Greater Expectations

I’m searching for that place between survival and living, despair and contentment, peace and peace of mind, friendship and infinite love. I’m hovering so far below my aspirations and can’t seem to abandon inertia.

When I was younger I thought life meant waking up to the smell of mom’s designer perfume lingering in the hallway tempting me to follow her, always missing my father and thinking that my brother was the coolest person I would ever know. Although my heart still has a yawning hole made larger with every passing day I don’t see my dad, and my brother is still the coolest person I know, the smell of designer perfume is now an uncomfortable reminder that I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing love in my mother’s eyes. Everything plagues the senses that I should be grateful for.

I need to go back to the source. At 16 my daydreams were laced with ignorant desires to leave the house my parents built so I could live by my own convention, standing on a street corner in high heels and a pencil skirt hailing a cab to an unknown destination in an unfamiliar place. I failed to realize that leaving that haven would mean learning how to build my own. I’ve built a lot of walls: protection, self-preservation, pride, anger and resentment, but nothing substantial enough to save my life.

I realize these words are counterproductive and pouring proverbial salt on self-inflicted wounds. I also realize how narrow my scope seems at the moment, but it’s an honest assessment. On the flip side though, failure is not an option, my best must be better and my life must be lived…