The Red Tailed Hawk

She soars elegantly. Her grace is easily noticed, even only as a spec high above, swallowed in the deep blue. Her beauty is radiant. Drifting at ease, with perfection. Peacefully observing the surroundings on the ground so far beneath her wide wingspan. She's in a world of her own; the most beautiful of her species. Peacefully stalking her prey: learning his every move, his weaknesses. Her beak projects a wonderful call, "keeer-r-r" to tease those around her who are attracted to her. She knows they either want to be with her or be her; she feels the envy and feeds off it. She can see his vulnerability in the way he looks up at her: his eyes full of curiosity. But this curiosity blinds him. He overlooks her sharp talons and her pointed beak; he doesn't see that she lives to spread her wings to their full wingspan and fly freely through the air, piercing through clouds, flying her life nine clouds above the rest of the world, and worry-free. But these things are transparent to him. He only sees her shiny, soft feathers and beautiful tail and deep brown eyes.

His love is ignorant that her spirit is all she knows. Her beak is to feed, her talons to shear, and her feathers only to support her high-flying lifestyle. Once she has fixed her eyes on a target, he stands no chance; her claws are soon to follow. He is at her mercy--he becomes her game, her prey. She could humor him and have her fun circling him, toying with him. But she is never hesitant to strike when the game has been played, and her fun has grown old. Then this beautiful creature will have her claws into him, and her beak that once sang a glorious tune will become a deadly weapon. She will strike him at his weakness. She played long enough to observe and discover it, and soon she will take full advantage at his offered vulnerability; his passion. She will circle high above, elegantly in her own world, before she swoops down and tears at his heart.

Jinxed

Between Beer Pong games at one of my best friend's house, Derek Stanley, I cannot delay this blog any longer. Plebe year at the Point is almost complete: Grad week is all that remains, which for me begins an intense three week course in DIRT (physical geography), and then we're recognized as Private First Class Cadets until our completion of Cadet Field Training at Camp Buckner where we will don the Gold Brass as Corporals. Such Excitement. Crazy how just the other day, I swear I was anxiously awaiting R-day for CCBT to begin my unforgettable experience at USMAPS, and here I sit awaiting to be pinned that one shiny little bar that carries an all powerful authority.

But as the night continues, my plan to drink away reality and enter a mental sublime goes on. I Lose track of time, and all that pertains to the world as I know it. No hallucinogens tonight though. Nonetheless, an "AUM" state, I hope for. Though I've reflected enough on life thus far to have a few things figured out, I've reached nothing close to a conclusion of how I really feel. My purpose, my ambition, and the only thing I've ever been passionate about has betrayed me once more.

Love can be an evil thing.

I don't get it. It is our reason to live. Compassion with a lover. Camaraderie with friends. This is what we live for. So, Why would Cupid shoot his arrow through my heart and into Hers knowing that She could not return my feelings to me. Did he know that his glorious spell would eventually fade and She would soon aspire for something more--Let me clarify "more." More: carefree, unrestricted, conscienceless, free-spirited, wild and crazy promiscuous nights, balancing one text from Marcel (not to be confused with FRIENDS character Ross' pet monkey), and another from Marcus. Gaming the two of them depending on who's available at the moment. Exciting atmosphere. Meaningless with all of them, but all that M&M is such good chocolate. She loves it. Right now is all that matters. The night. The time.

I curse this curse that Cupid has injected into my system. Why not me? Why can't this spell be countered so that I can also have "more?" I fantasize, and to be honest, remember times of those notorious one night stands: her boyfriend irrelevant, the time unknown, the attraction electrifying. she Sneaked through the window and grabbed me, stripped down to bare flesh before I could even mention her dude's name. Reality erroneous, Erection reality. Sure the fantasy is fulfilled and the moment is complete, but when the bacon and eggs and orange juice are digested the next morning with guilt and embarrassment of virtue, the moment when she gasped her last breath of pleasure seems minuscule in the scheme of life. I see now why that cannot be my story. That is not who I am. Cupid's misguided missile of love has stricken my heart and filled my soul long ago and I have been and will forever be a Hopeful-Romantic lost in this wild twenty-first century. Waiting. For Her.