A different ending for Narcissus

You don’t make an online splash,

But I hear the ripple of wind as you hawk over me.

Pretending like you don’t see it all,

Choosing where your thumbs up go

I’m not meant to know, that you watch me after all.

You wonder why I don’t mention you.

But things that have hurt you,

Events that have impacted you,

And people whose words and actions have harmed you beyond anything you’ve ever known,

Are not things you want to dwell on, dance in, and dawdle over.

I prefer to ignore forget it all.

Your image of yourself is flawless,

But you fail to see the many errors of your judgement.

How the smooth lines of your life are pulled so tight, like a Botoxed face,

Gnawing at the sides, tearing what is naturally there, and creating cracks in it’s wake like the desert ground.

You are actually lucky.

You have more love than you know what to do with

And just as well it comes from obligation

Since you continue to throw it all down the drain.

I feel your judgement, with every word written, and every syllable spoken

I feel it in all my good and bad moments.

And I know what you must say about me, because I’ve heard you say it about everyone else too.

Does anyone think,

Narcissus died not from the perfect vision of looking at himself in the waters reflection,

But in the horror of seeing his inner ugliness portrayed and distorted and swayed to him, that no one else but Mother Nature could show?

Hmm.

Well when you fall, it will be too late.

I won’t be standing by the waters edge, waiting to lend you a hand

I will watch you from the bushes, just as you’ve watched me from a distance, all this time.

You won’t see me, but you may hear my presence,

As a rustle in the trees… and a whisper in the wind…

“Pssst.

I see you.

I hear you.

I know you.

Yes, I know.”

It’s all fine, it’s alright

Keep smiling through all your lies

Tell them what they want to hear

Then turn your back and bash their ear

Give them a sweet name, that always works

But when they need you, you bitch and lurk

You treat them on a scale of 5, but always expect a 10

It’s never you… it’s all of THEM.

Jest guess? but caution over violent breaths.

Photo by Letícia Lua on Pexels.com

Wrecked fingers

I just finished writing up 31 invitations and 31 envelopes to send out for baby girl’s 1st birthday. My index finger was totally crooked and bent inwards with grooves along one side where the pen was practically cemented. The feeling is returning, thank God. It didn’t look pretty.

Fortunately those muscles are now resting as I type. But it occurred to me. One of those ‘absolute truth’ insights that I’ve been reading about courtesy of my year-long reading task “The Happiness Project.” It’s nothing magnificently profound, but still, made me smile.

More often than not, the people who you can count as the closest in your life will be those who can identify your handwriting amongst those of strangers; and in my case, actually be able to read it too.

Having this lightbulb moment, I remembered a friend’s Baby Shower I attended earlier this year. She was in the ‘opening presents’ part of the afternoon, and upon coming across my present, looked at the card stuck on top of all that cello and immediately looked up at me. I was like “how did you know it was mine?” And she replied “I could tell from your handwriting.”

We’ve known each other for over 20 years. Although my handwriting has changed slightly every now and then, little subtleties have remained the same. Much luck our friendship I guess.

It’s moments like those that really make you think, when you discover with pleasant surprise that there are those around you, who really KNOW you.