I will see it in him still, I know. The way he looked at me as he drove what he knew would burn me most, straight into my soul. But I am old, I am tired of holding grudges that are over nothing but others being human. We are all that, we all screw up at some time. We are all petty and foolish, we are all the mix of our darker and lighter emotions. I have been forgiven mine so many times when I know I have not deserved it.

What good is there in pulling out the drama cat and parading around with it weighing on our shoulders? What does it gain us, truly? It would make me petty. It would degrade me. Everyone needs a save sometimes.

Besides, there was cake.

A little honesty then, if only to myself. I


*droplets of ink mar the page randomly, the simple script is smudged and the words trail off without warning*

Well...


Crap!

It's the simple things in life. Maybe I am crazy, maybe I am more than most people anticipate dealing with, but I want to be alive. I guess sometimes that makes me difficult. Sometimes it makes me a child, kicking at leaves and climbing trees. I've always had this feeling, this well of something wild that sits somewhere deep in my chest. Sometimes it howls at me to be free, rages until I do something, anything. Run. Just run. Barefoot and laughing. Dive into the lake and swim as hard as I can for the bottom, lungs screaming for air in a mad dash back to the surface. Sing at the top of my voice to nothing but open space. Roar a challenge to the world from atop the highest mountain I can find. See just how close I can actually get to the edge or the wave, or the fire.

Really, looking at it that way I can see how overwhelming it could be. Sometimes I can notice it, that caught in the lantern-light look in their eyes when I catch hold and drag them along with me, and I realise, I can't do that. I shouldn't do that. Then I tamp it back down from where it bubbled up. Fold it back into the box. Get a grip on myself and plaster on the grown up.

But, don't you just want to feel a little beautiful?

I have a philosophy, one born of will and logic, that we may reap only that which we sow. If I have friendship, it is because I have given it. If I have earned trust, it is because I have shared it. It has taken time to reveal it, experience to understand it, and empathy to embrace it. With it I know that within myself, this time around, I will not fall. If I have truly earned it then I will reap it, if not then I will sow again.

If I can keep to that I will know that I did my part, and whatever may come, in whichever aspect of my life, I was not found wanting.

What do I want? I want the snow on my nose and the sand under my feet. I want mud pies and climbing trees. I want dancing in the street, playing in the leaves and tales in the darkness. I want silence and I want noise. I want to hear everything, touch everything, see everything, and I want to do it all twice, thrice if I am lucky.

I want to hold hands, I want to scream at the top of my lungs until there is no breath left in me. I want to sit for marcs and marcs and do nothing, not a thing, just be. I want to push my hands through the earth and soar amid the skies. I want to run, for no reason other than just the pure exhilaration of it. I want to argue, I want to engage with everything. I want to solve riddles. I want to close my eyes and breathe what it is to be content. I want to see laughter in eyes and hearts on sleeves. I want to be free and I want to be caught. I want to listen. I want to talk. I want to be challenged.

I want ups and downs, ins and outs. I want joy and pain. I want sorrow, love, laughter and no regrets. I want to have tried, and even if I fail, I want that too. I want to dance in the flames. I want to feel the cold seeping in at me and I want to feel the warmth melting it away. I want laughter lines and to have earned them truthfully. I want smiles, as many as I can get and any way I can get them. I want to aim high. I want to think and I never want to stop. I want to question. I want to hide, but I want to be found. I want darkness, for only then can I appreciate the colours.

There is more I want, I want to go on endlessly.

I want the world and I want everything in it.

Eventually he will cave. With enough time and the right mood, a little dusting of his ego, a little challenge to his pride. Oh it will be mine. If for no other reason now than my own pride, I will have it.

As if some mangy old firework was ever going to do. I don't care how sparkly it could be. He thinks he can palm me off and I will bounce away like it's all over.

Oh no, not a chance. This is a battle and I will win.

In the words of a little pocket-sized prince:

"It isn't the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog."

There have been many moments in my life where I have felt fear, for I am afraid so very much of the time. The fear of losing a friend, the fear of facing an adversary, the fear of screwing up so completely that things cannot be fixed. They come, they consume me as I face them, but eventually they are resolved. Eventually they pass to become sorrow or triumph, regret or determination. But there is one fear that I keep. There is one fear so visceral in its intensity that it keeps me.

I have bound it in iron will. I have buried it deep in labyrinths of misdirection. I have surrounded it with polished walls of pride, and I have encased it all in armour of nonchalance and pantomime. Yet still it keeps me. Still it rages and boils in its cage. Still it wakes me from slumber, seizing my core so tightly that it pounds a cacophony of dread against my chest. It trails claws of terror along my spine in rivulets of purest panic, and leaves me choking on the air around me, barren and defeated.

I have not faced it fully in so long. I have stripped away the armour and peeked over the walls and it sends me scurrying back out with my heart cradled in my hands in mere moments. Could I face it? Could I break it open into the full light of day and challenge it? Could I stand eye to eye, toe to toe, and have the faith that I need in order to banish it?

Can I put the fate of all my battles, all my darkness, in the trust of anyone else.

I think I have always been a little afraid of change. Change tends to mean broken. I am always worried that it will never be for the better and can only ever seem to see the end of things, rather than the beginnings of the new. I build up habits, get comfortable in my role and when that seems to change, things fall to pieces. I am not as bold as I once was, I do not trust myself to be able to deal with the consequences of my actions as well as I once would have. I cannot just jump and hope.

Waiting. That is all I ever seem to do. I am waiting on a moment, waiting on an epiphany, waiting on a hope or waiting on a downfall. Or I am just waiting for something, anything to happen. Anything to change. Sometimes it is so tense, balanced on a razors edge between anticipation and dread. Other times it is like burying myself in a well of complete darkness, no sounds or sights, just time.

I am not even sure what I am waiting on truly, but I am sure I will know it when it happens. Maybe I will wake one turn and it will be there, it will hit me, and there will be no more waiting. But what then?

When your internal voice is screaming at you to be quiet, it is always a good strategy to listen. I have found that ignoring it tends to lead a person into devastation. I have stood in the face of devastation a time or two and I care not to take myself there again. Not for a half truth hidden in a riddle full of nothing at all. Is it so hard to understand? Have I lost something, perhaps the only thing, that could bring me anything approaching peace and joy?

Who stole the ability to trust from me? I need it back.

Well, that brought home an ugly truth. Ugly but necessary. Sweep over it and carry on Cel, you were truly a fool not to see it before now anyway. A product of my own inflated ego, no doubt.

Still, there is more to life than my own folly, well perhaps. In truth, passing conversations with random people bring home that perhaps I need not be quite so focused on everything that is not, and a little more focused on anything that could be. A little war of flowers here, a little spark of something interesting there. Surely even a bee and a mountain goat can manage to find something worthwhile to do.

Perhaps there is hope yet.