Elizabeth Blair

What a night for a dance, you know I’m a dancing machine
With a fire in my bones and the sweet taste of kerosene
I get lost in the night so high I don’t want to come down

To face the loss of the good thing that I’ve found
In the dark of the night I could hear you calling my name
With the hardest of hearts I still feel full of pain
So I drink and I smoke and I ask you if you’re ever around
Even though it was me who drove us right in the ground

See the time we shared it was precious to me
But all the while I was dreaming of revelry
Born to run, baby run like a stream down a mountainside
With the wind in my back I don’t ever even bat an eye
Just know it was you all along who had a hold of my heart
But the demon and me were the best of friends from the start
So the time we shared it was precious to me
All the while I was dreaming of revelry
Dreaming of revelry

And I told myself boy away you go, it rained so hard it felt like snow
Everything came tumbling down on me
In the back of the woods in the dark of the night
Paleness of the old moonlight everything just felt so incomplete
Dreaming of revelry
Dreaming of revelry
Dreaming of revelry
Dreaming of revelry

I guess this is what I asked for. To sit motionless in this tidal wave of repeated emotions. It’s the never ending cycle that I just can’t seem to steer away from. My mind and my heart are on two different paths both going at full speed. My body will be wish-boned, pulled apart by two separate identities both wishing for different things. Although it is hard for me to tell which part longs for you, is it heart or is it the mind. One would think that my mind could understand logic and thus figure out that the past is only filled with dusty ruins to perished to rebuild. But it cannot seem to give my mind direction down another path. My heart, it still beats, though it has changed just as much as my mind it still seems to be cut with every word you send in my direction. This roaming romantic heart only thrives for acceptance and a love that is pure. It has changed from open, to intimidated, to stone and now I can brush off all former states and let down this brick but I can no longer find any willing takers. It seems to be so beat up and so used that it is longer of value anymore. But the heart is the tip of the soul. It will fall with the bare bones of my body and along with my mind will share my story. A story of a girl who stood strong through nearly everything. Nearly.

My story frightens me sometimes. To think that if circumstances were at all different I wouldn’t be who I am today. I do love the woman that I have become, but what will I show for it in the future? Who can I share myself with if no one can accept path that this soul has taken? My biggest fear is letting someone in so far again then have them leave. What if no one can love this soul that is built on shards of beat up existence?

This is the story of a girl with freckles and messy hair. She had lovely smile and eyes hidden behind glasses. Merely a child yet forced to take on adult roles. Watching her mother abuse substances and taking her own life repeatedly. Left numb, her innocence was taken away from her, though no one knew. She walked through halls as a body, merely existing as a vesicle for a reckless man to abuse. Over and over he charismatically persuaded and her lifeless body forced to lay still leaving her with an abandoned heart.
Her life seemed to run down two paths, that of heart and that of mind. Separating each scenario so she would never be hurt again. Now, these paths are colliding in a way she never thought possible. She hurt and she hurt deeply. But she forces herself to remember that it is good to feel the intersection, for then she can finally feel again.

And I’ll wait because that is what I’m good at. It’s a never ending cycle that I have become all too familiar with. I was hoping with this celibate mind I could change something. I feel more comfortable re-dating past jerks than try with new guys who could have the potential to be the right match for me. “Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” I have become so close with relationship insanity and I cannot steer away. It has become my weakness, my vice, my comfort. Dear past boys, you have become the cold side on my pillow and I will reluctantly turn over, and over… and over.