the dance of the ink riddled fingers

re drafting

Posted in handfuls of ambition, heroes of mine, thought spills by enisea on 19/09/2011

Wanting to do something but not knowing what or how to approach the situation without seeming like every other fake, noncommittal, well meaning disappointment of a friend, was tricky – to say the least.  The two were familiar in a strange sort of way, having known her from school, she recognised particular mannerisms, the standard responses and understood, on milder terms, a similar sort of insecurity.  Since school, contact had dwindled to something of needle in haystack frequencies, very few and far between – if any at all.  She might even have confessed having forgotten this friend most of the 5 years the distance grew for.  But there must have been enough trust and/or understanding still there or just an availability to a moment of story vomit, to quickly break the surface of time-distance with some incredible honesties in a curious trip to the ladies room together.

So what does one do when one has no idea how to be caring/loving, authentic and committal at the same time, but knows there is great demand for it, to be both distributed and received. Sort of like proofreading a draft and finding it heartbreakingly beautiful, but a little tragic, and wanting something about the fluidity of the story to be changed… just not knowing what to or how.  I sort of just want to be present as the pen continues to write and maybe whisper a few thoughts on editing a couple harsh words to something still honest but in light of love.

To a wonderful woman, more beautiful than she probably realises, but in ways very different to her immediate thoughts on beauty.  I once called you in panicked frenzy, in tears about having felt something of my innocence stolen having watched something disturbingly violent (the memory evades me), and although I cannot remember the words exchanged, and only my desperately heart-broken sob for the memory to evaporate, I remember your company, your peace and your comfort and I will always be grateful for that.  It was one of the first and few times I’d ever called somebody in utter panic and sorrow, and there you were. I suppose one could only hope that perhaps I’d be afforded the privelege of returning the favour.

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