad, I love you.

Her eyes

A world without colour

Now could you imagine that,

A world where all that we see

Are in hues of white and black.

 

Could you find it possible

To live in monotone colour,

A tedious life with no difference

Between one and the other.

 

I can think of but one thing

Wait make that two,

That in a world void of colour

Without which I simply could not do.

 

A pair of eyes I confess

without a shadow of a doubt,

Belonging to my love

Whom I could never be without.

 

So strip my world of all colour

But spare me just one hue,

In her eyes I pray

You will leave her deep ocean blue.

 

Read what other colours people would keep in a world stripped of colour at the daily prompt here : http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/local-color/

Why do we do the whole – pretend it never happened – thing?

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We’ve all done it. I know that I have and I know that you have too, at some point.
Situation avoidance. Remember back when we were kids. If we did something wrong, firstly we would try not to get caught, but then we would completely avoid the situation or topic. We didn’t want our parents nagging us. There were also times where simply not talking about something, or to someone was the easiest option, and as kids, we were inclined to take the easiest way out. I know I was. Other times, perhaps, we were just afraid.
So topics were dropped, feelings left unexpressed, words left unspoken.
It’s somewhat understandable for a child to act in this manner, after all they are children, young and inexperienced in the ways of life. We know that from once being children ourselves.

My question is that why do we, as adults, still perform these avoidance tactics? Surely we are old enough and mature enough now? We have lived life and we have seen first hand from our parents and elders, and especially from ourselves that it does not help.
Any topic, feelings, words that are not spoken about or expressed, will not simply disappear. Instead they will remain where you choose not to see them, festering like a bowl of uneaten fruit left to lie in the sun. As they lay there in the back of your mind, festering between you and whoever the other person may be, they are slowly poisoning you, poisoning that relationship. Whether it be between a mother and daughter, a sister and brother, a lovers relationship, or a friendship, any kind of relationship.
That poison will spread, and eventually like an infected limb, there will be no choice left but to sever it off. Leaving you in the days, weeks, months to follow, thinking how much you miss that limb.

My point is that we, as adults, should be able to realise this, be brave enough to confront our problems and express our feelings to the people that matter. We can’t just get to the river, and upon finding no bridge, decide not to cross. It may be easier, but we will be left never knowing what was on the other side, and whether or not it was worth crossing for. No. We must find a way to cross that river. Even if it means walking all the way downstream to find a crossing. Even if it means building a damn bridge. It may take time, but in the end you will never regret not trying.

Have you been faced with a difficult situation that you would rather avoid to save yourself the trouble? What did you do, avoid it? Or confront it? And do you think you made the right choice?
Please share your thoughts in a comment.

If I could tell you all the things that I wanted to say.

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I’m not sure what I would say to you. Not sure where I would start. Maybe I would start at the beginning, though i’m not sure if that would be relevant.
Maybe I would start by telling you that I hate you, though not knowing if I really should hate you. I would tell you that in the back of my mind was a little voice telling me it was my fault, my fault for allowing it to happen.
I would tell you that I’ve listened to that stupid little voice for the last time, that it was, in actual fact, your fault.
I would tell you that I hate what you did, that you had to have your way….as you always do.
Perhaps I would tell you how much I hate that you try to mould everything to suit you, that you must always be right and everyone must do and say exactly what you want to hear or see.
I would tell you that I hate how you need to be in the sphere of attention at all times, from one person or another. Happily disregarding one so long as you have the other, and seeking company and consolation when you don’t.

I would tell you that I don’t know who you are, that I have come to learn things about you, but am still no closer to discovering you.
I hate that that is your intention.
I would tell you that you don’t know who you are. That you are too scared to figure it out because that would require you accepting that you don’t in fact know who you are and are perhaps afraid of what you might discover.
I would tell you that I detest how you simply avoid the issue and that I fear for you because of it.

I would tell you that i’m sorry. That I am sorry for hating you and for hating these things about you. That I am sorry that I hate myself for hating you. I would let you know that I am sorry to myself for ever having feelings for you. That I’m sorry for not having the sense to walk away sooner from you and your selfish ways.
I would tell you that I hate myself for still, in the back of my mind, feeling for you, lusting for you.

I would tell you that I love your smile, that I wish I could see it more often and wish, at the same time, that I never had to see it again.
I would tell you that your laugh is a rare jewel, splendid and captivating, though seen all to seldom and I wish I could hear it more often.
I might tell you how gorgeous you smell, and how if I ever smell anything similar, I look about half hoping to see you.
I might tell you that you have eyes so beautiful, that when I gaze into their depths I never want to look away.
I might also tell you that I hate your hands for being so soft, and that how when you touch me, I wish you would never let go.

I would tell you that now it is too late. What could have been, will never be. That which you want from me, whatever it may be, will never be given. I would tell you that you do not deserve it.
What I gave, you squandered, and I will give no more.

Though there were others before you and others after you, I would tell you that you changed me. I would say that I wished you hadn’t, but that i’m simultaneously glad that you did. I would tell you that you made me stronger. I might tell you that I hate you for it. Perhaps telling you that because in doing so, you made me heartless.

I would let you know that seeing you makes me smile. That that smile in turn reminds me of all that has transpired. I would explain how the smile fades as the memory causes me to turn away.

I would tell you how I long to kiss and hold you in a lovers embrace. Then I would tell you how meaningless and void of feeling I think it would be.
I would think to tell you that you will be lonely, that you will, as you did to me, push everyone away.
I would tell you that your selfishness is poisonous and that you know it to be true. I would explain how I know this, having suffered through my own poison.
I would hope that you didn’t end up the same.

I could tell you that I wish it had all been different, hoping that I might of been able to help you.
I would tell you though that i’m glad it wasn’t, that it would have been a mistake. My reason would be that you are not deserving of me.  I would apologise that I thought that of you, but I would tell you that it was true.

I would say one last thing as I turned to walk out of your life forever…
…goodbye.

Everything will NOT be okay.

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Cold, confused and broken, she sat there in the rain. The mind unconsciously trying to wash away the sorrows.
“Everything will be okay” they had told her.
She thought about it, those words, and any truth that might be behind them.
None.
Raindrops mixed with tears, her clothes clung wet to her rain soaked body and the world continued in a blur around her.
“Everything will NOT be okay!” She finally screamed, to herself, to the world…to him.
How could it be? She loved…he left, and now all she was left with was questions. Had he loved her too? Why did he leave? Why won’t he talk to her? Could she, should she have done something, anything different? Why was this happening to her? Why couldn’t she be happy?
Each question a knife like reminder, piercing her heart, and reminding her just how alone she now felt. Each an affirmation that indeed everything  would not be okay.

“It was wrong” she muttered his words, pushing the wet hair from her face.
“I hope we can still be friends” he had said.
She hadn’t expected that. They had been so good together, or she she thought. Now all that was left was the questions in her head as she sat cold, confused and broken on the corner of the street, numb to the rain and the world around her. “Everything will not be okay.”