A Lot of Thoughts

These last two weeks I've been somewhere else. Living with different people, speaking a different language. Laughing at different jokes. There's much on my mind, from the last two years. It seems that everything has changed. I want to sing this song right now, before this dream is forgotten. I want to whisper this on your year. I just wished somehow I could be more sincere. There's much to tell, and I want you to know.

The Rabbit-Skin

But you're so young
And your skin is so smooth
And when I'm near enough
you smell so good
And you're so young
And you're so proud
And you look at me
as if

But you're so young
And you smell so good
But your skin's so smooth
As that of children
And you make us laugh
And you want to speak
Want to be at ease
But you're just too young
To be it

But you're so bright
And you're such a kid
And you're so mature
And you're such a nice company
But you're so young
If you look at me
Makes me feel as if
I was a woman

The Buckskin, Dyed Red

So when I met you I had no expectations of you, and then with time, as I saw you looking up to me, I started to think of you as someone who would battle in my name. And then you disappointed me. Now I have no expectations again.

Of course I expect you to have some minimal virtue, but now I don't expect you to express it in any particular way. And I don't expect you to be one of the best. Slightly above average will do.

You must know how much you hurt yourself, and how much damage you've caused to someone else. But I don't think you realize how much you've hurt me. I feel like a mother whose children are never what she dreamed for them. Is that what this is about? Were my expectations as overwhelming as a mother's?

Well, much like a mother, I will probably never lose hope. I should watch you carefully, and wait, not daring to trust you, not believing your words when they are of pride and glory, but waiting, expecting, untill the moment (and I'm certain it will come) when you finally show undenyable worth.

But what I do is, I treat you as a friend. I pretend to accept you for who you are, and, to be honest, I try. I try to look at you with new, unaccustomed eyes, I try to see whatever else you are that is in itself worthy and not what I took you for when you actually fooled me. I try to see you with the eyes of the rest of the clan, the ones who were not being fooled (I hope). You are, after all, family. Everyone has accepted you.

But it is not easy. Ever since that time, I feel like I don't really know you. And just as a mother must let her children grow and become something different from what she expected, I must let you be yourself, and I must stop hoping and start accepting that you won't follow my lead. But, like my mother, I have no idea of how to let you be your own adult. I have no idea of how to let you follow your own rules, when, to me, they would be obviously wrong. I have no idea of how to stop judging your every step.

The Furs of The Wolf and The Winter-Fox

I saw her across the room and instantly recognized her as the handsomest woman there was. Not the most beautiful, no, because there were those who were out of our leagues, so confident, so competent, so beatiful, and there were girls who actually looked like beautiful girls, and her, she looked like a boy. She looked so much like him, and I had wanted him so bad for so long that it scared me, how I wanted that girl across the room, how I decided that no other was as pretty as her, I wondered if it was just a projection.

The next day, she wore female clothes, a tight shirt and a black skirt, and she just wasn't as pretty anymore. But the days passed and I stared at her, unable to avoid staring, unable to understand how she could look like that. Slowly the wish to approach her and tell her how hot she was returned, and she was wearing pants again, these tomboy-ish pants that said a lot more about her body than a boring skirt.

There's something amazingly attractive about a handsome woman, or a beautiful man. I realize that sometimes I'm the only one who sees it. And sometimes it happens that a woman is at once beautiful and handsome, and I noticed that even though many men want her, only a few seem to want her as bad as I do.

Or maybe I should just say: shut up, I like your hands.