StayMighty
Leaping from crag to crag. Sun sign Capricorn, rising sign Gemini. Always looking for the best view.
StayMighty
Leaping from crag to crag. Sun sign Capricorn, rising sign Gemini. Always looking for the best view.
Leaping from crag to crag. Sun sign Capricorn, rising sign Gemini. Always looking for the best view.
Leaping from crag to crag. Sun sign Capricorn, rising sign Gemini. Always looking for the best view.
I want to feel, I want to know. I want to love, I want to grow. I want to see, I want to fly. I want to breathe, I want to try. I want to gather, I want to seed. I want to harvest, I want to need. I want to skip, I want to dance. I want to dare, I want to chance. I want to calm, I want to lift, I want to soothe, I want to gift. I want to treasure, I want to prize, I want to succeed, I will rise.
The stranger in the street, was yesterday my friend. We had been like brothers separated at birth, Finding each other again in sixth grade. Grew up sharing secrets, of our parents’ rows, Of crushes and invented games. We even invented a secret language, To annoy others, siblings, teachers. We had ambitions, To fight side-by-side as patriots of our own country. Now not even a nod of acknowledgment as we pass each other. Eyes not meeting, too ashamed to admit. We’d been friends once, Not knowing we were off to fight under different flags. To fight for the land we’d shared, the trees we’d climbed, for the free-flowing water that knew no borders.
We had come here as children. Our most concrete memories were when we were 6 and 8, sitting on the creased leather back seat of our old racing green, but faded, VW Beetle. Mum and dad up front, back when they were still our parents. Well, acting like they enjoyed being parents and still together then. Wolfie, our grey wire-haired mongrel, sat between us. He’d been given to mum as a puppy and was supposed to be an Irish Wolfhound, or at least part wolfhound, but only grew to half the size. “ You’ve got an Irish Wolfhound there!” people told us before he stopped growing, so the name stuck. Here we were, returning to this beloved spot, long after Wolfie had passed to greener pastures, and our parents thinking they had after their divorce. Those were the days, we agreed, asking “Who’s going to be first to see the sea?” And “Are we there yet?” The two of us and Wolfie would run whooping across the cliff tops and there below, was the sparkling sea, shining like a mirror, keeping our secrets.
“I didn’t realise she was going to tell me something so personal!” Kate was aghast.
“Really? You’re best friends, aren’t you? Who else would she tell?” I was uncomfortable, this was girl talk. I’ve never been one of the gang and this was probably why: loyalties shift, especially when someone doesn’t live up to the “we’re perfect people, only perfect vibes allowed” mentality.
“I know, but ugh, I don’t want to hear that stuff.”
“Well, who else would she tell? Her mum’s left and her dad ignores her.”
“Just wait until I tell the others though. I can see you’re not interested. This is juicy gossip. Don’t you want to know?”
“Not if it’s personal. Isn’t it supposed to be a secret? Just help her, she obviously just wanted to unload something. Just listen. What are ears for?”
Kate thought for a second.
“I think she might have told me something personal so that I’d tell her something personal. About you.”
“Just stop talking,” I said, putting my jacket on. “And hear what people are really saying.”
Nobody walks around looking like that anymore. Not unless they’re posers, imitating The Godfather, trying to pull one over on someone or expecting to be papped. He looked like a real Victorian gentleman, not an imitation of one. Surely he wasn’t a ghost. Even his height and ramrod straight posture were out of the ordinary. The masses are hunched again, although voluntarily due to cell phones, and ill-dressed. A tall, well-dressed man who had never hunched over anything electronic in his life was an anachronism on our street.
Fame and success are a two-headed monster, Or is it one? Bringing rich rewards for practice, performance, pleasure and pressure, And luck. And the kindness of strangers. And critics. Can you deal? When not trying is not an option. How much courage does it take to walk away from the dream? To say no, I’ll tend my roses instead. I can deal with those thorns. I will prick my fingers and grow the greatest roses. Please don’t prick your fingers. Put your gardening gloves on. Every endeavor requires armor. Dreams and reality both. What’s the difference?