I told her I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m
still here. And she is too. That night we shared last month has given me some
things to think about. I can still feel her skin on my fingertips. I can still
taste her lips on mine, a mixture of Chinese food and wine and strong passion. Was
I wrong to let that happen? Was it more of the same lie? She told me she loves
me, but do I really deserve that love? Were we still apart? Did I deserve her
love that night?
The way I treated her with William,
all the behind the back stuff—why? Why did I keep it from her? Is she right
when she says I don’t trust her? Or anybody else? How could I ever not trust
her? Felicity should be the only person in my life who knows all of me. She wanted to be my wife thinking she did. What
does that mean? It means by saying yes, she was willing to accept everything
about me—past, present and future. I lost that when I lied to her. She told
me because she loves me, she deserves my full trust. She was right.
Why can’t I got to her and tell her I
trust her? And why would she believe me if I did? I kept William from her for
months. But what would happen, despite her saying she’s not ready yet, if I approached
her tonight and insisted we talk? Would she leave me for good and the life we
had together? Would Overwatch resign?
The truth is—I don’t know why I lied
to her. I was narrow-minded to think that William was safer without Felicity
knowing about him. I was going to spend the rest of my life with her and her
me. It felt like I was juggling so many suppositions. Maybe I felt there were
too many balls in the air and if I tried to deal with one at a time, all of
them would come down at once. Was I afraid? Am I still afraid? Am I so tainted
by my past that I would let someone as pure, beautiful, loving and trusting as
Felicity be hurt and betrayed by that fear? If that is really the truth in all
this, then I’m no better than Merlyn or Slade or Darkhe.
If that is truly how she saw me after
she left that day in the loft, how and why did we end up making love that night
in the Bunker? My god, I felt so much hope. Yes, she said she had a lot to
drink. But was that the only reason? It didn’t feel like drunken sex. If felt…natural,
like it always does between us whenever we touch each other. It has ever since
our time in Nanda Parbat. It is always going to feel like that for me. Whenever
I touch Felicity, there is nothing in this world that would make me doubt how
much I love her.
Every time she says those words ‘I love
you’ to me, I try to be worthy of her. I want to be worthy. I want her to know
that without her in my life; I am untethered, drifting off into darkness. She helps
me be a survivor. Without her, I am a loose cannon….I mean a loose arrow.
So yes, I told her I would wait for
her, to let her find closure in our separation. And I will…for the rest of my
life if that’s what it takes. I also want to fight, to get off my ass and go
after her. I should have done it at the loft and last month. But I need to
figure out what I want, and I have to find that answer before I can go after her
or god forbid, she finds someone else.
It is so hard being around her every
night. I am constantly fighting against the urge, the need to touch her. I want
to be that man in her life she can believe that when I do touch her, it’s with
everything in me. Is that trust? If so, she deserves nothing less. How am I going
to get through another night tonight? What do I tell myself when she goes home
without me? That I deserve to be alone?
I am angry. Not at her—at myself. I
am angry at letting the darkness that shaped me all those years take away the
only light that can heal me. I love her.
But is that love enough to give her everything she’s given me? Isn’t it really
myself I don’t trust? Would she understand if I told her that?
There’s the elevator. Why do I suddenly
feel that I have to put on a second mask? Why do I feel I have to hide my shame
from her? But it will be good to see her tonight. Even if it is from a
We are black … we are white, but what is right, is what is right ! What is right is what we are now … we are now what we now are ! What we are now, we discover through time, through years and through experienced living ..not all our experience our living and our years come right … yet right is what we desire, what we aim at, and what we hope shall be ..
Time .. it passes by ! And as it passes by it drags along with it, its belongings - features, destinations, objects of reference and a portion of itself !
The ‘itself’ is what we believe change through time brings - age, habits, conversation, thinking. Thinking obliterates a bit of the time that passed. Conversation carries with it that convalesced voice. Habit changes because it needs to … to keep with time. Age ? … well need one say another word for that. It envelopes ability to gather the need for 'extended families’. My Ef envelopes all, umbrella like … sheltered and secured in the environs of affection, care and a certain else which has eluded us.
Bless you all for the continuation of our feel and our holding. This bind knots itself in a reef device - the reef knot, from the days of Boy Scouts - the strongest and the most effective binding of two ends of a rope .. the more you tug at each end the stronger the knot becomes - left over right, turn .. right over left turn … pull … and there ! The mightiest shall be unable to untie it, of that I am certain ..
Thank you Mr Powell for introducing us to that two finger salute and to many other accomplishments during our years in School .. thank you ..
Lord Baden - Powell the founder of the Scouts movement, and one that influenced an entire generation to join up and conduct themselves in a manner which would be a most fitting auxiliary to a regular Army - not just in the field of war or of fighters and warriors, but in the pursuance of uniformed discipline, of order, of command and its relevance in every day act.
If I am not by command conducted, I am not conducted at all. If I am not conducted at all, I am a civic nightmare ; I am a loose cannoned citizen in a free world. When command shall respect my presence, my presence shall be indebted to command.
I want command. I want respect. I want order. I want conduct. I want benevolent yet martial and systematic disposition. Give me 200 of them and give me limited time, and I shall bring conduct.
It does not require labor, or excellence in administration … it requires a will to accept and be drenched in servility . Servility not to force or power or system, but to thyself. One human, breathing moving and thinking thought, is sufficient to conduct the change ..
It is change that is needed. The old must give way to the fresh and the new. My age and my years and my exhausted position must give way to the next to next generation. The instances of gain and achievements are over and done with. Acceptance guides us as it must. Fight the guidance and lie dishevelled and lost on the battle field. Accept and practice, and ye shall see the ecstasy of achievement, desire and accomplishments for the needed change !
Now and then it reassuring to listen ! Listen to the vibrations of that element that keeps us surviving - the heart ! I did today on routine. It is quite astonishing to hear your own flush and flow of the pumping within. How continuously the working gives reason for reassurance. Who and how did this enormously complicated human body attain structure ? How did those gallons of blood flow within ? How on earth did the hundreds of miles of veins and arteries and other passages, work in our presence without the knowledge of its presence ? Who built temperament, attitude, behaviour ..? and why did Him or Her that constructed us build us the way we are, and the way we shall be with time …??
Is it any wonder then that ’ belief ’ became the most complicated and most timely nature of those that categorised US …
Objects of divinity, sayings and readings of them, curriculum for their inhabitance … all became the nature of study … or should we say futile study … for despite the millions of years, we are still discovering ourselves .. let alone the 'other ’ ..
He doesn’t need a partner. She doesn’t need a friend. But when rookie Emma Swan is assigned to work with Field Agent Killian Jones, sparks fly. In more ways than one.
Seven years after the tragic death of his fiancee, Killian Jones is assigned the newest rookie in the office. But this agent doesn’t work well with others, preferring to strike out on his own and with Emma Swan determined to do things by the book, he finds himself hurtling into conflict with the stubborn blonde. Their sparring is interrupted by the sudden reappearance of the man who caused his first love’s death - and Emma Swan may just be the right person to help finally bring him to justice.
It was a perfect Boston summer day. The sun was bright enough to even test the limits of the dark tint of his sunglasses; the cloudless sky, a perfect pale blue. Killian Jones quickly made his way along the busy sidewalk, dodging passersby as he carried a small cardboard tray holding two steaming cups of coffee.
Rounding a corner, Killian smiled when he saw that the building that he was heading to was less than 50 yards away. He picked up his pace-
And then, without warning, a blast ripped through the pristine glass frontage. He felt for a second like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer, his jaw tightened, his whole body vibrated with sensation, the tray of coffee was flung in the air as he raised his hands to protect his face from the flying shards of glass that began to hurtle towards him. A piercing pain shot through both ears, accompanied by a ringing noise that muffled any other sound.
He found himself crumpled on the ground, his whole body in pain-
Azra, Azra. Someone described me today as "having an attitude," and "a loose cannon," and that I am like to solve problems with my fists. But I am a soft person, Azra, and I bruise easy. I am melted by words and starlight and yes, if I'm furious then I will become a hurricane and a forest fire and I am not one to hide it, but that is not the core of my being and I don't know how to take it that others might think that it is.
No! Don’t you dare let anyone give you mouth for being who you are. Don’t ever apologise for yourself. You weren’t made for sorries. You choose when you want to be soft and when you don’t. Use your fists. Use your teeth. Don’t make excuses. So what if they think you’re all storm? So what if they think you’re elemental? You know you. And the people who are worth that will stick around to find what’s underneath. Promise.