Very few people know that before I got caught up in modeling, entertainment, & photography, my passion was writing. I'm not sure why, in the midst of a lot of very busy weeks, I have suddenly found myself unable to sleep, with prose bouncing around in my head, demanding to be let out on "paper." But I have learned over the years that my understanding is not required by my muse - she only insists that I follow her. I have a plethora of thoughts beginning to form a collection: "Memoirs of a Jaded Romantic" ... it is my intention to protect both the innocent and the guilty by keeping to myself which excerpts are fiction and which are fact, who inspired them, or which I personally relate to. That being said, they are all very real to me and deserve a voice. I'll be releasing excerpts here in preparation for publication! Here's a first peek at this collection with a snippet of "Karma" :
For months he had been a Chinese puzzle box to her. She’d look at him from one angle and think she saw him. But with a simple turn of her head, she’d see that she was wrong. Or at least not completely right. She’d press on a facet and his shape would shift and reveal a new compartment, sometimes a dead end, sometimes a treat. She’d press again another day and find that side was now stubbornly locked. He was a challenge, an entertainment, a frustration, a treasure, and a delight - sometimes all at once!
There were moments when he was everything she wanted, but they were fleeting. They would part as lovers, bonded by whatever connection they had forged in an unguarded, magical interaction; but when next they would meet, he was once again aloof and unreadable. Always he was just charming enough to hold her interest, just wonderful enough to draw her to him, but never engaged enough for her to feel loved. He was an addictive torment, a devastating dream, always there yet always just beyond reach.
But one night, in a sudden rush of horrific clarity and crushing disappointment, she realized that he was not a puzzle to be solved. There was no secret combination of moves to open him to her, to reveal his secrets. He was not a man, a lover, a partner, or an opportunity. He was Karma incarnate. He was the sum of her actions, visited back upon her. With that realization, her anger faded, her frustration evaporated like so much mist, and she felt only a sad weariness that drove the air from her lungs, squeezed her heart without mercy, and left her utterly bereft of hope for the comfort she so longed to find in his arms.
Her time with him was a reflection. Every man who had ever adored her from exile in the friend zone would recognize her longing to have him look AT her, instead of through her. Every lover who had longed to revisit her arms, when she had moved on without a backwards glance, could relate to her longing for a return to the mythic moments when he was fully engaged and made love to her like he meant it. And every lover who had realized in a moment of ecstasy that she was tolerating their touch, rather than savoring & craving it, would most certainly empathize with her grief at the occasions when her heart swelled towards his in bliss, only to find that he was elsewhere in every way that mattered.
She would happily exchange all the random adorations of fans, all the loyalties of stable companions in her life, in exchange for his passion. And in the end she realized that this bargain she was willing to strike was exactly why she didn’t deserve his love … why she would never be looked at that way again ... why she deserved the torture of his indifference. She was, after all, indifferent to those who felt for her as she felt for him. It was cosmically right that she should stay engaged in this relationship, that she should stand by him devotedly while he spared her an occasional sideways glance. It was karmic justice that she receive just enough from him to keep her yearning for him alive … for she had always had a talent for keeping people in her thrall even when she had nothing more to give them.
Then she mourned for him … and for her innocence … and for the love she once thought existed for her, out there, somewhere. She missed her righteous anger at being taken for granted. She missed her determination to take such good care of him that he couldn’t help but love her. And she missed the potential for both of them together to be more than they were apart. It would have been so beautiful, but she had killed their chance for true love slowly years before they even met, with the careless destruction of other hearts she had left in her well-intentioned but clueless wake. Karma: at last she understood … too late … too late … too late.
|Karma - 050914 - Miz B|