Thursday, November 29, 2012
If I were a completely honest person (which, alas, I am not), I would admit that this was really the song that pissed me off all day the day I posted about The Sunday's Wild Horses. While that was part of it, this is really the song that set me off.
I suppose I could weave a story about a very turbulant girl of about 24 or 25, who was desperate to cling onto anything or anyone that would help her forget the sorrow of her parent's divorce, her grandparent's illness, and her personal hearbreak of not so very long before. That girl very quickly learned a truth spoken by Maya Angelou - "When someone tells you who they are, believe them". When someone tells you, "I guess now you know what a jerk I am", this is something to take to heart. People can speak truths about themselves very clearly when you really care to listen.
She could look back on this, as she is now a wife and mother, and know that the warm feelings within her are no longer there. For they truly are long gone.
"I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion."
She was blessed with something far greater, true love far deeper - and a really honest to God flesh and blood man who loves her far beyond her worth.
Why should that girl still be mad? Perhaps she never got any closure, and doesn't she love to scream at the top of her lungs when she feels she's wronged. She was left with nothing but thin air, from a man who just disappeared with no warning.
But she was owed nothing, so she got nothing. For what was there was nothing but a trifling flirtation, the goad of a middling age, a mere misunderstanding. A very sad girl who was strung along by someone who for a while loved the attention. Surely and truly, that was all.
That someone is now in a "relationship", for the first time in years. She could speak from experience on this - that distance of a great magnitude between a couple does not give a real relationship: it give the illusion, but it provides only a mere ghost of what is truly meant to be between a man and a woman.
For you are still afraid you old fucking coward of a man. Don't fool yourself into thinking anything less.
But I digress. Perhaps anger can fuel a tired soul. Perhaps she is a glutton for punishment.
And maybe this is all just a story, written by a tired mother who loves to write fiction and who used to blur fantasy with reality when it suited her. A mother who is trying to take to writing again, but has found that she is too sick and tired with her mysterious illness to do much else at night other than do "research" on the historical periods she long to write about.
That would be so grand. If only it were only a story.