paintings

I love to read love stories. I love to dream of love stories. I love to write about love. I can do all of these things myself but, I cannot draw about love. I leave that to people who are talented. A website that I enjoy is:

The collection includes so many beautiful paintings and drawings. I thought I would share it.

http://www.bonzasheila.com/welcome.html

Insomnia

Ah, she arrives, Insomnia. She is here again, knowing that I desire sleep but she has her own agenda and my yearning for the warm blanket of sleep means nothing to her. I lay in my bed, listening to the tranquil sounds of the sleeping breaths of others. The dog at my feet has her tiny little breathes, my love has his deeply satisfying, lung filling breathes. Through the slit in the window the trees are sighing their nightly rustle and in she glides. Insomnia has arrived and begins flitting around my mind. She tickles a thought here and touches a memory there. Winging here and there she taps ideas, musings, hopes, speculations, feelings, notions, and ideas. She likes the activity. She wants all of them to be awake together, running together, holding hands and skipping through my mind. She shakes her finger at Sleep, "Go away." she says.

I think that if I lay still and breathe deeply I can chase her away. I try to emulate my love's gentle breaths, in...and...out, in...and...out. Stealthily I paint a picture in my head of waves lapping a beach, of leaves rustling in their branches while I whisper to Sleep, "come back, come back". Insomnia catches me, winks at me and says, "No, I have been waiting all day to play!" Sleep slinks away. Coward.

We used to be mortal enemies. Once I cringed at her entrance, I fought her. Food, drink, TV, books, music were thrown at her. Wanting to crush her I even tried to drown her with alcohol. For such a tiny thing she was much more powerful. 2 AM came and I resented her. 4:30 AM would arrived and I wanted to smash her. Throughout the day I would resent her and vow that I would conquer her, somehow she was going to leave. I would throw her off the cliff of my mind. She is mighty. I learned to succumb. Now I humor her.

As my household drifts into the wondrous world of sleep I am left alone in the gray night, the lone wakeful one surrounded by slumber. The wind blows in my psyche and she arrives bringing her whirlwind. Thoughts are tossed about like a child going through a toy box. They scramble together. A memory from fourth grade meets an idea from yesterday. Remembrances of a long ago past dance with visions of today. Insomnia skips in and out, joining one with another. I store these joinings. There is now a notebook in my head and then after I finally sleep and wake again another day I take them and create. No longer my nemesis, she is now my muse.

two hurts

When you hurt, my heart flutters in companion with yours. The anguish you feel is in my belly too. Your agony courses through me in tandem with yours. Your tears meld with mine. With you I gasp for air trying to push this ache away. Turning my head away in disbelief, shaking. I am with you in that pit, clawing, scraping to get out of the wretchedness. We are tied, you and I, bonded from the beginning of your life. Wherever you are, my arms stretch to catch you up and pull you close, shelter you from the harm that is being thrust upon you. I am in that abyss with you where colors have faded, smells are gone, worldly noises are static and meaningless. Black and grey swirls around us in this Mordor of heartache. I know. I feel. You are not plodding on this rocky path alone.

But I want to harm them. I want to come crashing at them, growling, snarling with murderous intent. Those that dare to hurt the ones I love risk much. My nature is protection for you at my own peril. From that bear state I want to cradle you in fairy arms and lift you to my nest, sooth you before you go back to life. You will go back and you will persist. I am the cocoon from which you emerge to one day replace me for your own creation.

trepidation

Awake again, in the middle of the night, the world is sleeping, you are sleeping. You are breathing so smoothly, quietly... I am thinking of you. I want to touch you and caress your skin. Maybe glide my hand on your arm. I would like to play with your hair, nuzzle in the flesh across your back, slide my feet along your legs but you are sleeping. Waking you seems so taboo, sleep is so precious. Many nights I lay next to you in our bed and dream of you while you are in the sweet world of dreams. Last night I invaded your dreams and touched you softly until you stirred. Like a fern unfurling I awoke you and felt you respond gratefully. So many more nights I desire you but hold back with trepidation, dare I awake my sleeping prince? Will he tire of my nightly desires?

comfort/insomnia

There is no solitude quite like 1:47 am or 2:43 am. We are certainly alone at this time. Comforting voices are asleep in other rooms, other beds, in other places. Images, ideas and thoughts play and replay around in our heads to be shared with no one but ourselves. Floor boards creak, wind rustles leaves, clocks tick, partners and children breath in and out, sleeping the sleep that we crave. Rewind, play back, the thoughts merry-go-round in my mind, over and over. They will seem light in the morning but now they are vivid and heavy, demanding to acknowledged over and over. A commercial that annoyingly repeats itself, yes, I heard you you.

So I touch your skin. I lightly brush your arm. I nuzzle my face in your back. I lightly kiss your shoulder. Some comfort is there for me. Maybe if I lay closer to you your blanket of sleep will cover me too and then we can be in dream world together. Insomnia no longer imprisons me the way it once did because I have you. Even in the silence of the night you give me comfort. HA! Take that, Insomnia. I have a defense against you! My lover brings me peace in this abyss you create. It is dark, quiet but no longer lonely because of him. His body laying next to me here in your sleep deprived cave keeps me warm. I gather strength from the contentedly sleeping man next to me. Even in his soundless state he supports me and you don't drain me anymore.

still holding you

Now you are larger than me but I still hold you in my arms. I still see your tiny face and remember your tiny fingers. You may even have your own tiny one, yet I still your eyes staring back at me from the security of my arms. I still remember the sweaty scent from a little head resting on my shoulder. There are your eyes looking up at me and me looking at you adoringly. No man feel this and I am sad for them. This is only ours.

young

On a tangled mess the morning light peaks through the blinds. Does it see the image I have in my head? The one of us surrounded by crumpled sheets and blankets falling to the floor? The vision in my head is, me, lying in what you call 'the after glow', blissfully and unabashedly naked. I see a young man laying next to me without the lines and scars of a full life on his body and I hope he sees a young woman in love, not the one with body gently ravaged by life, the imperfect one I see in the mirror after I shower. I haven't been here before in this place of abandon. I don't need to pull the covers up over me. Every muscle is relaxed, even the ones that are tense the rest of the day, my blood is quietly flowing through me, a little fairy telling every cell to rest now, warmth blows gently over my skin. I have indulged myself again in you. The smell of you, the sight of you, the taste of you, the sound of you.