To Have & To Hold

   

Scrolling through pictures of Mahershala Ali on the gram and obsessing over such incredible and deeply faceted beauty. Some of the pictures of him and his wife together were soft and sweet and real. It's interesting because when I see something I feel love for I immediately think of the word "own" and then sometimes depending on what or who it is I start to feel terrible about it. I cannot own anyone or anything, sometimes not even myself. And learning that love and ownership do not and will not ever go hand in hand I've decided to call the feeling something else, and I changed the word to "hold", as if that somehow means I can have. But what I really mean is holding someone in my eyes. And I suppose that's why I love taking pictures. Because knowing I can't have or own something does not mean I can't still take away with me just a piece of it, and most often the best piece! Or sometimes just the "as good as I can get" piece. So I know this isn't love but rather adornment. Admiration. Stuff like that. 

One time I spoke with a partner about adopting and he asked from where, (as if this is something you can actually select...wait, can you?) and I said "From the mother land of course!", and he responded "Well yeah, I'd take one of my own..." and I agreed: "Yes! I just want to own one!" and just as the words had escaped from my mouth I had regretted it with disgust, and wished I had killed myself right there and then. My partner responded lovingly; "Hell if you was gonna adopt me I would want you to own my ass too!". Of course what I really meant was I want to HAVE, and in saying so I meant I want to hold, to hold a beautiful boy (or girl), to hold in my eyes, my arms and in my life, and not to be controlled nor decided for, but to hold them in my space, my company, my love, attention and affection, my safety and my support. Ahh, words. How very delicate and deliberate they can be.

*note how possessiveness is often determined as wrong, yet belonging and relation is always powerful and positive.

Sometimes I fear losing track of the things that I want to write about that might help ease my perplexion due to exhaustion and forgetfulness. But I suppose even written words can be left up to God and if I never get the chance to put down what I felt in a fleeting moment, no matter how life changing or profound it may be then perhaps it wasn't meant to be remembered at all or maybe it was meant just for me.

Exhaustion reminds me that working 5 day weeks is not something I will ever agree to do. Whether that is totally possible or not, all I know is that the exhaustion that leaves me teary eyed and feeling sorry for myself is God-awful and sucks the soul out from my toes. I had to shower sitting down today. I spent half the train ride crammed against people. I wanted to laugh and felt utterly humiliated unsure of where to place my gaze while being sandwiched by smelly strangers. I became agitated as my feet continued to hurt and I felt my knees buckling. I only looked down at up close shoulders, careful not to meet the face of another in fear I might burst out laughing. One lady had looked around eagerly to share a giggle with someone who also felt ridiculous, she looked at me several times. I turned quickly; no, I will not laugh with you, because I can guarantee I will not stop once I start. An old man accidentally shoved his umbrella into my ass cheek and I turned to him angrily even though I was totally sure and confident his intentions were most definitely not my ass. He also apologised under his breath but I did not say "it's OK". Because I just didn't. I hadn't realised I was claustrophobic until today.

So again I'm not sure if it's the overwhelming fatigue that is making me ponder my sadness or if it's just a healthy reminder that shit has changed. Growing old is real. Knowing you are not where you thought you'd be, who you'd be, or what, is challenging. Also feeling like the person you still dream of becoming might not be possible can be heartbreaking. I've done almost all that I can do to put myself out there. I only seem more independent each time I return to normalcy, which ironically seems to push me further from the original goal. It would certainly be nice to find people who get me so seamlessly. And also accept that I'm still trying to work it out all the while knowing what I stand for with absolute certainty. Or at least knowing what I do not stand for, and that's something that cannot be spoken for, but rather just understood. By what means someone is supposed to "just get me" is still up for discovering. I'm thinking my art but I know it makes people uncomfortable or at least unfamiliar. I guess I'll know the right people when I don't have to explain myself and when they ask to see more without me having to ask them if that's something that they'd want.

I'm melting. Into my thoughts, into my feet, into Mahershala's eyes, into the couch. I drank more Sangria than I ever had before the other night and the wooziness allowed me to sit in quiet comfort without feeling the need to rush into conversation to fill in gaps of silence. Perhaps I should drink more often then.

I'd like to talk more about other mind boggling things. But I am drifting. 

photos obtained from @mahershalaali & @amatus23