tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46836785877869594562024-03-12T20:10:43.784-05:00jab's Love LettersJ. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.comBlogger235125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-90400805187043761012023-12-01T20:13:00.001-06:002024-02-19T23:15:50.262-06:002023, December Love Letter 1<p>Dear You, </p><p>It's another day when maybe as much as you wanted to do, didn't get done. You can try again tomorrow. Your worth isn't tied to how many checks might be on your TODO list.</p><p>Love, </p><p>Me</p>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-50624767903828201972019-10-06T10:08:00.005-05:002024-02-18T22:32:07.067-06:002019, Love Letter 1The truth is ... you were the last straw. <br /><br />The straw that shattered me – and shattered my heart. <br /><br />And I was left, in the down below, flabbergasted…wondering how I was going to pick up – to find – all the pieces that were left on the ground around me. In this strange place, with these kind people…but still, people who wouldn’t expect to find the debris littering their home. <br /><br />I did the best I could to pick up the pieces.<br /><br />To clean the gore.<br /><br />I took what I could, what I found, and packed it away, in any space that would fit – and vacated. <div><br /></div><div>Like the wanderer I am, I hit the road. The only lust that seems to have done right by me…the wandering kind. And while the road led me home, it wasn’t a home I recognized. <br /><br />And the heart I’ve pieced together doesn’t seem near the same as it was when I left. <br /><br />I haven’t figured out yet whether this is a good thing, or a bad. <br /><br />I think it’s just one of those things that is…that you have to develop a new reality around. <br /><br />The present is the new reality. <br /><br />Not one I wanted, but one I’m trying to settle into… <br /><br />You could say it’s a “love the one you’re with…” kind of life. <br /><br />One in which the miracle is the no…but god – what a hard miracle to live, to love. <br /><br />No, this isn’t about you. <br /><br />It’s about me: what I’ve learned, and what I’m learning – <br /><br />And how I’m shutting myself up and tucking away my heart, because thinking about… <br /><br />…well, there’s nothing to think about, because it’s better not to… <br /><br /><b><i>sigh </i></b><br /><br />You were the lesson that taught me what it means to value integrity over connection. <br /><br />And while I was focused on maintaining a wholeness that didn’t compromise my self-ness or the boundaries I had set from day one, I didn’t see how broken (in a different kind of way) it would leave me.</div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-27623373047280862772018-09-07T21:48:00.011-05:002024-02-18T22:30:48.514-06:002018, Love Letter 11This is exactly what I long to tell you… <br /><br />I fell in love with this sign today at the vintage shop, and I wanted to send you the picture I took. <div><br /></div><div>I wanted to buy the sign and put it up in our house. I want to sit next to you on the sand and listen to the waves, and be close enough to lean on your shoulder for a moment or two. <br /><br />And maybe whisper how much I love you and this life we’ve built together. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06MX7Swhiq6s_tMLl9NrosIOQxcomm3i34pKoeYXta2AiOPMAF79_MOh2YTjYoVqTqvl0W3ZUVVeDxIQYXwJzsv3xu0PygG7jdyx3aQf3cK_DzrixvG3utpwJTCDQEm2AKG1pH1mONCMiiJw0lay1ePjqy0UNQyU5Gh9AGiGmkqqBTkslbdf8gh1NHeAa/s1080/2018.09.07_you-me-sea-sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06MX7Swhiq6s_tMLl9NrosIOQxcomm3i34pKoeYXta2AiOPMAF79_MOh2YTjYoVqTqvl0W3ZUVVeDxIQYXwJzsv3xu0PygG7jdyx3aQf3cK_DzrixvG3utpwJTCDQEm2AKG1pH1mONCMiiJw0lay1ePjqy0UNQyU5Gh9AGiGmkqqBTkslbdf8gh1NHeAa/w400-h200/2018.09.07_you-me-sea-sign.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br />But instead of saying, “I love you,” I would have said, “You, me and the sea.” <br /><br />Low and thick with emotion. <br /><br />And you would have looked at me with a knowing, a complete understanding, in your eyes, and brushed your lips gently against my forehead. <br /><br />And my eyes would have shone brightly with the diamond-tears that only a lifetime together can express. <br /><br />— <br /><br />That’s how it would have been, my dear.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br />J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-32439567857299362412018-08-22T21:28:00.010-05:002024-02-18T22:36:16.290-06:002018, Love Letter 10<i>In characters of living light, <br />Of kindly deeds and actions wrought. <br />And these, beyond the touch of time, <br />Shall live immortal as my thought.* </i><br /><br />Somehow, you’ve pegged me well. <br /><br />And I am on this side of it wondering, did we talk that much before? <br /><br />I don’t really remember offering that much of a view to my insides… <br /><br />But, I do know you to be…brilliant. <br /><br />So smart. <br /><br />You know things. <br /><br />And maybe, I should just trust the fact that you know me too. <br /><br />— <br /><br /><i>You take pictures of things that make you happy. </i><br /><br />Yes. Exactly. <br /><br />Why couldn’t I find those words? <br /><br />As things are; how they are; when they are… <br /><br />I want to remember. <br /><br />Just like, I want to remember you… <br /><br />— <br /><br />And I do. <br /><br />All the times you made me smile… <br /><br />All the times, I felt like someone was on my side… <br /><br />All the times, you shared your experience with me… <br /><br />All the times I felt like there was never enough time… <br /><br />Your kind deeds live in my heart. <br /><br />— <br /><br />And, somehow, without having – what I think – is enough time, there’s been enough time for memories to last. <br /><br />You’ve been an important player, without having played much. <br /><br />You matter. <br /><br />And when I ask you, “How’s your heart,” I care more than I can explain. <br /><br />— <br /><br />But, I think you know. <br /><br /><br /><i>*from Carving a Name by Horatio Alger Jr.</i>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-3615454214349448232018-07-22T18:58:00.005-05:002024-02-18T22:38:51.109-06:002018, Love Letter 9There are some people who – by their service – make a huge impact. <br /><br /><b><i>You, my dear, are one of those people. </i></b><br /><br />The way you love. <br /><br />The way you serve. <br /><br />The way you remain consistent, never failing, always giving — it’s an act of creation, it’s passion, it’s… <br /><br />Awe-inspiring. <br /><br />You inspire (you create) awe within me. <br /><br />— <br /><br />I feel like sometimes, you just see the trees – the individuals in your path that need love and care – and your focus is tight on that moment-by-moment act of service. <br /><br />I need you to know that there’s a whole forest – the individuals who see your commitment, who are witness to your love – who are in the path of your light-ripples, who have the opportunity to absorb the courage you present. <br /><br />You present (offer) courage. <br /><br />It is your gift… <br /><br />…one that I am thankful – oh, so thankful – to be challenged by!J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-10300965923397195442018-07-22T16:02:00.003-05:002024-02-18T22:40:48.551-06:002018, Love Letter 8There are so many things I want to tell you. <br /><br />There’s a backlog of stories, thoughts, antidotes – questions – that I want to send your way. I feel like a pen-pal that’s behind on sending letters. <br /><br />I have a treasure-trove of thanks to share with you for being you…the kind of person who pursues creation. <br /><br />You inspire me. So often. <br /><br />And I don’t take the time, the second, that I should to send acknowledgement your way. <br /><br />— <br /><br />Sure. We don’t always get it right. <br /><br />But we keep trying, right? <br /><br />Life. Living. Learning. <br /><br />Growth. <br /><br /><b><i>Somehow, in one simple sentence, you’ve summed up everything I want to say to you: “I’m really glad I know you.” </i></b><br /><br />BOOM. <br /><br />My world rocks just a little bit from… <br /><br />the kindness of it… <br /><br />the power of it… <br /><br />the generosity of it… <br /><br />the evaluation of it… <br /><br />And, of course, the unfairness of it that you said that words first. <br /><br />I didn’t; I couldn’t; I was struggling to convey, to share, to communicate… <br /><br />How in the world is communication a struggle for me?! <br /><br />Let me just ask you that – <br /><br />— <br /><br />I appreciate you more than I can say… <br /><br />(…and I know that I should try to say it more often.) <br /><br />I am so thankful that our paths crossed and that you’re among the stars that shine light and inspiration on my path. <br /><br />That’s how I see you, if I haven’t said it before, a star full of history, experience, wisdom – full of light – and full of presence, making “the now” count, taking charge of each moment to give light. <br /><br />— <br /><br />I know it’s not easy: it’s a constant conversion, a state of releasing energy… <br /><br />It’s action. <br /><br />You are action.J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-79590858320724230572017-07-06T19:10:00.002-05:002024-02-19T23:12:29.237-06:002017, Love Letter 14Always with me, my budding giant.<div>I’m so proud of your development, your growth.</div><div>All the changes that come and go where I see you choose to rise -<br /><br />Above yesterday…<br />Above yourself…<br />Above Autism…</div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-16321918461844306162017-07-05T19:07:00.001-05:002024-02-19T23:10:41.042-06:002017, Love Letter 13I can’t write about you.<br /><br />I only want to say good things -<br />But what comes to mind is a myriad<br />Of reasons why you’re lacking;<br />Why I’m lacking with you;<br />Why we’re lacking together.<br /><br />Being apart gives us time to grow,<br />To develop - to survive; and maybe - THRIVE.<br /><br />But none of this leads to resolution…<br /><br />Always a meandering path, away from an END;<br />Always seen as an end,<br />Instead of the beginning it COULD BE.<br /><br />The avoidance of finality exhausts me.<br />And in my fatigue, I look for the good,<br />The positive - whatever could be a lift…<br />From the weights around my neck -<br /><br />The heaviness that pulls me into the depth.<br /><br />So, it’s best not to write.<br />Not to think.<br />Not to talk.<br />Avoid - and sleep.<br /><br />Safer. No end.J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-71463946001708857432017-07-04T19:05:00.001-05:002024-02-19T23:07:23.649-06:002017, Love Letters 12We’ve had a journey of learning.<br />All of us - in ways we didn’t really expect.<br /><br />Patience has been the key.<div>And a healthy dose of perseverance.<br /><br />A strong spirit of trying - and trying again.<br />And trying - one more time.<br /><br />Breaks matter.<br />Going back to it even more.<br /><br />We adjust. We grow. We prune.<br />We thrive.</div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-21466745750308481212017-07-03T19:04:00.001-05:002024-02-19T23:05:22.836-06:002017, Love Letters 11Another moment of <div>understanding how to <br />fill my gaps. No <br />questions. No frustrated <br />or hateful responses. Oh, <br />please let me be like you <br />when my time comes <br />to deliver the same. Unbiased <br />love. Thank you for showing <br />me support. Kindness.</div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-23222138081637877332017-07-02T19:02:00.001-05:002024-02-19T23:04:08.465-06:002017, Love Letter 10You’re such a weird story -<br />Hurt and frustration,<br />Light and life - and love.<br /><br />You parcel out only what you think <br />others deserve -<br />based on a score card,<br />only you see and understand.<br /><br />You hold your hand close -<br />so close;<br />and you lash out.<br /><br />Why do you feel threatened?<br /><br />Demand respect;<br />And offer respect - with generosity.<br />If that’s what you want.<br /><br />Honesty will treat you well -<br />with time and patience.J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-71241181019095971892017-07-01T19:00:00.001-05:002024-02-19T23:02:09.354-06:002017, Love Letter 9My creative friend -<br />Create.<br />Don’t wait.<br /><br />Forget the rules.<br />Take a break from the tie.<br /><br />Be you. <br />Be free.<br /><br />Say the words that bubble on your heart.<br />Sing the songs of your youth.<br /><br />Remember the path from before -<br />and wander on it - for the fun,<br />for the LOVE of it.<br /><br /><div>Gather the hearts of those you treasure,<br />and light them on fire -<br />with your passion and persuasion.</div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-26474156337319422562017-06-30T18:59:00.001-05:002024-02-19T23:00:27.289-06:002017, Love Letter 8Come to me with chocolate <br />Any day, every day. <br /><br />What a lovely prize; <br />what a sweet surprise! <br /><br />Your kindness marks you. <div><br /></div><div>It betrays your heart, </div><div>And its goodness <br /><br />For all to see - <br />and take courage from.</div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-31373015960711167082017-06-29T18:57:00.001-05:002024-02-19T22:58:58.836-06:002017, Love Letter 7Humble yourself.<br />Have faith. <br />And trust that the Lord <br />Will lift you up - <br />Higher than you can imagine, <br />With air so fresh, so sweet - <br />the much needed, soul renewal. J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-12499502781373593622017-06-28T18:56:00.001-05:002024-02-19T22:57:40.638-06:002017, Love Letter 6I should have been happier to see you.<br />Deep down, I was. Your sweet smile, <br />And loud laugh - so unique, so filling. <br /><br />But I was hoping you were gone - <br />Already in flight.<br /><br />With your departure, we could count <br />On the absence of an ill-tempered, <br />Ill-managed soul. <br /><br />And not that you should carry the <br />weight all your own, <br />But - to an extent - you have; <br />and we’ve all come to rely on you <br />as the buffer. <br /><br />I know it eats your soul. <br />Sleepless nights. Your skin crawls. <br /><br />I’m not sure how, but find your light. <br />Run to it. Embrace it. <br />Show the courage you require of me.J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-64575346087151099842017-06-27T18:54:00.001-05:002024-02-19T22:56:11.236-06:002017, Love Letter 5Before it was time, <br />we spoke - of fun, of fear, <br />of growth and change. <br /><br />So much reality to digest <br />before even the morning <br />was comfortable with itself. <br /><br />Such a serious way to start the day;<br />Such a sad way to start the year.J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-71767044998869978562017-06-26T18:53:00.002-05:002024-02-19T22:54:41.466-06:002017, Love Letter 4Thinking of your free past - <br />it makes me smile. <br /><br />You smile through the <br />formal present - I think, <br />feeding on the fun of <br />the past. <br /><br />So many stories. <br />So many memories. <br /><br />Time to mature - to find <br />yourself and what you <br />really wanted; and then, <br />when you knew, you <br />claimed it - without reserve. <br /><br />I admire your spirit - <br />Your ability to embrace - <br />and to let go.J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-78911301136031642182017-02-28T18:51:00.001-06:002024-02-19T22:53:03.991-06:002017, Love Letter 3I didn’t forget you. <br /><br />How could I when your smile stands out in a sea of selfies, so handsome and warm? <br /><br />Your smile is so familiar, yet each one tells me something a little bit different, shows me that you’re hiding something new. <br /><br />I try not to focus on how uneasy that makes me feel inside. <div><br /></div><div>It doesn’t matter, right? I’m so far removed your secrets can’t touch me. <br /><br />Right? <br /><br />I try to leave behind the uneasy feeling by thinking about your warmth instead… <br /><br />The familiarity of your embrace and how we laugh together. <br /><br />The sureness of your walk and how I’m calmed by your confidence. <br /><br />The softness of your sun-kissed skin and how touching it feels like home. <br /><br />I remember the way you played the strings and sang the songs, and how – just for a minute – my heart believed. <br /><br />But I know better now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Doubt seldom leaves room for trust.<br /></div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-71686299324509393812017-02-27T18:49:00.003-06:002024-02-19T22:51:38.936-06:002017, Love Letter 2It’s been a while, a good long while, but I’d like to resume my sisterly role in your life and punch you in the nose. Only hard enough that it leaves a black eye. <br /><br />You’ve forgotten your place.<br /> You’re not seeing things clearly. <br /><br />And I think, if you had a black eye to look at when you see yourself in the mirror, you’d remember who you are and what you’ve worked for – what’s at stake. <br /><br />I feel like it would help you remember the difference between long and short term consequences. <br /><br />Your eye – would heal.<br /> Hearts – take longer; sometimes, never do. <br /><br />With your actions, your choices, you’re turning the hearts of those around you – those who love you – black and blue with pain and sorrow. <br /><br />Nicely done, bruh. <div><br /></div><div>That’s a pretty big mess you’re leaving behind…and for what? <br /><br />Can you please explain to me why – WHY – you’re digging your hole deeper? What could possibly be worth the value you’re tossing aside? Seriously. WTF, man? <br /><br />I speak as one of the wounded hearts you’ve left behind. Your damage is harsh, and some wounds never heal. Don’t be surprised when you wake up from this lapse and realize you had other choices. <br /><br />I get it – life is stuffy. The weight of responsibility is crushing. Choosing others over self over and over again can leave you soul-weary. But there are other avenues… <br /><br />For example, I could have just given you the black eye, talked some sense into you, helped support your heart in it’s struggle for space to move and air to breathe, but… <br /><br />My heart is one of those left behind in your wake.<br /></div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-55812879398502698522017-02-21T19:00:00.005-06:002024-02-19T22:49:51.089-06:002017, Love Letter 1My heart hurts for you.<br /><br /> It hopes for so much more.<br /> I want you to be happy.<br /><br /><div> Healthy – making good decisions.<br /> Embracing all the good in front of you –<br /> Within you. <br /><br />I feel you under my skin.<br /> Next to my heart.<br /><br /></div><div> I’m nervous, because I feel the darkness growing,<br /> Blowing out, billowing, swirling around –<br /> Claiming ground. <br /><br />I’m captured by your smile.<br /> The light in your eyes – the question.<br /><br /></div><div> Hope. Anticipation – of what’s to come,<br /> The possible best. <br /><br />Guard your heart, my dear.<br /> To obtain the best, we must fight the worst.<br /> The battle is NOT for the faint of heart. <br /><br />I want you. Whole and winning. <br /><br />I can feel the darkness with you.<br /> But I can’t fight the darkness for you.<br /><br /></div><div> I can send you light and love, but alone they are not enough.<br /> You must fight, reclaim, advance – shine your own light.<br /></div>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-77573686903306403412013-12-12T21:35:00.000-06:002013-12-12T21:35:06.014-06:00two hundred fifteen<span class="null"></span>"I miss your face."<br />
<br />
That's what I told you. But what I really wanted to say was that your smile feels like home. It feels like all the happy memories of school days rolling over me at once. <br />
<br />
What I really wanted to say is that ever since I noticed that new dimple, I've wanted to touch it; to run my finger gently around it and in it. I've thought about kissing it more times than I can count; about brushing my lips against it's edges and finding my way, eyes closed, to your smile.<br />
<br />
That's the truth.<br />
<br />
My face burns when I think of all the things that I'd want to do if your face was close to mine.<br />
<br />
And it's crazy, since all of this is based on such a slight connection - time, space, experience separated us long ago.<br />
<br />
And yet you still hold a special place in my heart.<br />
<br />
It's on reserve and only you can fill it. Until that day, it's filled with memories of you. It's filled with all the ways you made me laugh; the moments we had together alone in the dark; the honesty of your unpretentious heart and how you'll always be my friend.<br />
<br />
I cherish the way our connection renews itself in the most unexpected ways. Every time, it is a delightful surprise. And every time, you encourage my heart. J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-82480007972458121432013-12-09T22:01:00.002-06:002013-12-09T22:02:57.611-06:00two hundred fourteenIt was a moment of clarity before the whirlwind of insanity settled down and wrecked everything that came after.<br />
<br />
<i>I understand what you're saying. And I think that we'll be friends forever. But I really think we're missing a really important opportunity here. </i><br />
<br />
You agreed. But I don't think you were listening. You were trying to deliver your own agenda in the moment. And I heard you, although I wish I hadn't.<br />
<br />
--- <br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description"> <i>*I'll pick up the pieces and I put them back together now.<br />
They may not be the right way, but that's okay - as long as they're all the same.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">---</span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">I don't understand how it all unraveled so quickly. How a shared path could become two separate paths after I had done everything I knew was right to do. </span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">I didn't realize that the pieces of the dream you had set before me were blocks made of pretend. Nothing of substance, so there was no topple, only an evaporation. All the planning made moot by your decision to walk away. </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">So I feel like there are pieces missing as I try to put things back together. Pieces that make up a very different life than the one I am living now, the one I had hoped to be living by now.</span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">So hardly anything feels right. I know that I'm working with everything that was there before, but not everything is the same. There are empty spaces, phantom limbs that ache with pain and itch with healing.</span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">I wonder where the insanity lies. </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">Is it in the fact that I'm still trying to make sense of what's been lost?</span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">---</span><br />
<span itemprop="description"></span><br />
<i><span itemprop="description">*And if you had noticed, well would you have thrown the towel in,<br />
Before I missed out on all this love, and watch me roll away again,<br />
Watch me disappear under my skin.</span></i><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">--- </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">There's nothing for you to notice. You're gone. I accept this. In many ways, I am gone. Or at least, getting there. The towels have piled up, they're mildewing with tears that I've cried. </span><br />
<span itemprop="description"></span><br />
<span itemprop="description">I don't blame you for coming-to, for coming to a realization that you really weren't interested in the shared path that you initiated and we created together. </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">How can I? <br />Life should be what we want it to be. </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">But that rational part of my mind, that acceptance - that brilliant moment of clarity in the peak of night's darkness - wasn't strong enough to cover the rage in my heart, the rage that without warning tore into the moments afterward. It was a dark night indeed. </span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">We rolled away. With the dawning of the new day, we had disappeared back into our own skins and the rules were different.</span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">If only we had said goodbye then and there. If only we had embraced the finality of the decision made, instead of trying to make it work. For me, what came after was like dancing through a field of barbed wire. Still trying to be graceful and elegant, when every step continued to cut and tear through my flesh. </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">---</span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br />
<i>*I don't believe it, that things could get any worse than they did that time.<br />
You must have seen it. I mean how could we get lost running in a straight line?</i></span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">---</span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">We got lost in it. In the insanity of trying to stay together when the wisest thing was to just walk away. We both said things, did things, that were ruled by the insanity that settled in and filled our minds with...</span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">the hope that we could make it through to the other side? </span><br />
<span itemprop="description">the idea that - with time - what we wanted (what <i><b>you</b></i> wanted) would indeed change? </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">lies that did their best to undermine the truth we already knew.</span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">It's a missed opportunity. No doubt about it. And one that I don't think will ever present itself again. And clearly, for the better, although my heart is still trying to believe it, still trying to make sense of the missing pieces.</span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">But more than wanting you, I want someone who wants me, as I am for who I am. </span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">It will take me a long time to be your friend again. </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="description">There are just certain things that I shouldn't have to ask my heart to handle. So, I won't. At least, not any longer. </span><br />
<span itemprop="description"><br /></span>
<span itemprop="description">--- </span><br />
<span itemprop="description">*Lyrics from Jason Mraz's <i>Running </i></span>J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-52198423214867788642013-12-03T23:29:00.000-06:002013-12-03T23:30:20.418-06:00two hundred thirteenI can't tell you how much I appreciate you. And I appreciate the times that we've been given the opportunity to reconnect. Your friendship and kindness both last time and this has provided a kind of safe cove for me to recollect myself, take a deep breath and move on.<br />
<br />
The first time, I moved on - away from you and towards him.<br />
<br />
This time, I move on - away from him; and maybe not towards you, but not away from you either.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure that's fair; if you're being properly compensated for your investment, but you haven't really fussed. You just take me as I come - and I appreciate that as well.<br />
<br />
If I'm not moving towards or away from you, I think it's that I'm moving beside you - as a friend, as a partner-in-crime, as one who appreciates the beautiful heart that resides within you. J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-44386735575817320462013-12-01T15:55:00.000-06:002013-12-02T00:22:33.342-06:00two hundred twelveLoving you was some kind of punishment for me, an atonement for some kind of very personal sin. Or maybe, it was a lesson so that I would learn not to be such a dumb ass. <br />
<br />
In some ways it reminds me of that song by Howard Jones, "No One Is To Blame."<br />
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<br />
Except, it was never really clear that you wanted me. Maybe there were moments, small tiny flashes of feeling confident that you felt as much for me as I did for you. But they're lost in the dusky fog of confusion and silence. It's a smog that covers all of the happiness that we shared. To remember something of you, of us, that makes me smile, I have to wipe it clean first and do my best to see it clearly.<br />
<br />
And I feel like I'm to blame. But I'm not sure how.<br />
<br />
---- <br />
<br />
I chose to give in to love, completely and totally; to give into you absolutely, with the intention of giving love the opportunity of working with my whole heart, my 100% commitment. And I thought it would be awesome. I was running faster than I ever had and was planning to win - but there was no ribbon at the end. Only a feeling of abandonment, of being alone.<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Fool me once, shame on you." </b></i><br />
<br />
I was giddy with having a second chance with you to make it work. I knew that I would be better, more loving. That I would be more patient than ever to learn the lessons that our relationship would bring to light. Because our love was sure to endure. We got so close that everything seemed to light up and sparkle around us - and then you snuffed the light by saying that it was over. Again. I felt your words land like strikes on my back and all I wanted to do was turn to you and say, "What sin have I committed?"<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Fool me twice, shame on me."</b></i> <br />
<br />
I just knew it this time. We would build a castle from the ruins. I believed every word you said, because why would you say them, if you didn't mean them? I didn't know you to be a liar.<br />
<br />
But I should have known that you were a mind-changer. If nothing else, my time with you had allowed insecurity to sink in and rot my confidence. The whole experience just ended up being another mansion I wasn't allowed to live in.<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Fool me three times, and I am seriously just a dumb ass."</b></i><br />
<br />
So it seems I am to blame. Almost 3 years of trying to open myself up to love, only to learn at the end that I haven't even learned how to identify it correctly yet.<br />
<br />
Tough lesson.<br />
<br />
Hope I don't have to re-learn it anytime ever.<br />
<br />
And somehow, I don't even blame you anymore, because why would you love a dumb ass?J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4683678587786959456.post-64757341554312515972012-08-02T09:07:00.000-05:002024-02-18T22:20:36.544-06:00two hundred elevenWe received this update the submission form on the <a href="http://jabsloveletters.com/" target="_blank">Love Letters website</a>:<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>I wrote a letter to myself when I was 22 and am supposed to open it when I’m 33. </i><br />
<i>I guess I was inspired by the double-digits. </i><br />
<br />
<i>I wrote all these PREDICTIONS about what my life was going to be like. I have a feeling I am going to be DEPRESSED when I get to it in a few years! </i><br />
<br />
<i>My letter to myself at 44 is going to be much more generous and allow for changing interests.</i><br />
<br />
------<br />
<br />
Have you ever thought about writing yourself a love letter?J. A. Busfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14936291232642554005noreply@blogger.com0