fiction

We Are All A Part Of The Same World

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Well, I just got back from watching the movie “Trumbo” and I really enjoyed it.  I hate to sound like some numbskull but I don’t know the name of the main actor.  He was the guy from ‘Breaking Bad’ and was absolutely brilliant in the role.  The main thing that bothers me about it is that I know when movies are made they end up very far away from anything to do with what really happened.  I am really intrigued by this story though, it was about a writer named Dalton Trumbo who wrote screenplays and was blacklisted in the early cold war years and was stonewalled from working in Hollywood because he had been a member of the communist party.  There were a lot of really interesting scenes in the movie, I think there were some accuracies, one of them that surprised me was John Wayne’s role as an advocate for anti-communist policies.  I don’t really know why this fact bothers me, I always really kind of liked John Wayne, I have always thought of him as larger than life, from such movies as “Sands of Iwo Jima” and many man others.  It could have to do with the fact that I had an Uncle who was John Wayne to me, he was tall and tough and didn’t take any bullshit.  I had a falling out with this Uncle when I was a teen and it really kind of hurt.  I am glad though and very grateful that I was able to visit him on his deathbed and I think he felt some pride in what I had done then.  Not to mention that, the old son of a gun borrowed five bucks off me and passed away before I could collect it so he had the last laugh.

To touch on the writing aspect of things, once again I wanted to tell people out there that have any interest in writing that they really should shoot for their dreams.  A few years ago I wrote, had edited and published my first book and it seems like I have been in a whole new time loop since then.  It is like life has slowed down and all my days are so much more meaningful, all the non-writing work I do has a point to it.  As some may know, I have now written and self-published nine books and I just want to write more and more.  And now as I have been concentrating my learning and effort and reading and everything really on this goal, things are starting to fall into place for me.  I just finished reading a book about a young woman with schizo-affective disorder, a combination of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder and it gave me some really good ideas.  I have now been in touch with a psychiatric hospital and they are interested now in having me come and give a talk at one of their professional development events in the New Year, which means I might not only get a nice speaking fee I could sell quite a few books.  Things like this are popping up all over the place and I am actually thinking I am going to be run off my feet next month.  Not to mention that, I have been doing a lot of writing for magazines and now I am having no problem getting through each month and even spoiling myself and some family members with nice things.

So I will try and nail it down for anyone who hasn’t started the process.  Do you like to write?  If yes, move to the next item on the flowchart.  Choice A is, do you have a special angle?  Are you disabled, are you a minority, do you have a career or a true story that people find interesting.  If yes, then move forward to the non-fiction part of the flowchart.  Now, the other question is, are you creative or artistic, do you like movies and novels rather than true crime or non-fiction books like memoirs?  Then you may want to be a poet or a novelist or both.  There are so many things to explore, I could write a massive flowchart.  The fact is, you simply have to set out what type of writing you think you would be good at.  Then the next step is something that should be almost mandatory, you should keep a journal.  What’s a journal some of you may ask?  Is it a diary?  Not necessarily.  A journal is more your thoughts, your moods, what you want to capture, what you want to express.  Keeping a journal is something that I feel just about everyone with a mental illness should do, it is an excellent type of self therapy.   It is also a great way to get started as a writer.  The next step, whether you choose fiction or non-fiction is that you should start to expose yourself to the very best writing.  I love to go to big box book stores and scoop up all the literary journals I can afford.  Actually, today instead of doing this I went to the main library in Edmonton and scooped up a few that were available for borrowing.  I have found that when I read top notch poetry, I soon get inspired to write my own, and when I read top notch short stories I can get inspired or motivated to start to write, and I honestly think I write better after reading these journals.  The next step, first being writing a journal and the second being to expose yourself to the best quality writing in the genre you want to write (literary journals, award winning books, etc.) is to actually start to write.  If you don’t have good keyboarding skills, I suggest you take a course or get a typing tutor program.  Nothing in my entire education has served me more than taking one 5 month course in typing 29 years ago.  Nothing.  If I weren’t able to type I would be unable to keep up with my workload, would have been unable to write nine books.  Essential.

So where do you start?  I started my first book as short stories.  I told true stories from my life, put them into short stories and then collected them and over the course of a lot of years and a lot of trial and error, it became a book.  I don’t want to get too deeply into the process of self-publishing, I don’t even know if I am glad that I self-published, it has been very expensive and difficult, but it has been a transitioning phase for me.  I hate to admit it, but I am really not that good of a writer.  My whole education in English is nothing more than a grade 12 academic English course.  I have read a lot of books, but with the guidance I could have gotten in a creative writing program I would have been much better off, I would have been able to go past so many hurdles that knocked me on my arse.  We all have a different journey though.  I could also say I had some good times learning to write and I still find it exciting that I have a long way to go.  I have now gotten to the point where I am financially stable through my writing and disability pension, perhaps if I had gone to a creative writing program I would be much more demanding and whining about not having enough money and using that as an excuse to not create quality work.

Well, I think I am going to leave things at that.  Don’t forget to scroll down for today’s poem.  Tune in tomorrow and I will try and talk a little about magazine writing, something I think a lot of writers can use to help them get through the lean years of their careers and also have a lot of fun.

 

An Ode To Chief Seattle

 

The web of fate is woven by nature for us all

And a rare and lucky few will hear the call

Pulling them away from home, family and friends

But that doesn’t mean for these few happiness ends

 

In fact these wanderers can find things meaningful and more

By seeking self knowledge upon a distant shore

And new wonders of adventure and love can be found

When those who judge and hate are not around

 

Myself I think back often to a rainy day far from here

With new found friends that seemed so wonderful and dear

There was beauty and wonder back then in everything

We weren’t ashamed to laugh and cry and sing

 

But in the end the final choice was made for me

Now my body is chained to this place but my soul is free

I walk now down time worn paths to fulfill my dreams

And it is as if I’m walking on clouds and moonbeams

 

There have been times when life has knocked me down

But something deep inside made me get up for another round

You lose every bout where you stay down and give in

You must fight every battle with all you have from deep within

 

And you must love with every muscle nerve and bone

Never let yourself end up beaten and alone

Hold fast close friends and family and build a true home

And soon you will reap the seeds of love you’ve sewn

 

Whether you’ve been nowhere or to Australia and Rome

You can still feel sad and hurt and all alone

But I’m telling you my dear friends and family if you feel this way at all

Do what’s right and pick up the phone and please give me a call

 

I can’t promise to have any answers that will fix your pain

But I might have a hope of making you smile somewhat again

In the web of fate we are different strands but all one net

One family, one race, one world and in each other’s debt

December 18, 2015

Leif Gregersen

Crossroads

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(don’t forget to scroll down at the end of today’s post for my latest poem)

Well, I don’t really know what to talk about today.  I went for an interview at a local radio station today (CJSR FM 88.5, show to air September 16, 5:00pm) and it went well, aside from a few thousand ‘umms’ which I am assured will be edited out.  I have been getting a few new ideas but still have in mind a project where I would like to write a sort of recovery manual for people with mental illnesses, something to speak to the family and the person suffering, hopefully also to the people that work in the field.  I spent so much time in my life extremely ashamed about my mental illness.  It seemed that at least once a year I would go into the hospital for a month and spend the rest of that year either recovering from the effects of the medications I was put on or getting over the pain of bad memories.  I really like this one book I am reading that I bought at Coles Books, it has in it a four-step plan to recover from Bipolar that seems really good.  I want to write this book but I also want to have some experience dealing with people in mental health situations.  Soon I will be taking something called a WRAP facilitator’s course which seems pretty cool and that might give me the experience I seek.  Also, I have my name in to be notified if a position opens up with Alberta Health Services, (our government health care provider) for a position as a peer support worker.  I think either of these could be really beneficial, but I am at a bit of a crossroads in my writing career because I am getting better at writing poetry and short stories, I have now put out two young adult novels and things seem to be progressing, it is almost though that I have to decide between being an advocate for the mentally ill and writing about that or being a creative, fiction writer and focus on that.  It almost makes me feel like I am back in high school and I am wondering what courses to take to define my career goals.  Anyhow, here is a bit of press on me that my home town newspaper was kind enough to run.  Many thanks to Scott Hayes, a good friend.

http://www.stalbertgazette.com/article/20150912/SAG0801/309129993/-1/sag

 

Inappropriate

 

It was some years ago I first met you

I couldn’t take my eyes off of you

Perhaps it had to do with that glow

 

I always seem to glow, on those hard days

Those long hard days

Late at night working so hard and so fast

Trying to get everything done

So we could all go home

 

I had worked so hard, lifted so much

I didn’t eat nearly enough

So there was the weakness, the glow

And somehow when I looked at you,

And somehow it was like I was able to see

You were an angel

 

In a way it was funny, you were a tough girl

You had packed on some muscle with that job

I told my brother about you, your features, your arms

And he said you were most likely a man

 

But you were so sweet and kind and I knew

That I was in love with you

 

Time passed and I looked for reasons to be near

It meant so much just to talk with you, have you as a friend

I missed or ignored all the signs

That you just weren’t into me

 

All those times I brought you books

All those emails and calls

 

I couldn’t see you were happy

Happy with the man you had

I just thought you were glad

That beautiful people never got sad

 

I think now it was your happiness I wanted most of all

My sadness was all I had, the only thing that made me feel

Real

 

I wanted to squeeze you like an orange

Consume what was in your,

Swallow up the joyful happiness as my own

I didn’t know that just isn’t love

 

I tried so hard to seem smart and thoughtful

But all the while I played the fool

 

You were so fun, so cool to be around

Always joking, but always able to give that special

Uniqueness you had to everything you did

 

And then I started to see a sadness,

A lost look in your eyes, close to a tear

And I thought

 

I can take that from her, I can cure it, help her to heal

Now I know someone has hurt her

Though I couldn’t even help my own moods

 

And then the worst thing happened

I found out what that look, that sad look was

 

It was you looking at me

Afraid of what I might do

If you told me the truth

 

You wanted to say

I’m not into you

And will never be

And that was the end

Of that thing called you and me

 

I want you to be free

I want you to be happy

And if the only way is if we

Never see

Each other again

 

Forgive me if I take up my pen

And try the same damn fool things once more

With some other woman I have come to adore

 

 

Leif Gregersen

Finding Inspiration: Stealing a Little Here and There

DSCF1156I was drawn to this building because of all the lettering.  My Dad was a sign writer most of his life and made a lot of really cool signs in his shop.  The worn down and abandoned look to this building reminds me that even our heroes in this world are subject to impermanence.

     Hello Dear Readers!  I am fiddling around with the format of this blog a bit, I hope you don’t mind.   As usual I am more than happy to receive comments on my personal email if anyone has questions or wants to see something different.  It is of course, viking3082000@yahoo.com and I still haven’t gotten one single email from anyone!

Well, I guess there is a lot to discuss here.  Saturday night I was feeling pretty crappy.  I had the crap kicked out of me by working a very difficult job in the hot sun on Friday for 7 solid hours without a break.  (I love unions!)  Still, it was a great experience in many ways.  I think the biggest way it was a good experience is that when I do a union show, very rarely does what I do last.  99% of my work seems to be setting up concerts, which have to be torn down and reloaded onto trucks the minute the show is over.  Kind of frustrating, but still there are many opportunities to learn.  What I did on Friday was help put up the boards for a rink in the community I live in.  It is a great resource for the disadvantaged kids that live in the area, a lot of them really rely on being able to come and borrow skates and a stick and play in the winter.  I wonder sometimes when the land the rink is on will be devoured by urban sprawl.  I was paid for the work, but it still feels good to work towards something positive.

Saturday during the day I had a couple of photography assignments for the newspaper I volunteer for.  The neatest part of that was that when I got to the Italian Senior’s Centre where they had the even I was shooting, they had the latest newspapers out on a table and a photo I took was on the front cover in brilliant color.  I also got a fantastic meal out of the deal and had a chance to learn more about my Nikon camera.

So anyhow, I was trying to talk about Saturday night and address the topic of creativity.  As mentioned, I wasn’t feeling all that great but I had enough pep in me to think up an idea for a short story.  I don’t want to tell too much about it, I have some people reading it and I am hoping to include it in a new collection some time soon.  The neat thing was the way I wrote it.  I took events from my life that were real, and used some of them, flipped around and changed a bit in the story.  Some girls I knew from my days at school became some kind of secret group of models and rich girls.  I took a friend I had and changed his name and had him change the plot of the story.  The neat thing was that just about all of the story came from real events, made unrecognizable by chronology and connections.  I once heard someone say that bad poets steal, good poets borrow.  I wrote a poem tonight that appears below and I have to admit that the hardest lines to write (the first ones-always the hardest for me!) were inspired by a Dylan Thomas poem.  One day when this blog gets more popular and I can get some interaction out of people I will be noting things like this and having giveaways to people who can name the poem I was inspired by and so on.  Something to keep in mind.

Well, I think that is enough talk about writing.  I am going to be facilitating a writer’s group soon (Wednesday) and I am strongly hoping it will go well.  I guess I have taught classes before, even much larger ones (in Air Cadets).  I think it should go okay.  Right now I am kind of having a problem and I know the solution, I am just having a hard time putting the changes into effect.  The problem is in two parts, (a) getting to sleep at night and a linked problem (b) I drink too much caffeine.  My previous Psychiatrist has warned me a number of times about the dangers of caffeine, but I have often felt that it was the thing that got me off cigarettes.  I even listened to a lengthy audiobook once about the dangers of caffeine.  I had a friend at work tell me once that he had once drank so many energy drinks that he became allergic to caffeine.  It would be so hard for me to quit, but I am starting to fear 100% abstinence is my only solution.  One of the problems I have is that I tend to reward myself with coffee.  If I play a fun video game and do well on it, I see drinking coffee as a reward.  If I went without spending too much money and actually end the day with money in my bank I reward myself with coffee.  For a while I was drinking only tea, but I was unable to keep that up.  It is funny what gives us addictions.  I started drinking tea, and actually got quite serious about having a quality cup of tea that I spent a lot of money on specialty teas and teapots and had all kinds of teas and brands and all that.  The tea phase in my life was started because I read a fascinating book by a man with the pen name Andy McNab who was once Britain’s highest decorated soldier and had been a key member of the SAS, a unit that has fascinated me for a long time.  How did I get addicted to coffee?  By attending 12-step groups!  They poured out the coffee by the ton, and soon I was drinking it just for something to do with my hands.  Now I am at the point where I need a cup of coffee to get me to sleep, my Dr. said that it means I have a certain level of caffeine that needs to be topped up or I get withdrawls.

All pretty grim, but the main problem really isn’t the coffee.  The main problem is that I am a person with Bipolar Disorder and not being able to stay calm and relaxed can be quite detrimental to my health.  Recently I started taking a tranquilizer to help me sleep and I am near the point of asking for a stronger one but I hate what that would do to me.  Every new pill has side effects, and as it is I try to take the tranquilizer as little as possible.  It is just that there are times when I really need to sleep and if I go to bed without help in pill form, it will often take me two to three hours of lying still to calm down enough to sleep.  Although I have been told not to take naps, it seems that is the only way I can continue to function.  I often take a nap before and after supper, and when I am in the middle of a serious writing project I will often sleep until it is near midnight, then load up on coffee and try to put out a reasonable word count.  It is funny because I don’t notice these sorts of things in myself, but when I wrote my first novel, “Green Mountain Road” my Dad actually told me it was hard to watch me killing myself to write this thing.  What I did then was to grab my laptop, head to an all-night McDonald’s and drink coffee or pop until I put out 5,000 words.  Literal craziness.  Anyhow, that is my rant, I don’t know if any of this helps, but I would sure like it if people would comment or even friend me on Facebook, I really like to discuss these sorts of things with other people with Bipolar Disorder, it can be very instructive and beneficial.  So if you like, friend me on Facebook at Leif Gregersen, and if you like my poetry, I also have a poetry page on Facebook called “Valhalla Books”.  All the best Dear Readers, stay real, and don’t forget to scroll past the below photo for today’s poem.

DSC_0064                  Here’s a photo of a very talented musician and kind human being named Bill Bourne who performed at a winter warmer event that I took pictures for this past winter. 

 

Changing, Growing

 

I often wonder what is the power that pushes upwards a flower

On and on until it becomes a bloom

And what is the divine force that guides a human life through its course

And like clockwork spins the phase of the moon

 

I once thought that if I gave all of me until the fall of me

Towards all things that seemed bold, noble and true

That the day would soon come while I was yet still young

That I would no longer feel so lost and blue

 

The fact is sometimes as it sits, single middle-aged life is the pits

And as time passes I often mull over all my love lost

Yet still there may be a chance to meet ‘the one’ and ask her to dance

But right now our paths have yet to cross

 

Though I am happy I guess and in some ways pretty blessed

When it comes to human bonding I am truly inept

Even as a young man with the world in the palm of my hand

I can remember sad times when I wept

 

But I kept the hope deep in me that one day I would be free

Of the chains that bind the nervous and shy

And then fate screwed with me bad and I lost all that I ever had

It was just like falling from miles up in the sky

 

I’ll admit though I got a good deal of it back when I changed my tack

By living clean, healthy and respectful of everyone

And what was so odd it seems that by letting go of my dreams

I still got to lay on the beach in the sun

 

Away on a far off shore I was able to relax recharge and explore

And I had some quality time to sort out my mind

Far away it didn’t matter that once I was mad as a hatter

All new friends only cared if I was giving and kind

 

So I stayed on those far off shores until people were sick of my snores

And I felt I could return with peace in my heart

Being away felt so good but I had to return to my neighborhood

It was there I had made a fresh start

 

Since then there have been wonderful days good in so many ways

All because I gave from deep down in my soul

Now I don’t need to be rich anymore, I just need to love and adore

My new friends and family that care and let me feel whole

 

Leif Gregersen

June 1, 2015

The Summation of my 42nd Year In a Blog

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On the Occasion Of My 43rd Birthday

Well, here it is December 2nd and I have to say this is the best birthday I have ever had.  For some reason, I feel young and alive and happy through and through.  I suppose I could say that it might have to do with working an amazing concert the other day with a great bunch of people, it might have to do with the fact that I have been able to go to Hawaii and a few other places this year.  I guess though, that it all comes down to love.  I really feel loved this year and I feel that I love others in my life.  I would like to try and pin that down further though.  Earlier, a card arrived from my sister signed by her, my niece and her husband and it filled my heart with joy.  The card was hand made, the words “happy birthday” were cut out just like you see ransom notes made in old movies, and my sister had taken the time to find little “fox” cartoons doing some of the things I like to do.  There was a fox with a huge stack of books, there was a fox in a beatnik get up reading poetry at a microphone, and cartoon pictures of popcorn on the stove (which I make at least once a night) and another one of movie cameras.  It makes me feel so special to have a sister that cares enough about me and knows enough about me to take the time to do something like that.  I also feel very grateful for my niece, who happily sang to me a Taylor Swift song she likes (after singing happy birthday), and my day had started out with birthday wishes from my departed cousin’s wife and son who live in Denmark, and soon after my ex-girlfriend Caroline and her boss called me up and sang happy birthday to me over the phone.  The day was filled with good wishes in the form of phone calls, Facebook posts, and I even had my incredible writer friend Richard Van Camp meet up with me and he gave me a very thoughtful gift, a 25 cent coin with a glow-in-the-dark dinosaur on it, stamped with the date 2013 which is the year we first started being friends.  How could anyone ask for more caring and wonderful people in their life?  I also had a dinner invitation from my Dad and Brother, but it will be put off a day or two as my Dad has a cold.

I think what is interesting also is that a good deal of my happiness today didn’t just come from the love I have received and the love I have for others, it has a lot to do with the fact that I have finally started believing in myself as a writer.  That all began two short years back when I first published my memoir, “Through The Withering Storm”.  There are things I don’t like about that book, things I would like to change, but I can’t deny that putting out a book, and also the seven other books I have now published have changed who I am dramatically.  Every time I meet someone who wants to write, I try to tell them all I can about how to succeed, what courses to take, what books and magazines to buy.  All of us have a story to tell, and with a little coaxing and a lot of effort, those stories can one day become a success.

I guess I would like to also talk about Hawaii now as well.  When I was there, one of the best things I took the time to do was to bring snorkelling gear and go swimming among the coral with all the tropical fish.  The gentle rocking of the waves, the absence of any sound but my breathing, the incredible beauty of the underwater world, and the ever-present option of being able to swim back to shore and lay in the hot sun on the beach.  It was beyond divine.  One of the amazing things about it was how I felt when I got back.  After seeing a way of doing something I wanted to do for such a long time and having such a great time doing it, it was no trouble at all facing a few days of work to earn some money and have the chance of going back again.  I don’t know if Hawaii will be my next destination, but I do know I will go some place where I can see history and swim in clear water off a beach.  And that, dear readers, is about all for today.  I am going to put a poem below, but I didn’t write it today, it is from my cache of poetry, I will try and be more original next time, but I hope you like this one anyhow.  It is below the following photo:

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MOVING FORWARD
When I look back on my life, as it spans over 40 years

I think of the strength of my parents through my setbacks and tears

One night as a young child I told them I never wanted to move away

But still that moment had to come to pass one day

Inside the love and protection of our little home

My life was joy, I was never sad, I was never alone

But the years came and went and we lost my mom

Even though on the next morning still out came the sun

It took a few years to feel better again after

She had been so special to us, she was our joy and our laughter

I now think of my Dad and all the things he has gone through

One day soon he will rejoin my mom, I know that to be true

Time will march on, one day my brother and sister too will pass

Somehow as the youngest I have hopes to be the last

When I know my time is coming and my end soon will be

I will go out into the Prairie and plant an oak tree

I want to leave something in this world to mark who we were

Five people, a dog and a cat, held together by love so pure

And then soon after I will take my last breath

And find my perfect completion having lived large until my death

I will go off to be a spirit and all those I had known will be there

Worshiping our God, loving one another without a care

Time will mean nothing, pain and sadness will be all gone

We will live like small happy children, love like them unconditionally on and on

Leif Gregersen

August 14, 2014

Poetry and Short Story Day

Well, it has been a creative day for me.  I have written a sonnet, a short story and a prose poem (which I am going to share with you just after this blog entry for today).  Today is the final lesson of my poetry course which I have really been enjoying.  In the past couple of days I have pushed my limits and gone out to read poetry at two public gatherings and it felt really good.  I also did something I don’t know if I will regret.  Last week I had this bright idea that if I went and purchased something nice for myself I would be motivated to get out and work to help pay it off and maybe even buy more stuff like it.  I ordered a $700 camera online and in the time it took to get here I decided I was going to take it back when I got it.  Then the box came and the idea of having a 200mm lens on a camera that took pictures with 24+ Megapixels and was brand new was just too much temptation, and I changed my mind and opened the box up.  I have to admit, it does take pretty good photos, there is one that I coached my roommate into taking with it that I think is worthwhile posting below.  That kind of picture quality with a good lens just makes the colours and tones so rich and alive.  I have one hope for my financial state of affairs for Christmas, I have sent off an article to a magazine called “Esprit De Corps” which is the official magazine of the Canadian Military.  The article was about an incredible story of courage and skill in soldiering which resulted in a stupendous victory for the UN Forces in the Korean Conflict.  It would be so cool if I could get that published for a few bucks.  Even if they just want to publish it though, I would be happy because the magazine has such esteem from a wide audience in Canada.

Going to the Rouge Poetry “Breath in Poetry Collective” was just great the other day.  This is the place I talked about in my “Tuesday Night” poem in the previous blog.  I was able to read three of my poems, enjoy being entertained by others and made some connections with fellow writers.  There was this one young girl who could only read one poem and then had to leave who was really interesting to talk to.  She was actually underage (no, I didn’t see her as a love interest) but recited an incredible poem for the lounge and was very interested in my own poetry.  She had also read a book that few people have the fortitude to get through, “Les Miserables”.  I think if a lot of young people are like her, old guys like me have to watch out, the next generation to come along just might surpass what mine can do.  Anyhow, I will post my new photo from my new camera below this and I hope you enjoy today’s poem!

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My Dream Girl

 

 

I miss you dream girl

That gentle smell of you maybe the most

You were a bit of a Tomboy

But you had the taste of a fashion model

You could cook the most divine of foods

We had so much fun

Going from place to place

Talking for hours eating in all the best restaurants

That smell, that gentle scent of flowers was the best

It made me love being near you

Having you in the car

That you were upset over me getting rid of

I know you liked me driving you around

But I had my problems too

My balance was never the same since the pills I have to take

I hoped you could understand that

 

You had the cutest little turned up nose

And that sexy sound of your voice

Just drove me nuts

So sweet, so sensual

You would go into all these details

Of your romps and adventures

It was the hardest though when we would say goodbye

Always with a hug

Those athletic curves next to me

It was almost painful to hang out with you

Knowing that you likely never felt

How I felt about you

 

You confessed to me once

That you were an addict

A still-practicing one

But I didn’t care

There was more than enough good about you

That I could go on loving

Someone who needed to dull the pain now and then

Your soft dark brown hair used to make me want to run my fingers through it

Give your soft lips a passionate kiss

Those moist dark brown eyes the perfect accent to your face

 

I knew when you would get sad

You would lose some of the wind in your sails, look down at the ground

You would have to find some way to get a drink

Or even a few of them

And I would sit with you

Or take the bus out in the morning to get your truck

So you wouldn’t have to drive drunk

I remember you telling me about your abortions

I wondered how you could take a tiny life that grew inside you

It hurt me

But I know it hurt you as well

When I looked in those eyes

 

 

Then one fine summer day

Sitting on my porch waiting for your cab

It all fell apart

You were kissing me goodbye

You kissed me a few times

Each time telling me you loved me

I didn’t understand you meant loved me as a friend

Or like a brother

I would have been happy with that

But I wanted you so bad

Took the kiss as a chance to make my move

And it all ended there

I miss you dream girl

 

Leif Gregersen

November 20, 2014

http://www.edmontonwriter.com