Summer of Love: in memory of…..well, love

Amatuer poems and prose written by Me at various times in my youth, for the different loves, and almost loves in my life.

Freshman year, 1993—-Robert

Feather

Just like a feather

from a magnificent bird

was the way you swept through my fingers.

Maybe it was love?

That I don’t know

but something was there

and now it’s gone.

March 1995—Ryan , my first love

Not Long Enough

Words can’t explain it

but do you feel the same?

don’t talk, don’t say a word

I know

I already know

hold me, kiss me, touch me, love me

I gave you my innocence

now take it with care

don’t break it, its fragile

how precious

it’s full of love, wanting to give more

hold me, kiss me, touch me, love me

forever is not long enough.

July 15, 1998

In This Search

In this search for the one with his eyes

the eyes that penetrate through me

the eyes that read me

the eyes I get lost in

the eyes I don’t fear looking into mine

for they’re the eyes that love me

In this search for the one with his hands

the hands that cup my chin

the hands that run through my hair

the hands that with the slightest touch on my skin

fill me with contentment

the hands I don’t fear holding me

for they’re the hands that protect me

In this search for the one with his voice

the voice that alter with emotion

the voice he only lets me hear when we’re alone

the voice that can loves to sing regardless of skill

the voice I don’t fear hearing

for its the voice that makes me smile

the voice I’d know anywhere

In this search for the one with his mind

the mind that ponders

the mind that doesn’t give up

the mind that craves knowledge

the mind I don’t fear helping

for its the mind that helps mine

In this search for the one with his heart

the heart that bleeds

the heart that cries

the heart that loves Jesus

the heart I don’t fear holding

for its that heart that also holds me

In this search for the one with his soul

the soul that is alive

the soul that glows with contentment

the soul that loves my God

the soul I don’t fear knowing

for its the soul that dances with mine

Where do I find who I am searching for?

He can’t be the one I long for

Where do I find the one with all his traits but one?

Where do I find the one who will never stop loving me?

March 25, 1999—Cameron

My Love

The eyes of my love

are warm baths

soothing and comforting.

The lips of my love

are royal pillows

made only for me, the queen.

the hands of my love

are leather

strong and worn

yet they turn to velvet

with the slightest touch on my skin.

The heart of my love

is a furnace

full of warmth and light.

Time is ticking….where are you my love?

 Spring 2001—-Michael and friends

Whispers

Memories travel like a whisper int the dark

I can still hear the whispers from years ago

In dreams, I see bright light through my eyelids.

Mikey says the scent of Heavenly gives him butterflies

His touch sends tickling fingers down my spine

His lips taste salty sweet

His whispers urge me to stand on top of Big Bear Mountain and sing

Purple sounds like drum and bass

Spring break 1998—Lake Havasu, Arizona—Barbie Matzke falls down in the dirt laughing

hysterically–she thought we were floating on a raft, but we were napping in our tent

we weren’t napping, we were daydreaming.

Santa Ana winds wrap warm blankets between still, cold air

Kaden is a perfect name for a child

My name is Theresa because that’s what everyone calls me

We howled Pink Floyd’s “Two Lost Souls Swimming in a Fish Bowl” late into the night

The small lips of peace and contentment kissed our eyelids as we fell asleep.

His sheets are as white as night.

I’m flying above him now, can he see my wings?

Treese is too passionate for the Average Taurus

but this Taurus’s whispers drive her passions.

Cold blankets make December nights numb.

I’ll have to whisper through the pounding rain for him to hear me.

Quiero que besarte otravez

daffodils in my garden flirt with the sunlight

whispers float through the clouds, through my window, through my mind.

 

Falling in Love—date written, unknown

I love the butterflies, the dizziness, the warm feeling that spreads over my body when I think of him or talk to him. I love the innocent and naïve infatuation with everything and anything he says or does. I love the random moments when he crosses my mind. I love the fantasies and dreams of laughter, friendship, and romance.

But falling head over heals is such a paradoxical transition isn’t it?

Bitter

s

w

e

e

t

The bitter comes with the uncertainty. The fear of losing what I have yet to call mine. The moments when he doesn’t say something utterly romantic and I fear—oh no, he is over it!! The fear—the fear of loss, the fear of gain, the fear of life changing. The continuous need for reassurance when I hate being that way. But doesn’t falling for someone change us momentarily into these babbling, needy, idiots?
 
I hate the inability to just sleep, the fear of being played—not believing that this person who seems so perfect at this moment could ever want to leave the attention of all those other women for just me.
The knowledge that this person will by no means be perfect, and the excitement and fear that I could possibly be intimate enough with him to get to know those flaws and grow to love them. 

The things I love and hate about falling in love: the paradoxical hope and fear that somehow through all of this, everything will change.

Yes, falling head over heels is a combination of both
                                                           y
                                                    s

                                            a

t

s

c

E

and

P

a

i

n

both at the same time, mixing around in my brain and in my stomach. I want the feelings to go away, but at the same time, never want them to leave.

Am I the only one? No….I know this is part of it. This is part of what I have gone through so many times in my life—each time, hoping this one is for real. Each time, disappointed in someway. Each time, swearing to never go through it again. Each time, surprising myself because I still feel like I did the first time I fell for someone—13 years old all over again. So uncertain about where my life is going. So uncertain about who I am or what I really want. So child-like and vulnerable. So stupidly giddy and willing to sacrifice all in the name of some fantasy only Cinderella and The Little Mermaid truly experienced.

I’ve been told to put on my goggles and dive in. Otherwise, how else will I find that prize winning fish?

And so I do—but I don’t dive in

I do a cannon ball.

 

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