Misled, Miss Leading

She wiped her tears with her hands, not her sleeves, allowing water to collect, recollect, and wet her fingers and cheeks, over and over again. The pain would not stop from her eyes, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that she was angry–not sad. Her flawless fingernails, perfectly painted for every visit, somehow missed all of her tears, still leaving the rounded jet-black shiny nails, just that. Her eyes were as dreamy as ever, despite the crying and bloodshot, because it was her lids that kept her calm, cool, and eclectic. I don’t think she knew that it coincided with her personality spot on.
“Don’t cry, babygirl,” she would have told me if our roles were reversed. But I knew our roles could never be reversed. I could never have been able to pull off being the rock ‘n’ roll chica legendary she was. A real Band Aid, so to speak. Not the original Penny Lane, obviously, but she was her own independent woman. She pulled off getting into a heavily guarded rock festival for completely free, without even pretending to dig her hands into her pockets. She got us backstage/tour bus access, although she was in my home state. She had the drive. She had the looks. She had the attitude. She had the connections. And stories, oh did she have the stories. I had none of that. At home, I was looked at as the chord, the spark, to all things music. But half of that image couldn’t have been created without her. So I hugged her and said,
“You cry all you want, Ali. Because you deserve to.”

 

MY COLLEGE LIFE:

So when we meet others, and when we get emotionally attached to our new found friends, friendships, lovers, occasional night’ers, are we misled because we’ve been teased by said people? Or do we mislead ourselves? We have certain expectations that the other may or may not also envision. And when that certain somebody feeds into your soul, giving you the direct attention and current states of happiness, are our imaginations bursting out of the seams, creating new instances and comforts? We end up believing certain things and we think it’s because the other implanted particular emotions, ideas, and moves, but should we blame ourselves for believing it the entire time?

The cycles are rounding again and I can’t stop thinking or believing one or the other. At this point, I’m so lost that I can’t even tell if I’m going back and forth or if I’m cycling. And that alone leaves me, once again, in cyclicious notions.