Whispers of a Recluse

Confessions: First Secret

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 18:15:00 +0000

I have a whole journal/memory box/Native American medicine bag filled with scraps of paper dedicated to my secrets and my confessions.

As I read through them and touch the items again for the first time in years, it brings up many emotions and tears. But as I begin to finally make the push of accepting these secrets, these faults, I will confess them here. Some will take more time than others, naturally, but some are small enough for me to finally say,

"It's me. This is me, this is my fear, this is my soul. And without it, I would not be where I am today."

So, here's my first confession. It seems to change shape, growing and shrinking, every few months, but I doubt this is something that will never truly escape my critical eyes.

I fear that having homosexual or bisexual characters in my stories and my novel will ultimately bring its downfall and also have my family look down on me or have no desire to read my (eventually, I hope) published work.

Yes, my novel has homosexual characters. Two are clearly defined as such, and one is what I would call a bisexual character. They are what I consider to be my favorite and most complex characters, though I tend to hide them so often from any curious eyes that you would never know it.

They are all mentioned occasionally in my clusterfuck of an "organization blog", A Series of Memories , though everything there is first draft only and meant to really just help me keep the area straight as I'm writing my novel.

I thoroughly enjoy creating scenes with these characters, and, being as they are all pretty big players on the stage I've set, are in the spotlight pretty often. And yet, I have kept their existance a secret from the people that I most want to read my work. My biggest fan, for instance, is my mother. She always has and always will be. I suppose mothers always are. She has read everything I have ever thrown onto paper, both in the draft/experimental stages and all the way through to the edits and final result, except for any portion of my novel. As of now, I'm guesstimating that my novel is about 40,000 words long, and I have more to go. I plan to split the final result into two books, if after editing and re-editing I still feel like it should be split. I think this is the most I have written without her eyes seeing it at least once.

It's not that I think it's bad. It's still in process, and still being edited so I know that it will be wonderful once I finish everything. It's just that my mother tends to be a little closed minded about such topics. She doesn't see love the same way I do. For me, it's not about gender, or height, or color, or background. Love happens, and most of the time, you can't stop it. If it's an honest love, an honest emotion, then it is worth it in the end, despite what may happen. It's something you can still look back and smile on, even if it didn't work out. But my mother has a harsher view of the world. Things are black and white, with each person and relationship having an "ideal option". To her, love means a man and a woman are married, for several years, and then have a few children, no more than three, and then that continues with them both remaining together until life is complete. A lovely ideal, I think, but how often does that happen?

But anyway, I am worried that her outlook on life will make her immediately doubt my novel, and therefore, doubt me in turn. But, hell, I suppose I'm this far into it now, so turning back isn't an option.

Surprise!

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 18:32:00 +0000

As of yesterday, July 1st, I have the amazing privilege of being pregnant and knowing about it!
I have yet to set up any doctor's visits or even tell my own mother about it (I'll be doing that tomorrow!),
But I am so excited!
July 1st would have marked the start of the 6th month without results since we have started trying.
I had been dreading July 1st for that reason.
I had started to feel a little bit let down.
But now I'm very excited!
My husband is a little more worried than excited, but I can understand that, since he's the finance man.
My worries are miniscule in comparison.
'What color will the walls be?'
'Will it be a girl? I hope so!'
'When are we going to get furniture?!'
I have so many things to dream up and so many beautiful ideas running through my head!

Also, while I'm thinking about it, I have been having a horrid time thinking up middle names.
(Yes, I already have names picked out. Don't laugh.)
But for a girl, the first name will be Isis.
There's no getting out of that for her, because I've loved that name for years now.
For a middle name for Isis, I'm leaning towards Marie, though I love Aveline too.
If it's a boy, the first name will be Ronald.
It wouldn't be my choice, but my husband asked that we name our son after his grandfather.
I agreed, but now I can't come up with anything good for a middle name.
I want it to flow well, but still be awesome, since he'd be going by his middle name anyway.

I don't know...
What do you think about the names?

Reward

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 21:34:00 +0000

This was written for Beth's blog, The One-Minute Writer.
If you want to see the post about this promt, Click Here!

It's not often that I reward myself,
Mostly because I don't feel that I've done anything worth a reward.
But when I do have that wonderful sense of accomplishment,
I take a moment to finally sit down,
Read a book,
Work on my novel,
Hug my cats,
Or watch my favorite show.
On the occasions where my husband feels I am not properly acknowledging an accomplishment,
He will take it upon himself to reward me,
With a night out with him;
A date for just the two of us.
And I think I like those the best.

The Reason

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 21:04:00 +0000

Maybe it's because I've been so lonely lately,

But he's been there a whole lot more than usual.

I find that he wants hugs more often,

And that he even turns off the tv in favor of helping me make dinner.

I hear his loving whispers all during the day,

Even when he isn't nearby.

Maybe it's because my 22nd birthday was recently,

But he spent a lot of time thinking of me.

I came home from work to find he had custom built me some shelving,

And I was asked to dress up for a surprise dinner out to Texas de Brazil.

We spent the evening enjoying good food,

Each other's company and even a trip through an outdoor mall.

Maybe it's because of the stress I've been though,

But he's been much more considerate the past month or so.

He continuously tells me that we will conceive when the time is right,

That it is not my fault and should be optimistic.

When I ask him why he does all these things for me,

His answer is always the same.

The reason is because it's you,

Because you need it,

Because you love it,

And because I love you.

Homemade

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Thu, 05 May 2011 20:33:00 +0000

This was written for a prompt on Beth's Blog, The One Minute Writer .
If you want to see the exact post on her blog for the prompt I used, Click Here!

"Mama says I'm homemade."
She tells everyone she meets this little tidbit of information.
When she was small, this was what I told her when she became curious as to how she got here.
I assume she thinks that she was mixed together in a bowl like the cookie mix we make together.
She says the cookies we make are homemade as well.
She loves the idea that mommy and daddy were so lonely that they had to create a "homemade baby girl".

It Takes Me There...

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 21:55:00 +0000

One day, she awoke. The world around her was dark. The dreams, that she had only known as reality until now, had very quickly faded. She still remembered the bright colors she had seen, and seeing the black gloom that encased each person in this reality made her sad. For the first time in her life, she felt sorrow, and tears fell from her eyes.

She walked through the dark world, watching the people as they trudged on, eyes cast down, and feet dragging. More tears were shed, and more sadness settled in. She noticed that her fingernails had turned a dull, listless grey.

The trees that she passed were all covered in black. She stopped to press her fingertips against a tree trunk at one point, wondering if they were all dead. There were no leaves, after all, and the trees all looked as if they had been burned.

A surprised gasp left her pale, chapped lips as the tree she had so tenderly touched crumbled and was swept away by the cold wind. Only a pile of charred ashes remained, and even that pile was quickly diminishing. She saw the palms of her hands were covered in soot, and though wiping them against her clothing caused black smears, the black could not be removed from her skin.

Staring down at her hands, she began to move forward again, hoping for something to lift her spirits. The ground beneath her now aching feet was hard and unforgiving concrete. The cracks in it were frequent, and she found herself entranced by the passing lines. As her head tilted farther down to get lost in the pattern, her hair fell, catching her eye. Her lovely, bright, blonde hair was dull, lacking the shine and luster it had before.

Horrified, she forced her head up. The crushing weight of this world fought against her, trying to bring her eyes downward again. Her clothes were no longer blue and green. Instead, they were multiple shades of white and black. Her skin was a sickly white, her hair grey and coarse. With only enough strength left to spill a few tears, she was enveloped in depression and surrounded by her own dark cloud.

The harsh environment and the lack of support from this world's residents had taken its toll. The girl from the colorful dreams no longer existed, and she was only a part of the dark crowd shuffling down the dreary, mist filled streets.

Like His Father

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 02:16:00 +0000

I hope he looks like you.

I want him to have your eyes, and your sense of responsibility.

I pray that he'll treat his future woman with respect, and honor.

I hope that he is a hard working boy, like his father.

I want him to know that sometimes life is hard and painful, but that in the end it is all worthwhile.

I pray that he will never have sickness and heartbreak in his life, even though I know he will.

I hope that he can love fully and completely.

I want him to care about the wellbeing of any others around him, regardless of whether or not he knows them.

I pray every day, while he grows inside of me, that he turns out just like you.

Insignificant Love

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 22:15:00 +0000

Finding the words to say "I love you," is a monumental task in itself. But finding the emotion to make it real? To make it unforgettable, and, above all, an experience to shape your life into something amazing? That is surely a challenge.

When I see you, I don't think about the dates we had, or the commitments made. Small, seemingly insignificant things come to my mind instead.

Dinner.

Candles.

Kitten.

Dishes.

Television.

Mortgage.

Frozen.

Soda.

Movies.

Laundry.

Groceries.

Vehicles.

Jobs.

Blankets.

Pillows.

Books.

And for me, every single one of those are you.

And every single one is another reason I love you.

It's awful, I know...but it makes me happy.

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 02:19:00 +0000

I raise my glass to you, Sir.

I commend you for not only being able to stand tall and proud, but for also truly believing the lies spewing from your overindulgent mouth.

It's more than clear that you have no idea what you speak of.

But to boldly take a stand before so many others who know you are wrong?

That takes strength.

That takes courage.

I love that your each and every mannerism shout how you are perfectly right.

And when you are confronted with true facts that tear down everything you've said before?

What better way to handle the problem than to bully your opponent?

Somewhere along the way, you realized that it doesn't matter what you do to others.

It doesn't matter what you say either, so long as you have that charming smile.

And let's not forget about your oh so luminescent personality!

You, sir?

You are a champion.

You are a star.

You are perfect.

And that's why, dear sir, when I turned you down on your offer for the night, I grinned madly and walked away.

Because not only are you an idiot, you are a charming, high on self-esteem idiot.

Oh yes.

Not to mention that the man you tried to bully because you were backed into a corner?

That was my husband.

Through The Years

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 03:30:00 +0000

hello

i love you

you mean the world to me

stay with me

i'm sorry

...

it's been too long

i love you still

will you dance with me

i don't mean to intrude

i just want to see you smile

i'm sorry

...

hi

i love you y'know

your smile is amazing

meet me later for a drink

is your life fulfilled

it's not that i think you're sad

I miss you

i don't understand why you are still avoiding this

i'm sorry

...

how have you been

years have gone by and you're still as beautiful as before

did you create this

i enjoy talking with you

come to the river with me

it's just to visit

i'm sorry

...

hello again friend

life is well i hope

it's strange to see you here

you haven't changed at all

excitement is always easy to find

i'm sorry

...

oh it's you

i'm still alone

i don't want you to think i'm pressuring you

it won't just be me at the party

i wish you'd spend more time with me than you do

...

i miss you

Black and White Photographs

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 01:10:00 +0000

It hurts now.

Your sounds.

Your smells.

Your eyes.

Your memory.

It tears at me. Not a day goes by where I don't wish I hadn't done what I did, said what I'd said.

If I could only prove to you...

But you ended it roughly. There's no going back now. No way at all.

I dream of your touch, your arms around me.

I dream of nothing more than the soft, happy feelings I have when I was around you.

I imagine your smile, and it is beautiful.

I remember your laugh, and it brings me bliss.

I am lost in our dreams, when everything crashes.

You attack me, shouting and even crying, though you never let me see it.

You tell me you hate me.

You tell me you never want to see me again.

Your verbal attacks continue, though the physical ones have stopped.

You walk away from me, and I break.

The pain is overwhelming.

Electricity through my veins.

Needles in my flesh.

Bullets into my brain.

If only it were over so easily.

It's been more than a year now, and I still have a picture of us on my dresser.

It taunts me each time I walk past, and it eats away at my conscience when I lay in bed.

But in that picture...

You're smiling at me.

The Cycle Continues

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 00:44:00 +0000

She spends her days alone, content to be with her paintings and dreams.

He wanders the world aimlessly, searching for meaning.

She doesn't realize there was a hole in her heart until the day they meet.

He takes it upon himself to make a move towards friendship, while wishing for more.

Her days of painting and dreaming are soon distracted by his sweet smile.

His travels come to a halt as he pushes to grow closer to her.

Her heart melts as he whispers, "I love you."

His face glows with happiness when she first tells him, "Love you."

Her awareness of the world's reality around her expands each passing day with him.

His heart softens and begins to imagine and dream more often with her by his side.

She begins to wonder after years of peace, and decides to travel.

He has become settled and no longer wishes for a troublesome lifestyle.

She argues that he's holding her back; that they had dreams together at one point.

He complains that she made him crave this stability; that their dreams are no longer one in the same.

She packs her things, ready for a new life and experiences.

He stands at the door as she prepares to leave, seemingly unaffected emotionally by her decision.

She turns to leave, and, with one quick glance back, whispers, "Love you."

He closes the door and leans against it with heavy-lidded eyes, silently saying to her, "I love you."

She spends her days alone, feeling that her dreams and adventures are lacking something important.

He wanders through his home, alone again, wishing he hadn't let his dreams walk away.

Party Rock

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 03:32:00 +0000

where are you is all the text reads.

Your chest is pounding as the music reverberates through your entire being.

find me, lover boy is my response text.

"Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO.

You aren't even near the dance floor yet,

But your feet are already moving slightly to the beat.

You know I'll be on the dance floor,

But it's been at least five years since we last saw each other.

How do you know it's me and not another girl losing herself to the music?

You scan the crowd,

Searching the smiling faces all around you as you weave through the dancers.

Numerous times you find yourself pulled into an embrace by a random girl,

You wink and dance for a moment,

Eventually pulling away to search the crowd again.

You find me.

I'm in perfect synchronization with another girl,

My best friend,

The only other person who knows my "regular routine" to this song.

We have thrown ourselves into this song,

Moving to the beat with abandon,

Barely even noticing there's anyone other than ourselves on the dance floor.

You reach for me,

Brushing your fingertips against my back,

Pulling me back to earth.

It takes all of two seconds,

And then you and I are in sync,

No longer following my routine,

But melding two separate moves into one routine.

Before we know it,

The music has faded,

And a new song has begun.

I'm in your arms.

You're taking deep breaths,

Grinning as you stare into my eyes.

We end on a kiss,

One long overdue.

A Better Place

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 03:48:00 +0000

The way you look at me,

It's like a stranger.

You say you don't understand how it got this bad.

You tell me you don't think it's worth it anymore.

I should have protested then,

I should have said something, anything!

I remember your last touch,

Your sad eyes as you turned away from me.

If I could find you now,

I'd tell you how different it is now.

How different I am now.

But I know.

You've found a better place.

Your dreams are being played out before your eyes,

When before I held you back.

Your eyes are dry now.

The tears are gone.

They left when I was thrown out of your life.

Forgive me for being jealous,

But you were the best thing to happen to me.

And I loved you,

Still love you,

Even with the knowledge of being the worst thing to happen to you.

My life will never be the same without you.

As yours will never be without me.

You're in a better place now.

And I hope you find everything you deserve.

Even if that everything doesn't include me.

♥

I Miss Those Laser Light Shows.

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 18:50:00 +0000

Looking back, I've found that I don't miss who I was, but I miss a few key elements of what made life a little more exciting.

I used to spend a lot more time with the few friends I spent time with outside of college classes and work.

We generally just wasted the days, causing trouble and glaring at the people who considered our actions "distasteful".

I also spent a decent amount of time drinking and going to festivals with those friends, and while I don't think I want to bring alcohol back into my life, I do miss going out.

I miss the fireworks and the useless conversations.

I miss the touches and the appreciation I felt from my long gone friends.

I suppose I really just miss being a part of something, no matter how troublesome that "something" was.

I am certainly happy to be in a much more stable place now.

I love my husband, and how much he works to keep us happy.

I love my home, and how it's always better there than anywhere else.

I love my job, and that it's not always rushed.

And I love the freedom I have for most of the day, and even the silence that goes along with it.

I just wish I were a little more outgoing.

Something to make connecting with other people easier.

Also?

I wish AJ , my cousin, were closer.

&hearts;

Some Days...

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 22:22:00 +0000

Some days it starts slow, and the sun is always shining brightly.

Those days I don't hear it at all, and the day is blissfully silent.

Those are the times when my husband is more than excited to come home and see me,

And I'm more than happy enough to not only cook, entertain, and interact with him,

But to also whisper to myself what I am thankful for.

And then some days it happens quickly.

The sky is dark and I awake in pain.

I cry because I'm alone when my dreams fade away,

Because all the things I usually do with a smile suddenly become harsh and cold.

Standing up becomes a challenge,

As does caring about housework,

Or what may be going on around me.

"The atmosphere is different, and that's before I make it home." He says.

Those days not much is said,

Not much is laughed about,

And hugs are forgotten.

The tears fall down as I hear what I know he doesn't.

"You'll never be happy."

"You don't deserve it."

"He's angry at you."

"Your ideas are terrible."

"This will never improve, and neither will you."

The worst ones come when I'm alone, however.

"Where are your friends?

Your husband?

Where is the love you claim to have?"

A promise to myself?

Tomorrow WILL be better.

Call It...

noreply@blogger.com (Aya_sama) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 22:53:00 +0000

Call it an online journal.

Call it ranting.

Call it praise.

Call it love.

Call it hate.

Call it friend,

Or call it foe.

But as for me,

Call me lover, caregiver, listener, wanderer, native, temptress, spellbinder, artisan, author, or my favorite, recluse.

&hearts;