Things Only I Can Say by J.C. (psychology books to read .txt) 📖

were at each other’s necks, with only Jewel stopping blolodshed.
Averice laid his head down and made a sighing sound. He had enough of this. This is love, he mocked them. We are lucky we are not like that.
I stopped to think about it. Were we lucky, now then? That we were not forced to fight and be hurt just for a petty emotion? Because we had escaped love, because no one would ever love us?
I thought and thought, but when no answer came, I copied Averice and laid my head down. The answers would arrive in time. They always did. I would just have to wait, and watch, and wait.

The Water Comes and Goes

The sky has stopped its raining today. And we are walking further and further away from the creations of people, though in this age, it gets harder and harder to escape. The trees shake their heads, whispering to us about those days when they could live at peace amongst their own kind and breathe the air which they had created.
Averice avoids the puddles because he is grown-up like that sometimes, but I jump right in and laugh. There is no point in being scared of getting wet, because it always dries. And it is like taking a bath. After awhile, Averice is getting jealous of my fun and he joins me, walking in with his head dignified at first and pretending that this was too below him, but soon it is too hard to resist and we are dancing through the water.
When we are tired, we sit down on the curb. The lady in the big house across the street shuts the curtains so we can’t see her. But it doesn’t help, because I already know all I need to know about her.
The puddle in front of me looks refreshing and I take off my shoes so I can rest my bare feet in it. It is cold, but not a winter cold, so I stay. The surface of the water forms circles and shimmers, and I can see an image of what others see of me floating there, on top of the black concrete.
She is ugly.
The people who have told me so are right.
But I am not.
Beautiful, beautiful I am, as I sit there underneath the living sky and on this living rock. The water below me looks still, but I know that it will go. Like the feelings we get when people tell us we are ugly, inside and out. We can see it now, and it feels so. She is ugly, of course. But water comes and goes. The puddles get smaller and smaller, until they disappear. And when they rain down again, they bring something new. New people, new voices.
This puddle might show an ugly, ragged woman.
I wait for the next.


And A Song

I knew he was one of us as soon as I saw him. Not because of his unshaven face or the grime that covered him. His spirit matched us.
He did not pay us much attention though. Along he went, strumming and singing. Averice and I walked faster to match his gait.

In by the day and out by the night
Ah, milady, how much has passed
All the world can hear my cries
But only you know why.

His voice was as rough as his figure promised, and it held all the emotion I could hope to express. Averice and I were mesmerized. A wandering bard in this age? It only happened in stories.

Oh, you’ve promised me that I was your king
I gave you my home and a golden ring
The sparrows scolded but I chased them away
And only you know why.

Milady, milady, with your falling hair
Eyelashes long that wept me tears
That cherry smile and the rose of your cheeks--
Left; goodbye goodbye, milady dear,
And only you know why.

Oh milady, milady, with your falling hair
Eyelashes long that wept me tears…

He sang and he sang, and we followed his story. For once, I might have felt jealousy. If only I could do what he was doing, pour out my rain and my sun, my storms and winds like he could, through wood and string and notes.
Finally, when his song had tired, he let the birds take their turn, his instrument still clutched at his side. That wood and those strings, I did not know what it was, but I knew it was his Averice. A friend forever who knew what he was thinking and could speak it out for him. A connection to the world of respectable people, because the real people with the ironed clothes would touch an Averice, but they would not touch us.
When the birds had sang enough, he turned his head to us to join in our silent applause. His eyes spoke. Who are you?
Does it matter?
He looked at us, without compassion, without hatred. Nothing was to be said, so we three continued to walk. There was nothing strange.
And when the crickets began their concert and the stars opened their eyes to watch, he kept on walking as Averice and I lay down to enjoy. He would keep on going, far, far, far away to tell his stories. Who would listen, who would listen when everyone only cared for their own tales?
We would listen, Averice and I will listen. We are ears, like the wind and the maples and the feathers in the air.
They say it is difficult to be heard, and all they want is someone to hear.
But we are right here. Will you sing us a song, now?

The Cow Jumped Over the Moon

When we saw the apple lands, we immediately changed our direction without even consulting. The thought of fresh fruit, warm from the sun but still cool in our mouths, was enough to draw our feet off the road. We would feast now.
There was no fence because this Garden of Eden was for everyone. Down the weed stubbles and clipped grasses, into the land of happy childhood. Averice yipped and pawed at the lowest branches, but he couldn’t even reach them, and I laughed at him. Well, I can do things you can’t do too, he retorted, but I stuck my tongue out at him because he would have to settle for the ones already fallen back to earth.
The trees beckoned to me, inviting us to their party, and so I took the hand of one and swung up and on. We would dance and eat, and a chorus would sing. Averice whined and tried to grab on to my feet, and I kept on laughing at him.
What’s the magic word?
Please!
I reached out my arms and he jumped in, and together we scaled the forest until we were at the very tippy-top, luscious red adornments hanging around us like the decorations of a Christmas tree, except sweeter.

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Publication Date: 04-06-2010

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