Quote:
Originally Posted by artemis-within
Started my homework for t today on the way home. Writing at each stoplight. Thinking about the story I need to write from the 3 tarot cards I pulled the other day. Anyway as I was thinking about that, and possible 'other sides' of love and beauty, some bits of a new poem came:
"but beauty is sometimes a mask
hiding intricate pain behind
golden tendrils of deception"
thinking as I was that love can become manipulative (when it ceases to be love) and beauty can be deceptive and... stuff like that. I think it is easier to tell a story in a poem than to write an actual story.
H could tell I was upset this evening. He asked why and said "I hate it when you're upset." I tried. Honest, I tried to talk to him. All I could do was cry and say "It's ok. Don't worry about it."
It's me, it's always been me, it always will be me, and blah blah blah.
Ah, that's enough about me. I now return you to the regularly scheduled couch programming!
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Love the poem snippet Art.
It is very very hard to talk about changes and endings - and I mean *really* talk about it, *really* consider it. Even when a relationship is utterly destructive like mine was it provides a structure that you become very dependent on. Even just adjusting it to suit you better can be right scary. Taking it away altogether in one fell swoop - that's downright terrifying. 
And it's not just you, there are two of you in it. Don't be the blame-taker anymore.
__________________
'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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