Morning has come, once again. I am awake before sunrise. The sun rises accordingly to the “change of time.”


As I was waking up, I questioned why I blushed so hard when she was talking with me.  Yesterday.  That girl.  She talked to me,
longer than before.  She walked past me.  Our eyes were glued.  I was burning, like skin too close to a flame.  She had me burning by her presence.   I don’t recall blushing like that ever before, and I wonder when I will see her again.  Why didn’t I make a move. Why did she have me feeling so utterly shy.  I feel shy around girls.  Girls who love girls.  They.  Just.  May.  Hear.  My.  Secret.  I just may be revealed.
Boys,  they fascinate me.  Yet, they don’t dig with the same tool.  I believe, they will never get to the root of my secret.  I like that too. For, I like keeping some things a mystery.  Some things are mine to know.   And, only mine, to know.  I like them too.  I have blushed next to their fire, as well.
The fire.  The chemistry of burning wood and a flame.  Dazzling.  Mystical.  Rising, and dancing alongside and within a breeze.  I sit by the fire that keeps me warm.  The fire that gets too close? I stand back and watch it burn, from a longer distance.  Still, magical. Hypnotizing.   Beautiful.
No fire is alike. I have no preference.  For fire is beautiful, when the chemistry is honest.
Male fire.  Female fire.  All the colors rising.  I watch with curios eyes.  Each flame is unique.  Each flame dances differently.   Some I can study for hours, as I stay quiet and observe.
I am not required to claim the fire which burns inside of me. Who keeps it burning.
I am not required to claim who attracts me with their fire.  For, attraction is open.  Open ended.  I am powerless to the law of chemistry. Attraction just is, and I try not to question it.
I blush against many of flames.
Always did.  Always will.

The Light of Love

I sit still.  In the second level of my loft.  On the carpet.  It is dark outside and the rain is coming down, in shifts.  I am alone again. Alone.
The partners of my life rest in my DNA.  In my blood.   The partners of my life rest in the faces of cosmic family.   My friends.  The partners in my life are represented by those I shook hands with today.  Those customers from work who hugged me.  Told me I made their day.  They made mine too.  They make mine, too.
I sit here.  Silently in the second level of my loft.  Rent is coming up soon.  I am grateful to pay for this sanctuary again.  One more month coming in this quiet.  This loft.  My most special place to dwell.  Where silence restores my tired bones.  Where silence saves my thoughts from breaking, into disastrous shards of glass.  The glass that would tear my heart.  Broken hearts are okay by me. They break open.  Lessons ooze from this bleeding heart, time and time again.  Each time it mends, it grows stronger in a truth.  The truth bringing me further into absolute Love.
My gratitude rests in a power.  The power of Light.  I call it Divine.  I had a glimpse of this light as a wee teenager,  where my ache was strong enough, I almost ached to death.  I saw the crack of the Divine Light then.  The longer I don’t give up, the larger the fall of my wall. The wall comes down, with each breakdown.  With each moment I ache, the wall comes down.  And, the light widens.
My gratitude rests in my belief that I have everything that I need.  Everything I want rests in everything I need.  Even when it does not feel like this.  I do have everything I need.  I have love.   Love has no definition.  It is there.   There in a handshake.  There in the eyes. There in “You have made my day.”  There in my cosmic family.  It rests in my DNA.  In my blood.  It rests in the souls of ancestors gone from the physical world.  It rests in the future of the unborn.   It rests.  It rests.  It rests.  For Love should not be worked for.  It should not feel exhaust.  It should be rested and have freedom to breathe.  That is Love.  That is Love.  That is Love. Universal Love rests.
Here.  Upper level loft.  I sit quietly within the night sky.  Against the shifts of rain.  I meditate what I already feel.  Love.
The Divine Light cracks through, to my surprise, without the ache.  It just sheds itself, upon me.  Gently and with warmth.
Gratitude.  I feel, gratitude for this moment.

Silky Words. Stand Up Actions

Your words gently sweep across my thoughts.   Like silk.  Yet, I don’t trust words.  I trust action.  Stand still with me in my soul.  That is romantic.
Easy, it is, to bask in the illusion of romantic words.  Romantic words are beautiful to hear.  They take us to the clouds and dress our faces with a glow.
These words push out thoughts like, “I should check the mail.”  Or, “I must pay that bill.”  These words delete all rational thought.   Romantic words, like, “I will be dreaming of you….”  Romantic words, like “You are all I have been searching for…”  They may be true to heart.  Still, they sweep us away like a gust of wind.  Off our foundation.  Into the lands of “la-la”.  Where is my mind when I hear these words?  In a romance novel.  Yes.  Thing is, chapters close.  Thing is, the book comes to an end.  The light turns off, and we go to sleep. Only to wake up to our mail.  To our bills.  To our dirty laundry and clothes that need to be sorted through.  To our hungry kids, our jobs, our long just to take a shower and sit in our pajamas.  Ah, but the fantasy is so much nicer.  Fantasy.
I can lose myself quickly by these words.  I lose focus.
Then the words are taken away in one breath.  I wake up.  Where have I been.
Thing is, I have much to lose.
My sobriety,  my job, my kid, my apartment.  My dignity and self respect.  Lost when these words from another aren’t followed through with their actions.
Action. I hear action close to my beating heart.   When actions are announced, my reaction is returned.  It doesn’t matter what your intentions are.  My reactions are indicating to me what lesson I must learn.  What I must learn is how I choose to grow.  How I choose to grow aligns itself alongside my destiny. My destiny, is the life I make.  What I make leaves a trail.  That trail, I want to be lit.  Marked with little lamp posts along side its dirt road.  My dirt road.  My legacy I leave behind.  My lessons.  Maybe, someone will learn from my lessons. The ones I choose to take.  The ones that have chosen me.
Your words.  They are beautiful, yet void within no action.  I long to hear the action.  Therefore, I can react.  Words drift away by a wind. Far and distant, they travel somewhere else.  Action, I can remember.  Remember and hold.  Hold in the palm of my heart. Closely.
I am no saint. I have used these beautiful, silky words.   Let them slip past my lips.   Into another’s ears.  I have not followed through on these words, through action.  My mistake.  I too get blown away by a wind. I too dream. I too have read a romance novel.
I have learned a lesson, again.  Say what you mean and mean what you say.   Then, take action.
Nothing is perfect.  The result, is the lesson.
The strength to communicate this lesson, is an action.  It may bring people closer.  Take a closer, more intimate look in the mirror.
And, this is what connection is truly about.
I have learned.  This.  Again.
Romance me with standing inside my soul.  Respect the parameters.  Walk freely within.  Tell the truth.  Act on that truth.  Maybe, it will be Love.

Sober Dating Website

The Basic Human Need

“I want to love and to be loved”.  He said.  Through the digital words of phone messenger.  Sweet messages.  I can hear the voice of the message crossing lines in the air.  To my ears.  To my heart.  Sweetest message.  I want to love and be loved.   This, so simple that I can understand.  I am a complex woman with my reserves, yet, I understand. My heart beats.  Pink and red.  Is this true?  Can it be so simple.  I want to love and be loved. I believe I can fulfill this mission. Challenged accepted,  most difficult challenge.   He will see me when I doubt his feelings for me.  Not because they aren’t real, but because I don’t believe someone could truly accept me.  For.  Exactly.  Who.  I.  Am.  Who am I?

I am.  A hopeless romantic. I am a longing poet, reaching for a place that never shows up. I am tough woman, in many ways.  Yet, when it comes to the matters of my heart, I either break open, or shut it all down. Depends on the day.  Depends on my toss between what I hold internally, what I choose to share with another. Truth is, my heart aches.  It aches to love completely,  another.   It is a need.  Like a need for fresh air.    Give me some fresh air. It is a need like hot chili and slippers on a cold and rainy night.   Comfort me with warmth. It is a need like sleep.   When my eyes are barely staying open and my body can’t crawl anymore.  Only to the bed for rest.

It is there, for me.  To love and be loved.  A need.  A basic, human need.  We like to complicate this need.  Call it “neediness”.  I beg to differ.

You see, I claim independence financially.  I claim independence mentally.  I am clean and serene.  Physically and emotionally strong.  I claim no need to help keep my life aligned.  I keep things square and tidy.  Tight and solid.

That basic human need.  To be held.  To be honored.  To be heard.  Closely.  I need that.  I can’t exactly give that all to myself.  Believe me, I have tried.  Being “single”, I have tried.  I have not figured out, how to succeed,  alone.

To love and be loved.  Yes please.  I am here.  I will meet you half way as you meet yourself, all of the way.  If the chemistry is there, the openness, lack of fear, and respect is there.   I will meet you halfway.

To love and be loved.   A human need.  Simple.  True.  Am I worthy?   I would say so.







Meet you.  In the waters, clear and still. I will be there.  Treading calmly before we swim.


I thought I was going to be yours,  and you mine.  Something got lost between those lines.  There is nothing to explain, at least for the moment.  We are disconnected from each other.  I revert back, into myself, to reconnect.

Those nights I cried in my loneliness.   I believed those nights were gone.  They were for a moment.   Then, I felt lonely “with” you.  This, feels.  So.  Much.  Worse.  I  am able to feel lonely by myself.  That, I can adjust to, better.

No one person can encompass who I am.  Only I can do this.  I seem to do quite well, within singular circumstances.   I will gladly chase myself in my own thoughts, than chase you in my own thoughts.  At least,  I can find myself there.  Talk with myself.  Calm myself.  Comfort myself.

Yet, that touch.  I miss that touch.  Another touching me.  Holding me.  That touch.  Magical.  Like, another actually is living in my skin, for a moment.  A few have lived in my skin, for a moment.  And then, they go.  Back into their skin, their lives, their path.  I am a trace in the roads, of their past.

Will I ever truly understand intimacy. The kind that travels through time for more than just a moment?  The kind that never gives up.  The kind where two fight for each other, always?  The kind that dances on the three elements of mind, body and spirit?

I believe, in my heart, I am not to have this.  Not because I am not deserving,  or not valued.  But, for the reason that without the reach for it, my words will disappear.   My songs will fade.  My poetry will be lost.   Somewhere in a trapped time zone of numbness.  Of still.  The fantasy and the vision of this sort of love, is my romance.  I believe I am built for affairs. Affairs of my heart.  People coming and going.  Taking up space in rooms they discover.  Rooms of my home.  Rooms of my heart where lessons are opened, as they close the door.  To me.  As they close the door to me.

I sit in another room.  Now.   One you discovered.  I sit here alone.  On the edge of the bed.  In solitude.  Ready for the lesson.

My door.


Rhythms Of The Heart

Morning has come, once again.   I am awake before sunrise.  The sun rises accordingly to the “change of time”.
Change of time.  A peculiar fight for change.  Hmmm.  How does one change time.
Time is constant.  Seconds, minutes and hours all add up to the ending of time.  Clock is ticking.  Yet another intruder of Peace.  The clock is ticking.
Maternal clock.  Work clock.  Schedules.   Appointments.  Christmas countdown.  New Years countdown.  Birthdays counted.   Time is counting.  How.  Much.  Time.  Is.  There.
The clock is ticking.
Time.  A constant.  I don’t hear anything ticking against my internal clock.  Meaning,  my Soul is at ease with time.  For my Soul has traveled through time.  Traveled through the grey clouds of thought.  Traveled through prominent words, stamped my a moment. Feelings are of a moment.  A moment quicker than a second.  The second is as close to a moment that man has made.  In.  The.  Clock.
Time.  I don’t remember the hour, precisely, where my father smiled with me as I received my college diploma.  I don’t remember the hour.   I remember the moment.  I remember the feeling.  The feeling I recall, still, to this day.
Time.  I don’t remember the hour,  as I said good bye to my mother.  She lay still in a hospital bed, supported by life.  Tick, tick, tick….the machines told me she was running out of time.  My heart knew she was already gone.
Time.  I don’t recall the minute my son first said “You are my hero”.  Yet, I remember I became teary eyed, after he spoke such sentiments.  For he is 6 years old.  He is pure in his heart.  He keeps me pure in my heart.
Time is constant.   I travel through the grey clouds in thought.  As the clock ticks away and alarms are set for appointed duties to come.
The rhythms of life beat with my heart.  My heart tells me when it is time to arrive.  When it is time to let go.  When it is time for rest. When it is time.  When it is time.   When it is time.
Time to check the clock.  I have lost track, again.
My name is Nicole. I live in Washington State. I am a single, co-parenting mother to my 6 year old son. I am recovering on a daily basis. I spent 30 days in treatment in the year 2014. I am living the life I have created out of the love for myself, and the love for my son. Self care always come first. It is not possible to take care of anything, or anyone else if I don’t care for self. I am happy to do so. Recovery has given me my life. I am forever grateful.


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