Jungle Spring

As a child you discovered your little jumps weren't you flying, jumping is your soul’s gasp for life; and when you jump for joy, you aren’t racing anyone - you simply run. I’ll challenge myself to a race, I’ll win, I’ll wait to see, and then I’ll try again. If I’m tempted to sit, I’ll stand because my life can’t be good forever. I won’t let myself be lured by the dark, gray skies, with their heavy tears pouring down on me. I don’t accept rainy invitations anymore. Those burdensome droplets are for lovers, with hearts full of joy, while my eyes are rude, I smell bad and I look ugly. At least, that’s what they say about me. What do they want? I don’t know. Sure, I may be ugly, but what else is new? Life is full of ugliness, and the subjectiveness of beauty is fading - in my point of view. My excessive activity makes them lazy and slow, but I move because I can’t stay still. I’m like a river in that sense - ever moving, ever changing. Nothing can stop me, not even a mountain. I’m searching for a never-ending wonder. I am not a creature of habit, it dulls my passion. I also can’t tolerate lazy company because I am always in motion. No good comes from staying still, not even for an hour. I stop only when I work, and think as a means of resting my body and that is when I find myself daydreaming of my beloved. I am occasionally lost in reverie - a dreamer, a wanderer with much that is out of reach. Will she still want me despite what she hears about me? A question that makes my body flutter wingless. I am occupied with her love again, her shyness and my pride. Are there not souls that accept and transcend the other’s faults? Are they not able to forget, even for a short time? Life will end while we wait, anticipating, and perhaps silent, and dry branches will sprout from the seeds of despair. My flaws are many and my despised biography is not good, but really, what’s new? Even mosquitoes draw back when they see me for some reason. I reprimand myself, boil myself with my own tongue, as if everything was said about me isn’t enough for me. Am I from such a degenerate lineage that allows for such injustice from my loved one? I pity myself and fear the great fall into an endless spiral of sadness. Let me explain it to you, then you can judge and decide. I love her, but she doesn’t care. I don’t know if she even carries an atom of affection towards me. She said to me once, “You are not a gentleman.” She’s right. I lack chivalry - I’m not noble, nor a hero, nor an angel. In fact, this is what she always does. I bring her the moon, and she flirts with the sun. I give her the rain, she contemplates the clouds. Dear God, be of help to me for the soldiers of love have invaded me, and I have saddled my horses for them. Make her my beloved, Oh Lord, and make the veins of my heart her dwelling. My sweetheart is known for her poise and strong will, this is why I love her. I don’t want a fool who repeats words like a parrot. I want her to be beautiful and intelligent. I find myself swimming in the magic of her eyes, and I melt, but what breaks my heart is that she doesn’t want me. To whom do I confide in about my anxiety, my weakness, my anguish, anger, and despair? I am alone, dwelling, weaving threads of imaginary hope that perhaps, perhaps she may be satisfied with me as a lover, or a friend. I was alone with her one night, it was so awake with the light of her face, it seemed like a bright dawn. We exchanged looks that kindled fires in me. I lost sense of all logic and I stumbled for words. She asked me if I loved her. My heart takes over to answer and she asks what’s wrong with my heart. My eyes respond with a look that says, “why is your heart unmoved?” Perhaps she is teasing or testing me. Who is like her with such intelligence and brilliance to seek reassurance and certainty?