Saturday, December 10

Have I lost my mind?

So you're a bad boy. You have tattoos. You've been caught and done time. You've stolen things in your life, but this time you've gone too far. You stole my heart and I want it back.

Monday, December 5

Dear Ex, (Letter 1)

Dear Ex (You know who you are),

I may have had another boyfriend than you in my seemingly long life; but he was just a boy, a mere child inside a man's body. He is no more deserving of a letter than a kleenex lying on the floor, or a leaf on the ground. You though, you are an incredible person. We might not have had anything spectacular, or anything particulary worthy of note, but you have taught me more about individuality, self-worth, and love than anyone else I know. You, knowing perhaps a bit to well the consequences of your decision to be true to the person you are deep within, let the world know that you are a human, and you have the same right to love whoever your heart says to love, as the next person. Maybe more, because you have known utter pain, humiliation, and rejection, and are still willing to offer your heart to someone in exchange for their love, acceptance, and a hand to hold on the journey through life. I know now, at a more mature age, that what we had wasn't really a relationship, more of a social agreement born of curiosity, fear, and comfort. We were good friends first, and while, yes, that is the cornerstone for any great relationship, you and I both knew your secret. It is that secret that I kept for you, I wanted to protect you from society, as much as you wanted to seem normal, and to hide from your demons and ghosts. You are gay. And I love you for finding the courage to let the world know. People have turned on you, people have hurt you with all the hatred of their fear and personal loathing. I was initially selfish, I thought that when you came out to me, that it meant you were not attracted to me, and while it is true, you weren't, my self-esteem took a hit. Then I woke up one foggy morning and was looking out my bedroom window, and I realized a fundamental truth. This wasn't about me, it was about you. Once I grasped that simple revelation, my life got better.

I won't lie, you and I have had our share of fights. We've raged at each other with the fury of lovers, the subtle agony of siblings, and the knowledge that we would smooth things over that is only evident in the close relationship of friends. I thank you. You have taught me that when I find the perfect person, it will feel right. Things will click. No, they will not be easy, but they will be worth it, much like our friendship. And I will be there the day that you and your Mr. Right exchange sacred vows and rings. I love you for all that you are to me and the world and yourself. You are a precious, amazing human being, and I pray that when I do find that guy for me, that he will have many of the admirable traits I so love about you. Frankness, acceptance, strength, humor, kindness, and a strong, loving heart that has known pain, and as a result, would not wish pain upon me. Because of you I will be able to love him back, as a better person and as a better friend. -The Girl Who Kept Your Secret.

Tuesday, May 17

As the Sky Falls

We see the world they way we've been taught.
We chase things just long enough, they refuse to be caught.
I watched you tonight, you smiled and laughed;
How do I compare to that? I'm only just me.

Just me. I'm only one girl. I can only see the world this way.
I'm blind to how it all works. I don't know what to say.
But this time I want you to hear me. I want you to know.
I spent a long time, fearing the world. I was scared of what could happen.

I walked and meandered. I thought, but never felt.
I thought I understood, but I needed to be held.
Things are complicated, a tangled web of feelings.
We make them worse, every day a another strand of fear.

People walk around me, the sky begins to fall.
I look around this world and I feel so terribly small.
This time you drive away, and I struggle beneath it all.
I never thought I'd feel this way, powerless and alone.

I have to start all over, this time I'm on my own.
I judge everyones reaction--their look, their feel, their tone.
How do I know when I find myself the one?
Does a voice speak aloud, a warning bell, a gong?

I spent so much time with you, I forgot how to fall again.
This time is different, I remember how it went then.
I change it all, I make him mine, I don't waste this chance.
This one is for me, I can see that now. I'm supposed to smile and dance.

The greatest things in life are love, family and hope.
You gave me love, fear and doubt. Showed me how to cope.
He gave me family. He gave me hope, he loved me through it all.
And this time I know what to say, when the sky begins to fall.

Tuesday, April 26

Pick Five

I got this genius ideas from one of my favorite bloggers. Emily Schumann at Cupcakes and Cashmere is so incredible. Words cannot express how in love with her blog I am. But, I digress. Once a week she lists her favorite things. Sometimes there are long lists of lists. Other it's a short, five item list. For today, I have too much time on my hands and more than too many ideas rattling around in the forefront of my mind.
Blogs and/or Bloggers:

1. Emily Schumann of Cupcakes and Cashmere

2. Phyllis Grant of dash and bella

3. Jenny and Andy of Dinner: A Love Story

4. A Cozy Kitchen

5. Yummy Supper

And, before I get tired, or bored of this tabulating.

My favorite things this week.

1. Flowery summery shirts.

2. Old houses.

3. Smooth jazz, ala Dave Kaz, Kenny G, and Chris Botti.

4. Snow and rainstorms.

5. Grilled ham and cheese with lots of spicy mustard.

Tuesday, March 29

I loved you anyway...

Tears fall, one at a time
fingers fumble, and try to stop the flow
the silence is cold, and suddenly harsh.
Reality returns, and with it time speeds up.
The air is warm with the electricity of words said
Words not able to be taken back.
A hastened, "I'm sorry, I love her instead."
The slow, "Are you sure? You said you loved me."

Noise returns in incremental pieces.
A car around the corner, a bird outside the window.
The realization that the world was crying with her.
Rain began it's lazy descent
The curtains hung with their collected moisture.

Suddenly, with a breath of consciousness,
and a return to the normal, she grabbed her keys from the hook
and dashed for her car.
Turn the key.
Lights and wipers on.
Car in gear.
Thoughts came in fragments, pieces of greater actions.

Her head was protecting her heart from the pain...
Aimless wandering became a specific pattern.
The pattern she repeated every Tuesday night.
His house. The gas station on Third. Her mom's office.
The park. Then back to his house.

Her house grew large in her windshield.
The car in Park she sat and stared at the structure she knew so well.
This was it. This was ground zero.
Two hours ago she'd waited with bated breath.
A four word text.
"Can I come by?"

Now that it was dark she noticed her family moving silently.
Her mother laughed while standing at the stove.
Her father at the sink.
The dog was looking out the front door with a look of content.
All was well in this household. No broken hearts.
No fights late at night. No sadness.
Or so it appeared.

Hidden from the world was a different view.
The vodka bottles in the trash.
The pills in the cupboard by the bathtub.
The bruises and scrapes, so carefully concealed.
They looked like the poster family.
Father with a job at the bank.
Mother in a real-estate office.
Two older daughters in small colleges.
And a daughter who wore the wrong clothes.
Spoke the wrong way. And dated the wrong guys.

The world never saw the youngest Harper daughter.
No. Marissa was the black sheep. She was hidden away.
People would know about her now though.
Marissa would finally get noticed.

Blood fell. A drip at a time. This time the fingers didn't try to stop it.
The lights from cars flashed across her skin as they drove past.
This time no one stopped to help.
A pool of blood grew beneath her and trickled over the edge of the granite step.

When morning came it was too late.
Blood had congealed, and skin had turned a pale white.
Marissa had been noticed. The newspaper bore her picture.
This is what the Harper family really was like. A dead daughter.
Not just dead, but bloody and sordid.
The letter was short. It simply stated, "I loved you anyway."

Friday, March 11

What exactly?

As I start this, I caution you. I am not aware of a purpose for this entry. I have been working on college essays for the last few days. I am sick of editing, and proofing, and capitalizing, and making sure each i is dotted, and t crossed. I will acknowledge that such obsession is necessary, and hopefully it pays off. But at the same time I seek solace from my blog. My blog is 100% my own. It belongs to me. I can say what I want. The only glitch is I have so many things I want to say. Thoughts, ideas, scraps of poetry and songs roiling in my head, but I can't seem to project them into written word.
I have some strange ambitions in life. I have all the dreams that come standard-issue. I want to graduate college. I want to be successful. I want to witness a miracle. I want to have a family and a white picket fence, minivan and soccer practice included.
But then there are the wishes that I hold dear to my heart. The thoughts that come unbidden during times of quiet inactivity, or startle me during the oddest moments. I entrust you with these hopes, and fantasies. Some are time-worn, if they were on paper it would be soft, and creased, the edges torn and frayed, the writing yellowed with time. Others are still new, recently minted. The paper is crisp, and stiff, the writing is still precise and legible.
As I have explained at length before, I am waiting for Prince Charming. I know he'll find me. If I were a simple person I might leave it at that, and perhaps for your sanity I should. But I'm not simple, I'm complex, I like pickles in my grilled cheese, and potato chips with my ice cream; as if these food-related examples can portray my complexity and depth.
Someday I want to be in love with a man I trust. I don't want to fear for my safety, or the loyalty of our relationship. I want a man I can be myself with; if I want to dance to Madonna while I clean house, I want him to laugh with me, and think I have never looked more attractive to him. I want a man who is laidback and sweet, honest and sincere but not cruel. I want someone who will catch me when I fall in love with him.
I want lazy Sunday mornings. Sleeping til noon, and listening to soft jazz and blues on the radio. I want incredible rainy afternoons. I want 2 AM moments when I wake up and just listen to him breathing, moonlight dancing across his face. I want love, and passion, and joy, and security. I will become jaded with time, and I want to be able to look back at this list and remember the things that my innocent 19 year old heart desired.
I want to be a mother. I want the whole thing. The pain, and the nausea, the exhaustion, the irritation and hormonal insanity. I want to decorate the baby's room. I want to pick up my baby at 3 AM and calm he/she to sleep. I want to sit and hold it, marveling at it's perfect fingers and toes, beautiful eyelashes and my little nose. I want to kiss it's feet and breathe in that "baby smell."
I want to cry as my precious child goes off to school for the first time. I want to teach it how to ride a bike, and throw a frisbee. I want to take posed family Christmas pictures. And decorate for holidays.
I want to be successful, but I am careful when I define success. I want to be happy, and have money. But I don't want to be a slave to my career. I want to take the time to play games with my kids and husband. To spontaneously take trips to the lake, or grandma and grandpa's house.
I want a happy marriage. One defined by the great times, and the everyday happiness we find in ourselves. I don't want to worry about infidelity or betrayal. I want to know that my husband loves me and wants to spend his life with me. I want to be a grandmother, and sit on our porch watching our grandchildren search for Easter eggs, or scuffling in autumn leaves.
I want to always be close to my sister. She and I can spend 2 hours apart, and when we see each other again act like it's been 2 weeks. We talk about literally everything. She is so smart, and supportive, and good to me. I can't fathom what my life would be like without her. I make a lot of claims, but she is my best friend in this whole world. I want to live near her family, I want to spoil her kids rotten, and invade her kitchen and take over.

It's not surprising that my dreams are all related to relationships, and love, and happiness. I don't see how money and fame and success in a stressful field lead to fulfillment. I don't have any guarantees what life will hold for me. But if I get some of these things I will be the happiest person ever.

Wednesday, February 16

Those Words....

Three words that can change a life.
To each person they mean something
Different. I love you. Panic. Joy.
Fear. Hope. Love. Terror.
Love is a tonic; it can heal the broken hearted.
Love is a poison; it can ruin lives.

Love is not at all what it seems. 
I hear those words and I panic. 
Why can things never, 
Stay the way they were.
Was it so wrong to be friends?
More than friends.
Now you have expectations. Duties I can't fulfill.
You look to me to hang the moon...
I'm hiding behind the stars.

You tell me I'm beautiful and
I run for the hills. You want to be close
I want to be free.
Why can't you see?
Why can't you hear me?
This isn't what I want.
I want freedom. I want independence.
You want love, you expect my
Obedience, loyalty, faithfulness, and respect.
I don't want a ring, and I don't want what this has become.
You look to me for happiness.
I look to myself for that.

This is not fair to me.
You want more than I can give.
Your affection and acceptance scare me. 
I've had this before, I've liked, I've loved. 
And I've been hurt. Scarred, scared, bruised.

In turn I hurt you. I turn you into myself.
You become bitter. Cynical. Untrusting.
You have become me. You can see what it took
To do this to me.
You understand. And when she falls for you;
You do what I did. You run. You panic.
You scream to yourself.
You hide with your ghosts. You hate that she cares.
You hate that she can't understand your fear.
Just the way I hated you for falling in love with me.

The whole problem.
The whole mistake. Is that once, I cared. I believed.
And I got hurt. Thanks to those three damn words, 
Lives are changed. I. Love. You.
Those words shouldn't be allowed.
All they do is hurt.

Now. I realize I was wrong once.
It wasn't that I can't love.
It is that I couldn't love then.
Now. I realize that I can love.
Those words...that I couldn't say.
Now I can say them.
Now I know what they mean.

You will find love. And she will find love.
It wasn't that love was wrong, it's that love
Came at the wrong time.
And we weren't ready for that kind of power.

When the right person comes along love is all there is.
Fear is gone. And freedom is still ours.
The right person won't rob you of all that is important.
They magnify those qualities.
They teach those lessons.
And they say those words.

Thursday, February 10

Waiting for Prince Charming

I quite recently got in a light-hearted debate with my best friend, and we bantered back and forth on the availability of Prince Charming. She's a dyed-in-the-wool cynic. She is of the belief that when the zombie apocalypse rolls around she will be fighting on her own. I maintain that when that happens, I'll have a special someone who will protect me, and let me fight alongside him. He'll be the guy who get's a congratulatory kiss when we outwit our rotting counterparts. But I digress. I loved fairy tales as a kid, I imagined myself as Snow White, doing laundry for a group of well-meaning dwarfs and being awakened from a slumber of death by a kiss from a handsome prince. Or as Belle in Beauty and the Beast, winning the heart of the hurt and lonely Beast. I used to spend days on end dressing up, sometimes as Laura from the Little House on the Prairie books, other days as Rose from Titanic. In my mind's eye, they had the perfect lives, either they were making a place for themselves in the world, with a manly Almanzo by their side, or they were being swept off their feet by a handsome artist. A few years later, in an attempt to mimic my mother's cowgirl bravado I decided I didn't need a man, I failed to realize that my mom has my dad to help her out, but that didn't matter at the time. I spent three years wearing nothing but high-waisted jeans, cowboy boots, and button up shirts. I'd talk cattle with her for hours, and try to soak up her tough-girl mystique. Somewhere along the line I got bored. I eventually found myself, the real me, not someone I was trying to be to impress people. Let's face it, I love the color pink, I wear makeup, I'll get up two hours earlier than a sane person so I can shower, and do my hair and makeup. I pick outfits out a week before I need them. I pack my clothes and toiletries meticulously when I'm traveling. I like perfume, and lacy lingerie, and I have an unbridled affinity for handbags and wallets. I feel really sexy when there is black lace under my clothes, and I have mascara carefully applied. I love browsing through antique shops, and I will go shopping anytime, anywhere. I read romance novels, I unabashedly listen to sappy love songs, and I watch every chick flick I can get my hands on. And the thing about all of that is, that's who I am. And when Prince Charming finds me he will be masculine, and handsome, and exactly what I need. He will be the man I date, and dance with, and fall in love with. He's the man I will fall head over heels for, seduce, and eventually marry. I will have a family with him, and someday, long in the future, we will be old, and gray, and sitting on our front porch watching our grandkids cavort and carry on in our front yard.
My best friend has convinced herself that she will be alone. And I love her very very much, and I do try to be patient, but her cynicism is tiring. I want to throttle her, and scream at her that somewhere out there is the perfect man for her. He will do all the cooking, and will hold her close when they watch horror movies, he will woo her with the written word because that's the fastest, and purest way to her heart. I watch her now, she's 18, and I think with a surety that can only come from a long-fostered patience that the man for me will find me, that in time she will realize that if she gives up completely now, that the man for her is out there, wondering when his Cinderella will happen along, and he will be heartbroken beyond repair. Maybe the white-picket fence ideal is a little suburban for her. I'll grant her that, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't dream. Every girl, no matter what race, age, background or income level, should trust that she will someday be wooed by the man of her dreams. Every girl deserves to feel like the most perfect person in the world to someone. Every girl should have a day, that is entirely hers, she should wear a white dress and tiara that make her feel like the princess, to her mate's Prince Charming. And my hope is that she will realize she deserves happiness as much as everyone. That someday, down the road from here, when the perfect man finds her, that her heart will bloom under the attention, and care of his affection and love for her. I know, that when Prince Charming comes knocking at my door, I will be ready for him. And all that our happily ever after entails. And because I love my friend so dearly, I can only hope that she will still believe in happily ever after when her chance comes along. Maybe he will be her knight in shining armor, ready to rescue her from monotony, and treat her like the queen she is. Or perhaps he will be the King Simon to her Brave Margaret, from Irish lore, he will march into battle with the woman he loves. I don't know how her fairy tale will end, but I do know, that her Prince Charming is out there.

Wednesday, February 9

College plans...

This previous weekend I went to Denver to hang out with family, and check out the college I was thinking about. One thing led to another and by Saturday night I had application paperwork, and student housing paperwork. Classes start the weekend after the Fourth of July. There are so many things I have to do before I will be safely ensconced within the walls of the Art Institute. I have to take the Accuplacer test, I have to get my transcripts, I have to fill out paperwork, pray that I can find some form of financial aid, or a scholarship. I have to fill out page after page of roommate application paperwork, I have to fill out the actual application. I have to write essays. And, if all goes according to plan, and I hope it does, then after I get accepted I have even more work to do. I have to find a job in Denver, I have to go shopping for everything I'll need while I'm living in "The Towers." I have to buy books, schedule classes, get my work clothes for lab. I have to pack roughly a quarter of my precious belongings, and move them in amongst those of a girl I don't yet know. I have to say goodbye to my family, take a million pictures, and get in my truck and drive away. I have to download Skype on my laptop (another thing I need to buy) so I can talk to my family, and my Emily and Jeff and whoever else I won't survive without. I'll have to fondle our beagles ears, kiss my horses nose, ruff up my cat, and kiss my youthful innocence goodbye. I'll have to enter the hustle and bustle of a city of 2.9 million people, and lose the importance I have in a small town. I won't be Anni, Dave and Kelly's daughter, anymore. I'll be judged on my own now. I will be held to the criticisms of the other kids in my classes. I'll be held accountable for my actions, and won't be able to get by on my family's reputation. I won't be able to run outside, and dash through our trees with our beagle. I'll be fenced in by too many miles of road between myself and my precious family. But not all is lost. I will gain an identity. I will become my own person. I will be given wings, and only I will be able to limit my flight. I will make new friends, some for life. I will fall in love, maybe for a week, maybe forever. I will take classes that challenge me, and my beliefs. I will take a stand for everything I believe in. And in so doing will reaffirm my loyalties. I will get an education, and gain responsibility. I will strengthen and deepen my independence. I will have achieved something worthy of note. I will become a college graduate. I will be recognized for my talents and abilities. I will accomplish something that I sent my mind on. So with the next 5 months looking intimidating, but nonetheless attainable, I'm excited for my future and all it holds for me.

Tuesday, February 1

Loss of innocence?

I have lost my innocence. And I have Bob Vila to blame. He did not properly prepare me for this moment. I was sent out into the world with the cold indifference and thoughtless brutality reserved for such momentous events as the first day of kindergarten, or the launching of nuclear weapons. In my own way I was armed, only with a bucket of Minwax Helmsman Spar Semi-Gloss Urethane, a paintbrush, and a pair of nitrile gloves. I had previously regarded such "craftsman" as Bob Vila, and Tim "Toolman" Taylor with high regard and sincere respect. I now consider these phony television hosts and the sadists from HGTV with nothing less than full-fledged disappointment bordering on malicious intent. They assure you that with the appropriate gadgets and handy tools available only from their line currently for sale at Home Depot, Ace Home and Garden, or Lowes that you too can tackle any home improvement task with confidence and the assuredness that can only come from wearing the kitschiest of "work" clothes (read: perfect fitting jeans, cute teeny tiny polo shirts in pastel colors, ludicrously expensive hiking shoes.) 
So there I was, 8 AM on a sunny Friday afternoon, bedecked in the most awful clothes I was able to find in my closet. I had a full gallon can of Urethane and a room full, and I do mean full (floor to ceiling) of cupboards, and drawers. My task was to coat each section of wood several times with that gooey, awful, fumy substance. To say the least I was not thrilled, but for the time being I was remarkably broke and minimum wage was sounding appealing. I won't bore you with every detail, but I spent every day from Friday until Tuesday night working on the blasted things. And by Saturday morning I had enlisted the help of my mother and little sister.  It is now Tuesday evening. We are finished. There is Urethane in our hair, on our clothes, all over the floor, and even some of it made it onto the woodwork itself. And here I come to my point. The home renovation and improvement shows fail to prepare you for tasks such as these. They smile, dip their paintbrush in the bucket, and then take one pass over whatever they are treating, then skip the next three weeks of agonizing work, and tell you how easy it is, and how you can have the same results. I loathe, no, that word fails to carry the full impact of my emotions, I execrate both home improvements and the people who tout them on TV. It's not as easy as they say, in fact, they lie! 

Monday, January 31

"Done already?"

I have sat here looking at this screen for over an hour and a half. I'll type a few lines, then read them and realize what I've said sounds remarkably stupid, or cliched, or too philosophical for me. I'll hit Backspace and then I'm met again with a blank text box. So I repeat my actions, type a few more lines, maybe lyrics this time, or the first part of a story. But then I reread them and realize what I've said sounds juvenile, or worse, like a cheap, poorly written knockoff of someone better's work. Isn't that the way it is. Everything we do has been done before. Song written for someone we love? Done. Scrambled eggs for dinner? Done. Tank top and jeans? Done. That's a pity. Because what is the point for so much of our life, if not to be able to say we were the first to do something. I envy Hillary and Norgay, I'm jealous of Peter and Marie Curie, I wish avidly that I were Steinbeck or Hemingway. They broke ground, they were the pioneers of their fields. Perhaps Steinbeck and Hemingway weren't the first men to take pen to paper and give people wings with their words. But nonetheless, they will be remembered. What will I be remembered for? What will people connect with my name? What will bear my mark long after I am gone? Will anyone remember me? People try to comfort each other with lines like, "Don't worry, you are young, you have time. Enjoy your youth, you'll have time to think about stuff like that when you are old." What futile encouragment.... Time is fleeting, and if squandered now, in the enjoyment of youth, it will be lost forever. For the time being I console myself with the fact that I may have already made a mark. Perhaps made an indelibly lasting impact on someone's life. And that I will use what time I do have, to make a greater impact. I won't settle for mediocrity but will challenge myself to excellence.

Wednesday, January 26

I never asked...

I never asked to live this life
but I was given a life to live 
and live I will...

I never asked to get hurt
but that's the price of trying
to find Prince Charming...

I never asked to be lied to
but it made me trust some people more
and learn who wasn't worth it...

I never asked to be your friend
but I'm glad I am
even if I forget to tell you every day...

I never asked for you to leave
but you did and it hurt
it also made me stronger...

I never asked for adversity or struggles
but they made me a better person
who I should be, not what I settled for being...

I never asked to live this life
but the lessons I'm learning 
are worth the price I pay.

Too old for Fairy Tales?

They say I am too old to believe in fairy tales
But I want more than anything else, a knight
To save me, in shining armor, riding a white steed.
Maybe he will really wear worn out jeans and a sweatshirt,
But I know that he will be a friend and confidante
Someone unafraid to hold me and say it'll be all right.
I know I sound like a kid again as I make this wish,
Oh but if he only knew that I was out there, and needed
A hero again. I don't say anything about my wish,
Afraid of what they might think, but if he finds me
I won't be afraid ever again. Maybe I already know him,
He just doesn't know he is the one who will calm my fears
And hold me close. I have everyone else convinced that I am
Strong and brave, but sometimes I want to be able to drop that
Front and worry about my life and where it is going.
I seem to be calm and collected, always cool. Never a problem
To ripple the surface of my image. But beneath it all
I don't know what to do. I am confused and scared, terrified of my
Destiny, will I be the perfect person they think I am or will I turn
Out to be a mess, scarred and bruised. A broken heart can only be mended
By one thing, the love of another human being. Ah but only if fairy tales
And wishes came true, my heart would be whole, my life
A trophy. Hanging in the balance is my heart, easily mended by
A kind word and a consoling hug. But will I ever get that
Treasure, easily described but painfully attained. Something swinging
Just out of my grasp, I, more than anything else, want my hero, my knight,
My healer to step out of the shadows that surround my life and hold me, whisper to me,
And tell me that he loves me. Fairy tales always end with happily everafter,
What does my everafter contain. Is it happiness and love, or
The weeds and thorns of a despair and brokenheartedness.
If only I had a crystal ball, to look into and see what my future was
Woven of, the beautiful silken strands of dreams come true and perfect harmony
Or the ugly, worn threads of sadness and loneliness. Fairy tales are for the young and cheery, but if only the fairy tale my life  could become would transform itself into reality and
Make my life a fairy tale of its own.

Any Happy Ending?

There's only one of two ways my life will end,
Am I going to die happy, loved and content?
Or will my days end, looking for something better just around the bend?
Chariot of fire, or angel special sent?

I could die sad, but I'd really rather not
Depends if I find the one, my Mr. Right.
Will I sneak in the back, hope I don't get caught
Hold my breath and wait for the fight?

I could die in the arms of a man I really love
Memories of our life, our time as girl and boy
Patiently wait for my ride from above
I pray my death brings sorrow and joy.

Will I go out with anger and blood, tears and abandon?
Lonely is a side effect, alone is a choice.
Maybe I'll die by fatal attraction
Know I stopped to listen to the voice.

But is it too much to wish for a perfect life?
Diamond ring, vows, pretty white princess dress.
My wish? to be a mother and a wife
Am I wrong to refuse to settle for less?

No one knows how my last hour will conclude. 
I could guess, I could surmise.
I could hurry it along. Maybe it will end as if it had been cued.
But for me, I'd prefer a surprise.