Truth at the cellular level.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic message system. (His Name Here) is not available."

Precisely, Ms. Voice Mail. Precisely.

Fish wishes.

If I had 6 months to live, would he spend them with me?

If my birth had another date...

If my body had another weight...

If I were blonde, not auburn...

If I were willowy, not curvaceous...

If I shared less, cared less, earned more, spurned more...

If I were just about anyone but me...

Or:

If I'd had today's knowledge in that moment before I first spilled my heart...would I have unscrewed the cork or sealed it?

If I had 6 months to live, would I spend them with him?

A poem from the (broken) heart by fellow blogger cjarabia...

I want to write love letters to you but I won't.

Do you hear me? I fucking love you. I love you, I adore you, I admire you, I esteem you, I am fond of you, I'm amazed by you, I am in awe of you, I appreciate you, I don't understand you, you drive me crazy, I want to kiss you so bad I can't stand it. I love the sound of your voice and your goofy laugh. When I go to sleep I think of you. I love when you tell me what to do. I want to sleep with you. I love when you call me on my bullshit. I fucking love you and I'm not going to tell you.

You are kind and nice and even and smart and giving and full of wisdom. You tease me, and you listen to me talk and talk and talk about all of my bullshit. I'm so full of shit and you don't seem to mind, you may even enjoy it. How can that be? How can that fucking be?

I will never tell you.

I'll take it to the grave.
I'll put it in a box and bury it in the back yard.
I'll type it up and then tear it to pieces and throw it in the fire.
I'll cover it in paint and glitter.
I'll roll it up in plastic and toss it out to sea.
I'll put it in a book.

You'll never see it.

You'll never see it.

You'll never ever see it.

This is not about you. Now go away.


(Visit the author at http://cjarabia.journalspace.com/)

Another Pesky Law:

Si vous vous cassez quelqu'un d'autre le coeur, vous devez faire que vous pouvez le réparer avant que vous marchez loin.

No (one) is an island. It's one of those pesky Laws of the Universe.

"If everything is connected to everything else, then everyone is ultimately responsible for everything. We can blame nothing on anyone else. The more we comprehend our mutual interdependence, the more we fathom the implications of our most trivial acts. We find ourselves within a luminous organism of sacred responsibility. "
— Laurence Kushner in Invisible Lines of Connection

Thomas Mann on the Myth of the New Year's Celebration

"Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunderstorm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins, it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols."