Those of you who know me know that this past weekend (pre-frog voice) I went shopping for a new car...for the first time in 10 years. And I ended up buying a new car -- and saying goodbye to the Mazda Protege that, for some reason, I was (and still am) apparently VERY attached to. Every time I see one on the road now, I actually get teary. Anywho...I digress.
Of course, though I knew it was a possibility, I didn't really mentally prepare myself for the scenario of actually buying a new car the day I started looking...and, in turn, saying an abrubt goodbye to this silly little compact car I REALLY loved. So...of course, the situation found me buzzing around, filling the empty boxes I luckily had in my trunk with the contents from the inside of my car. Among the cassette tape mixes, myriad maintenance receipts, sunglasses, etc... was a folded piece of paper. Later in the weekend I got the chance to go through all my accumulated crap, and got around to investigating the piece of paper. Turns out is was a rogue poem I wrote in August of 2000 (a year after getting the Mazda...so far from becoming who I am today). Why I wrote it is a mystery. Why I printed it out and stuck it in the glove compartment of my car, only to find it nearly 9 years later...well, that's a bigger mystery.
So...I figured I might as well share this find with the three people who read this blog :) For better or worse...here is the state of my insurance-company addled mind circa the new millennium (sp?)...maybe you can help me solve the mystery...enjoy:
FAIRA CRIES
Early on the girl had spirit...dreams of summer days and better things, the same
Life -- a plan that wasn't her own, hidden -- a turmoil no one had known
Tragic artist, tortured soul, ballerina barely five years old
Why wait for the future when it comes for the past? Wait, just wait...it won't last
Old soul, young heart, start the wheels turning in motion -- in yearing
Always for that elusive wisp of meaning and feeling -- and ice cream
Over and over before it began -- she ran, she ran, our Faira she ran
Through the meadows of youth and the tunnels of time, crying inside
She tried. Cheerleader girl, basketball chic, winner, achiever, movie-of-the-week,
Truth hides, we seek, we lie, life cheats. Pretty young thing taking the ride
Such a long time between living and life
Faira -- she wonders what little girls become, when growing is over and becoming --
It's done. To be what fate meant, does it mean what we say is our final decision? For all of our days?
Closeness melts and the tree starts to fall, of all the illusions, intrusions...confusion
the fairest of all. Over and over before it began, Faira she tries to face why she ran
Fear keeps pace with a path traveled well. Dreams not promoted become tales to tell. Do it well.
Do everything well. No matter what's done, for duty, for fun,
it matters least when along for the ride the passenger errs -- attempting to drive
A ballerina now thirty years old -- the future, it ambushed the girl. She folds.
Playing for keeps. Having to hold. Round and round our girl she goes.
Looking back to a future -- where are the dreams? Why didn't they hear her pleas to just be...
At night she lies, eyes wide with the folly of fate and waits. And in the day...our Faira, she cries.
GB
