In those dreams


I soothe a crying woman. She is dark haired, with deep brown eyes and a smile that is presently twisted in heartache. She is now a cutter, maybe she is popping more pills, snorting something,  maybe refilling the flask more than once before noon, maybe sipping a hundred sips between dawn and dusk.

She is fragile in her focus, her tears blur her common sense. Her parents have come for her, to scoop her up, to hold her close and stitch her frazzled mind into common sense, if they can.

I feel connected with her distress. I know this not by verbal accusation, but because the sound of her cries, turn my own heart inside out in time to jagged breaths, gulped between sobs.

I am not running from her.

I am stroking her hair.

It doesn’t end just rolls her over, enveloping her in what will become a coverlet cocoon,  spinning her face into a mirror of nightmares, spun from deep wells of witness to her own games, those spineless charades of adventure.


The father, then the mother, stare into me and then through me and grieve over their loss of not one, but both of us.



.#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web. August 14, 2017.



Hi Friend,

Hanging out at different coffee shops these days…

very early, like 6-9am.

If your morning schedule allows

we can coordinate a Java infused rant


sip in silence together,

just you and me

and our spinning little heads.

With love,



She reaches out. They respond.  I don’t see it? I call your bluff.  There has never been question of her patience or her kindness until he was no longer the recipient of her attentions. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.



Oh, did I say that out loud?


Just say it.

Spit it out.

Look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Don’t shut down. Don’t shy away. Don’t sugar coat it with a soft goodbye.

I’ve been around. I’ve been around the block. I’ve learned a little here. And there. I don’t know it all. But I can smell the scent of regret. It permeates your thrusts, overpowers your  being.


Oh. Sorry. That was me, just talking to myself. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web. August 11, 2017

WHEN things changed doesn’t matter..truly, what you want to matter, doesn’t.


We’re wanting the generous spirit of time to set us free, thinking that holding ourselves hostage to the past is going to release some mature spark, some heated imagination, sear two hearts, a melding into a pretty story for a harlequin romance.

We wake up to the sunrise to find we haven’t been made beautiful, yet. We succumb to this committment and the ticking of time and throw another decade on the fire.

Maybe we search for depth in our bond, maybe we struggle to walk from the temptations we think pull us from the grey of rights and wrongs. We keep score, we try to speak our truth, we rail against conformity.

Oh yes, we have duty, we have dreams that bind.

When two forms fit and believe together, both can blossom.

I’m on no journey.

I don’t need to learn from pain.

I don’t require truth to be revealed through the darkest times, through tears, through great loss, or struggle or some beating to death of my spirit so I can rise from the ashes.

I firmly reject all of it.  I am not so much growing, being transformed, meditating or medicating myself into my tomorrow face.

Instead, we are being revealed. We are open to loving, believe what has been missing in adventures previous is the alchemy, the undeniable heat we feel when limbs are a fraction of a space from his and we radiate an aching need to bring chemicals in line with impracticalities.

Love is not what is created by a scene or by the thrill of the meeting or by the possibilities of feeling something other than numb.

Simple desire – desire to bring our best and all our flaws to each moment- this is how emotional availability matures.

Damn bodice rippers, dammit all romance genre…the sex isn’t love. What we had was lovely. Yes.

It was perfect for the time we were in. It was meaningful and necessary and at times beautifully delicious. But it was always on this precipice of urgency, a route to solve a problem in a marriage or to work through a missing developmental piece of being a good partner…. it wasn’t lasting because I wanted you to change- and believe, me, I wanted to be changed. And I was willing to change FOR you.

That’s good for growth but not sustainable.

I don’t believe love is unconditional. I do believe Love is natural and love is necessary and love is undeniable. And it takes two.

Even now, when I examine my history, my growth, my lovers, I find I am not in control. Not at all. Never was.

Ruminating. Sleepless nights. Bad Dreams. End it. End that. End this. For God’s sake. Move forward. 
#For Reticent Mental Property. Pulled from the archives of August 2015. Edited to current self-awareness.  Images courtesy of the web.



He moves forward,

frayed, weathered, wronged.

The distance is unmeasured by vows.

She looks back,

having unburdened her lack

on unsuspecting blame takers.

She’s not grown alone, she’s pulled someone along,

more than one someone, more than one time.

Perhaps she has climbed on their strong spines

when hers was doubled over, in blindness.



He’s not hers, she lays no claim, she hasn’t let go of her yesterdays. Yet. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Original post, Sept 26, 2016. Revisited and revised August 10, 2017.





Fall in


Throw yourself in. My God. Don’t feel badly for the ones who are free from you.

They need to have more in their life than you. You are not the end all be all. You are not their savior. You are not their grace.

You’re not doing them any favors by hanging there where you do not belong, faking it, like some cubic zirconium doubling as a classic.

Get your head out from under the soles of your shoes and stop walking in, interrupting this life you are not living and start running, sharing all the sweet gives you want to be giving.

There’s no reason to prolong the ache. Have mercy on your partner and stop waffling. Know what you want and move toward it. Please give your shoulder to the weary and your smile to the mirror. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. August 8, 2017. Images courtesy of the web.

Pocket full of Posies


Good morning new day. What is the scent of today?

Sit down with me in the creperie, the sweet and savory tucked together and nestled on your plate like lessons in life.

Your grown child holds her baby in her lap. You have said goodbye to your lover.  Your tea is hot, your heart is shivering. Your world is both vibrant and numb.

Sip coffee with me the garden where the living ivy overtakes brick walls, the solid clay softening as the tiny fingers of the vine grasp daily for a taste of the rays.  The courtyard scene is dappled with the sun shining on the grey and the white heads of the ancient ones, these couples, together for what they believe is one lifetime.  These regulars, they steady each other, make habits of rituals in the rising each day, the sipping of coffee, the sharing of the front page, the endless reflection, wisdom, appreciation.

The gentle banter of observation erupts with stories of the way-back-whens in response to the infant, someone’s grandchild, oh yes, mine! mewing her needs without reservation. Those baby sounds- the crying, the giggles, the babbling of toddlers all bring to mind the endless opportunities grasped and missed in the raising of their own.


Gentle wind, forgive the intrusion, the decay of my being seeping in, catching, swirling, landing where the lavender fields grow, hiding the whispers of a story which will not be told.

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.