Hold on me.

Father is home. Before he came, I ran around the house cleaning, pushing everything back into place, opening up cleaning products that have never been used.
I made the house sparkle, inside and out.

After I was done and was out of breath, I looked at my hard work, and had this deep urge to destroy everything.
I wanted to tear the plaster from the walls, break all the glass windows and burn the furniture.

Now that I look at it, the battle of rage and tears rushing through me was not one of mere anger at a paternal figure, but because I was just so goddamn pathetic.

I still wanted to please him.
I still wanted to have his acceptance.

It was a mistake to think that I was  rid of him.

He still has a hold on me.

"Do you love him?"

Father is coming home this week.
Which prompted me to ask mother, "Do you love him?"

There was silence on the other end with intervals of silent muttering.
"I think so," she finally answered.

An interval of silence lapsed.
She asked, "Are you asking because of the hardships we have between us?"

I wanted to laugh out loud, not because of the obvious problems they had, but because she had considered the unbelievable pain Father put her through as mere 'hardships.'

"No. The last time I asked, you said 'No.'"
She stared at me with guarded eyes that accused me of stabbing her where it hurt.

"I guess you changed your mind," I stabbed again.
"I guess I did," she said.

3:13 PM

When it hits exactly 3:13 PM, the afternoon sun sits right in front of my window, bathing everything in my tiny corner of the world a golden color.
Warmth emits from the windows, and laying on the floor with my eyes closed, I curl around it trying to get it to seep into my chilled body, willing my body to forget about everything and nothing.
As the light pounds into my eyelids, I smile as I feel the loosening of my chains of worldly expectations and my drive to be someone I am not.
When it hits exactly 3:34 PM, the sun isn't in front of my window anymore but in front of some other soul's window, leaving my tiny corner of the world back to its mundane colors and dust.
The ties are re-knotted, the pressures are again placed on the shoulders, and I am still lying there trying to remember what the poised gratification felt like.

Too much to ask?

I have very mixed feelings about relationships. I can't keep any, but I constantly search for a someone that relates to me. I can't open myself up the way people want me to. I can't be one hundred percent honest about my feelings unless I really hate the person and want to cut that person down to itty bitty pieces.
People say I'm too honest. Brutally honest. Apparently, my honesty kills. I can't help it. I say how it is. I want to be vibrant and attractive and yet I want to be mysterious and sultry. I have mixed personalities. I have numerous personalities. I want to relate, but I only want stuff I really want to connect to relate. When I find a person to share anything with, I analyze everything. I jump to conclusions. I assume. I break. I tear.

Please understand. Relationships that are beautiful and full of life are so beautiful to behold that you're scared to touch them. I haven't learned how to do it properly.

People always ask me, "Why the heck do you hide so much? You're so easy to be honest and real to; you know my every secret and flaw! Why can't you show me your real self?"
Because I'm not stupid. Everyone knows things end. Besides, I've got nomadic syndrome. I get antsy after staying in one place for more than 3 or 4 years. The longest place I've ever stayed was in Hawaii for 6 years, and that's only because I had to. The span of time I allow for myself doesn't call for a deep and long-lasting affiliations.
I want to be so many things; I want to do so many things. I want to live and die and breathe and exhale. I want to see souls and hold hearts, I want to be spiritual and deeply rooted. And all without the ties and strings.
Is that too much to ask?