Monday, February 12, 2007
Move Along!
www.holdthemoment.blogspot.com:)
debbie at 11:21 AM
Monday, February 05, 2007
I put my archives up.
I can't believe how much I've changed.
But in a way I'm grateful for it.
Hi 2007!
debbie at 2:43 PM
Saturday, February 03, 2007
H A P P Y. :)debbie at 9:04 AM
Friday, February 02, 2007
I should like to be able to separate myself from fact and logic.
Take one step out of this foot, and another, out of this body, and slide down the rabbit hole. Alice said she’d take me further than where the storytellers believe. I should like to leave this little whimpering girl at a corner of the library, and let her whine and sob, and slowly find her own form of amusement amongst dusty dreamers’ written worlds while I run away.
I should like to watch her from afar as she struggles with people’s expectations and twisted love. I could just watch her, watch the way she lives the seconds that clock away her death. I could tell her that nothing would change the way the world is set, and that people will be the first to give her dreams, and then they would break them. It isn’t the dreams but the people who are castles made of sand. Life is a crystal ball she’s taught to juggle.
I could watch her when she sleeps and swallows, when she gasps for breath and tries to live because the difficulty is in the truth that it boils down to this humdrum. Existence is in this one moment of breath that can be worth so little.
If I left her alone how would she be able to survive? What if she starved? And all the people who felt that they loved her so much, how would I be able to tell her the cutting accuracy is that they could merely love the idea of it? How can I tell her that she can stand on the pulpit too, and it could end up with her preaching and believing in nothing? If I left her by the roadside and let her wander dirty and barefooted while the sound of traffic drowns her out, until the grass grows taller and covers her feet, her legs and then who she is, where will she end up?
She would use her tiny hand to grip mine, little fingers that wouldn’t slide off even if I pried, and tell me that she hopes to believe people are kind. But darling, what the world sees is that it's a case of cruel to be kind.
I don’t know what I could tell her, because there’s nothing left. Down this dark abyss, turn that corner again and it’s a shadowy lane. I don’t know what goes on after life, but what it’s worth living for is this little hand.
I’m holding her and she lives in me, becomes me, is me, and I could never abandon her and her silly futile dreams. Maybe it’s time to love her and those foolish ideas. That would be… if I can find her before she slips away, in another book on another page, on another roadside, in another blurry shuteye moment, another distant flashback.
I would like to tell her that I love her, but then now she wouldn’t be able to hear a word I say... because it wouldn't be the first time the reality of the world wants to drown her underwater.
debbie at 9:17 AM