It’s yours now

An odd thing happened the other day. I got a message from Carlos that asked if I wanted the pictures that he had of me and the girls from almost 2 years ago. Of course I want those pictures. 

So I arranged for him to bring me a disc. To my surprise he brought a box as well. I recognized the box. It was the box that he had placed all of the things that I had made or written for him. Anything I had ever given him. It was in that box. I felt a little confused as to why he gave it to me. He said that he couldn’t hang on to it anymore. 2 years was long enough. I understand the need to get rid of the items. And just now I even understand the need to dispose of it that way. It is sort of like good bye. Sometimes we have to be more than verbal with it. Not just for ourselves but for the other person.  

When things were over for me and Dick, we really hadn’t exchanged anything. Words, texts. Really nothing all that tangible. What I did have was perfume that I had meant to wear for him, his old sweater from 15 years ago, a box of notes and things that I had written for him from 2000 miles away. When I could no longer look at these things I threw them in a box and mailed them back. Now for me, sending the box was on purpose. Because I knew that Dick still had feelings for me. I know he still does now (but that is another post). I wanted to hurt him. Most of the items in that box were just items. But the sweater was the real kicker. He called me over that. Said it hurt that I sent it back. I also found out later that he threw it away because now he couldn’t look at it either. Our strange long distance relationship was really odd, and the curves in it were all purely for learning on both our parts. Time for each of us to wake up and come alive. 

I don’t know why Carlos chose to get rid of the things that I had made and created. I wasn’t hurt by it. I slowly went through the box, examining its contents and looking for any of my poetry that I might want to keep. I found myself strangely disconnected from my own work. My own words. As if someone with my handwriting had penned them and I was reading their private letters. I felt like I was barging in on a private conversation. I had said before that when I write I can feel as though I am reading it for the first time. It felt that way this time. Looking over it all felt intrusive. I found myself looking at less and less of it and just skimming it, trying not to pry. When it was all looked through, I chose two pieces of my work, things I edited to be more vague than directed at one person. And I kept pieces off of a framed art board I made. I like the little antique key looking thing that was on it.

I may never know truly why he gave me the box. Perhaps he was not strong enough to toss the memories himself. He needed a little help. Perhaps he wanted to me see a visual of his letting go of the past. Perhaps he doesn’t know why he gave it to me. (I choose to believe that he didn’t give it to me for dramatic reasons or to be hurtful. He knows how far from that past I am and he would know that I wouldn’t have an emotional connection to any of those things) 

I know this much. I am proud that he has moved forward. I am happy that if giving that box to me, he has let go of the old to make room for the future, than I am glad to have helped. In my heart he will always be my friend. I worried about him hanging on to the past. I want so much to see someone who has spent so much of their lives being denied happiness to find some of his own. 

For me. Stuff is just stuff. It is all replaceable. The people that you place in your lives are the ones that matter. The moments that you create. The time you spend. What is this post for? It is to revisit once more how you control your happiness. If you find that inanimate objects cause you pain, hold you back, bring drama into your life, cast them away. It is just stuff. You can get more stuff. You can’t get back the time you spend dwelling on the might have beens, the what ifs, and the I wish I could go backs. Take time to move forward. Take a chance! Chances are what makes this world worth living in. Without chance, we are stagnant and old. We may as well die now without living!

Remember something for me. Please.

If people drag you down, if circumstance makes your life hard. Trust me, I know all of these things. The only person you can control is you. So take a chance. Be brave. 

All my love,

Lady X 



Thank You

I have a 100 followers. This may not seem like much to most people since for others perhaps it is easy to gain that many people. But I am proud of my tiny milestone and I have all of you to thank. Thank you for reading my rantings, my mush, my tragedies and my lustiness as well.


Always me,

Lady X

Paint me

You have painted me in love. There are invisible tracings all over me. It is a path, a map. Only you can see.

Your breath a dangerous brush that paints the canvas of my body in ownership.

The places that you visit belonging only to you.

The tool you use to paint me doesn’t matter. Be it your hands, your fingertips, your lips, the very breath in your body. It is all the same. It draws me to you, envelopes me in you.

I am bound to you, drowning in feelings and sensations. I am truly, yours.

Painted by your lips, traced by your fingers, bound by your hands. Capsized in your heart.

Qu’est-ce que je ferais sans toi?



He loves me

His eyes search my face and they see something that I don’t. When I am at my worst, falling apart, world collapsing, he claims me as his own. Stealing me away from the darkness.

His body enfolds me in strength and tenderness.

HIs lips create organization out of the chaos that overtakes me.

His arms are the walls that steady me when my feet and legs fail to hold me up.

His smile is the the home of the happiness that I give him. It reveals his happy heart to me. It makes me smile and that is the home of his happiness that he gives me.

The inability to outgive is impossible. How can you out give someone who reciprocates what you need the same way they need it to?

HIs hands are where my knees get weak, the place where my hand belongs.

His eyes are the oceans to worlds of happiness that he has shown me.

His fingers trace the curves of my body and more so my heart. It is where I belong.

His strong chin is where the top of my head belongs when he comforts me marvelous much.

Pressed against him is where I feel whole. The world falls away. The troubles, the sorrows. The stresses that steal our joy. They do not exist in his arms.

His love still remains to me the most amazing thing. I have felt many loves. Different kinds. This is kindred. I am perfectly enveloped in his love. Every atom of my being knows and does not doubt this love.

In his love I have found security.

The last place I dare to mention is his lips.

Dare I say perfection?

Compare it to the sweetest tastes, the most calming seas and yet the most passionate and turbulent of oceans.

Deep, filled with longing and mystery. Never able to get enough.

Every kiss remains like the first.

I was lost from the first moment that he pressed those lips against mine. I have remained lost in his kiss, in his eyes, and in his arms.

I do not want to be found again. Leave me lost in him. He is the only one that need find me, and he is where I always am, so lost to him I am not.

Always found in him, always safe. Always.

What is wonderful and true is this.

He knows all of this and more. The trappings of a heart that struggles for words to match the feelings.

He is mine.

I am his.


Something different. Not sure how I feel about it yet. I shall come back and read it from my strangely distant perspective that comes from reading my own things later. We shall see.

Always Lady X