There are so many women in my life. Some of them are great to have and act as my rocks in what I like to see as the ocean of my own ego - 3/4 of my conscious self is that ocean.
Some act like the sirens when I'm on a boat, tied to the mast and my crew has ears stuffed of wax - I'm going crazy trying to reach out to them. They represent the impossibly hopeful dream of happiness that seems to be made out of cellophanes, re-usable plastic bottles and penny wishes. Call it a school child crush but I still hope to "go-steady" with every other girl that flashes me a warm smile and has a kind word to offer.
Some act like archangels (or if we keep it PC, saving entities) swooping in with gold-feathered wings, white tunics and sandals made of extremely fine Coach leather. There to talk with and any topic goes. Everything from the odd toy you might order online to the importance of being a caring lover. They provide me with interesting insights to the world inside the collective construct that is "women are complicated". These are some of my best friends and they saved me when the storm formed in the perfect way such that my boat almost made it over an obnoxiously large wave but then tipped over instead. We had a full load of catch. We share the most perfect of moments with them.
Some are ethereal ocean wisps. They formed mostly through smoke signals and end-of-the-telescope mirages. I'd take the black opal to full sail but never actually catch up with them. For the most part painfully beautiful, if only because they were the apple (though I'd prefer clementine) of mine eye. They keep life interesting if only because they send bits of drama and intrigue on my life in the shape of a curious text or bbm or even a story about me passed through the entire social network.
There are also ravens and jays. Awful cries that could interpret this metaphor as the women in my life that I'd consider harpies. Rest assured that's not my intention gentle reader. I, like so many before me, use them as omens. Grim but not fatal - the kind that would make my smile a little bit off for the rest of the day. An encounter leaves me feeling a little bit...unfit. They're prone to spreading lies of the not-so-flattering kind that offend character and moral fiber. My approach? Live up to my standards and hope the truth speaks softly but confidently.
On the ship (i thought that this was an ocean originally too, don't worry I know it got trippy at some point) there is also a collection of awkward smiles now just called a list of acquaintances with multiple beginnings and no lasts - the real numbers ran out. They give me the I-know-you look but then glance away as they realize we probably met in unfortunate circumstances or circumstances that are best spoken of in furtive whispers late at night after the ship's been in a state of revelry.
It's a small compendium still.
It's a good thing I plan on living forever.
No comments:
Post a Comment