My point is, I don't want to be in that place again, yet small hints of the history of my composure are storming up again. I wrote a poem about a girl who broke up with me three years ago. One of the lines was, "The business of spreading your wings not quite finished." Her exploration of herself and others had not been completed yet, and could not give me the completeness I desired. Here it happens again: a new girl, three years later in my life, and I go after her with gusto. This scares her and she can't predict the future, etc. To say the least, I'm making the same mistakes and not thinking things through completely.
This doesn't scare me though. What scares me though is I can't ignore the itch of her name, and her insistence to explore life away from someone else frustrates me. Things are backwards: I should be worried about not being able to control my emotions to a reasonable degree, but what I worry about is her, and our "someday".
What do I want these entries to be? What do I want these to reflect about me? A prose journal to highlight where my train of thought is, a map to distinguish between mountains and valleys, a compass, a flashlight. My writing no doubt reflects the things around me, my emotions responsible for my publishing, so the very fact history is repeating itself should not be a surprise to me. The fact the women in my life have an independent streak shouldn't be a surprise to me either because it's what I've always written about. What I find curious: do my writings influence my emotions, or am I an emotional writer?
Complacent
A field in winter.
Snow and earth collide like
lovers saving themselves.
Progress
Spring. New arrivals
shout their names into being.
You emerge first.
These haikus are such a great experiment because they provide such a clean and just picture of right now. They are little snapshots of remote corners of my head, and they take no time to write. They aren't drawn out and demand to be written with no thought. Like these two: the first one suggests my apprehension to be alone right now when there's something greater out there for me. The second one suggests of everything that comes to be, I can only notice her, or she's the only one worth noticing. This frustration will not get the best of me.
