I’ve spent the day in untrammeled reverie, wondering who is inside this guilty body of mine and who, if anyone, decides the truth. More importantly, I’ve been listening to Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” for the past hour, talking to myself in a french accent and spinning around in a swivel chair.
It is one of those nights. To be inside. To feel the workings of the inner body and the outer as well…
I don’t regret anything at all
I’ve been thinking about beauty, and how I need to remain there, pure in thought, no matter what. And yet, the gravity of being human is that it burdens the soul with shame. My body, tonight, is a witness.
Not the good that was given me. Nor the bad. They’re all the same.
I remember how beautiful everything was with S. Everything was whole and pure. Even the dirtiest of thoughts we shared were guiltless and sacred and good. Love does that. It takes the ugly and makes it beautiful. It takes the profane and makes it sacred. It takes shame and transforms it into innocence. Or so you think.
It’s all paid for, wiped out, forgotten.
And as beautiful as it gets, it’s all so temporal and transient. It’s taken away in a matter of minutes. How I remember those five little words, “I don’t love you anymore,” and how they broke me. How beautiful I was before those words were spoken. How cracked and dismantled I was after.
But then, you go back out there again, eventually, and everything is vast and undetermined and strange. And you, inside, are amorphous, floating, untethered. Hoping to find validation in someone’s smile.
I talked to MH tonight, the friendly sinner. And he told me I was average. I was plain. There’s nothing special about me and that when a man begins to whisper things like, you are beautiful into my ear, “remember,” he said, “it’s a lie.”
And I don’t care for what’s gone by.
I don’t want to believe this. I never wanted to believe it. And yet, it’s true. Others do not make you beautiful, girl. Knowing this, is part of figuring it all out. Knowing this, makes you strong.
With my memories, I’ve lit a fire…My pains and pleasures. I don’t need them anymore.
You go back and forth like this all your life. Searching for some sense of who you are in someone else’s world. You are loved and have value. You are left and worth nothing. Thinking outside yourself like a fool. Until, perhaps, you come to a point where you, yourself, assign something value based on nothing else but what’s inside you. You in your own little mind. And the value you assign things is yours, no matter what. And it doesn’t matter how others perceive you or how they themselves interpret things. Whether you are dealing with truth or lies. Something or nothing. What matters is what is inside the self. What matters is that you hold on to yourself, no matter what, up against gently cresting waves or storms of transformative measure.
My romances wiped out. With the tremblings they brought.
What matters is not to forget how love is built. You forget sometimes when you’re broken. You think it’s outside yourself. You cry at night and hold on to the past and try to bring back the familiar- even if it had its flaws. Because as ugly as it is, it’s the only thing you know. It’s the only place where purity and innocence are to be found. Only there, you think. Because newness is the bearer of shame. And this scares you. There is no love to be found in the emptiness, you think.
Wiped out forever. I set out once more from zero.
But when you remember that love is not wrapped up in any of that, nor is it the consequence of certain events, but rather, an acceptance of what is, then you’re OK. You can be in a place absent of shame, guilt, innocence, purity, goodness and evil once you finally remember that you are your own answer. That only you determine your worth. You can take what MH says and let it roll off your shoulders. You can accept breaking. You can accept rejection. You can accept what you’ve been dealt.
You can enjoy the pleasure of your own skin and the way your body feels and who made it feel so good. You can forgive your shame. You can make peace with the fact that you don’t know entirely how you feel at any given time. You can be sure that beauty is not a mark of validation given to you by others, but rather something you acknowledge in yourself. All that, in itself, gives you your spark of innocence.
You can be happy in the emptiness, knowing nothing, experiencing nothing, because broken or not, you carry a world of goodness and truth within you.