That sad eyed girl. (pigeonwrites) wrote,
That sad eyed girl.
pigeonwrites

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A Dozen Blushing Cherubs Wheel About




I'm on a roller-coaster. So this is life? This is what it means to be human. We cannot have highs without lows. Would not perfect happiness eventually cheapen itself? I think so, my dears. So these pitiful rock-bottom lows are not yet over, but I am thankful that I face these trials.

These sorrows stare me in the eyes undeterred by prayers and pleas for help, oncoming and unashamed. I thought there would be no light at the end of my tunnel and bent to the exhilaration of self-destruction.

Then the blanket of sorrow so black that it broke my spirit peeled away to reveal an after-work bike-ride that has altered my life in subtle ways. My friend suggested we go on a ride, and feeling that I had nothing else worth doing I agreed.
Understand that I've not touched my bike in months and I'm terribly out of condition to be pushing any physical limits.
We rode three miles and he was far far ahead of me. By the time I reached our goal, all I could see was his silhouette against the brilliance of gas-station fluorescent lights as he stood at the top of the hill waiting for me. There was music playing at the gas-station, but I couldn't hear it over the cars on the interstate and my own heart beating in overexertion. I laid in the grass and he went to fill up our water-bottle.
I haven't felt so much appreciation for my own life in years. The thrill of reaching my goal was amazing. I didn't think I could do it. But each time I was ready to give up, he would look over his shoulder. He never said a word, but there was encouragement in his eyes. Symbolic.

Last night I walked with the boy who has been a big contributor in my fluctuating moods. I assume the worst and he tells me to trust him.
I didn't know what to think. My friend had told him last night that today I would be going to our ballroom class without a partner, and he should be worried to imagine me in the arms of another guy. I shrugged and made a smart comment, something along the lines of "he doesn't care..."
Midnight found us sitting at the fountain, the same place we sat when I felt the first flood of emotions a week ago. We had a lot of talking to do. My pessimism would not stop, could not stop. Then he showed me a text message he sent earlier in the evening. To his coworker "Will you work for me tomorrow night? Pigeon needs someone to dance with tomorrow."

I almost cried, bit my lip instead but he still saw the silly faces I made to fight back the tears.

I talk too much on here. I can't find a way to compress these thoughts when they move me so deeply. Long story made a bit more brief, he asked what I wanted to come of "us". In turn, I asked him what he felt was the purpose of dating. He had a fantastic answer.

And on a similar note:
San Francisco would be a gorgeous place to live. The cost of living is high, but I'd give it a try. An emotionally unstable writer might thrive in an eccentric city.
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