What caught me off-guard was how I did not feel like crying, it only came. At some moment everything she said was making sense, and I was not afraid anymore. She was fighting for us all along. We would have to learn how to be apart. We would find ourselves, first, before each other.
As she drove off with her friend, she left me with a sense of youthful naiveté; I was renewed and unsure of what these days would do to me. I turned on the music to a newfound energy. I was setting out, but where to go? and how to get there?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
March showers bring April floods
I skim over poems when I read them, seeking answers in their brevity. Same as when I write; to the point and under the dust of cryptic words. Rhythm and melody as scribbles in ink: all similes and alliteration. Always my black notebook is poised for recording the next mixtape gem or life-altering moment maker. That path is already part of my past and it hearkens me to return. To fall at the feet of my own good ideas and believe they carry weight. Crying over my own sentiment only means I'm being self-indulgent. It was meant to be your happiness. I can convince myself, but I find that my heart's match may not be so easily persuaded. Or I am making substance from the breaths in our conversation, they hold hopes for only moments 'til we turn our tired eyes to opposite sides of the bedroom.
Moving on. Another shot at a catch phrase for finding love.
Moving on. Another shot at a catch phrase for finding love.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
in like a very sunny lion
It was a warm Sunday in early March.
The night before I went out drinking with my roommate, Alex. We had intended to celebrate our friend Dan's birthday, but he took a last minute trip across the state and neglected to inform us. I was already two glasses and a shot of whiskey down when I found out, and it was his birthday after all, so I didn't mind much. I had been awake since 8:00 that morning so I could give Sarah a ride to work, and while I had braced for a long night, heading home to instant sleep in a few hours sounded wonderful. After I finished my first pint of beer we moved to another bar serving food. The jukebox skipped one of my favorite songs, and we chatted for an hour or so about this and that before I admitted how tired I was. We walked home, forgetting that the day's warmth was no longer with us. There was still a line of people outside Rose O' Grady's; I only shivered when we walked past them.
This morning I woke at 10:00 without an ounce of a hangover. I made some coffee and sat in bed reading the book Julie let me borrow last year that I've been trying to finish. Alex had asked me to wake him up at 11:00 so we could get breakfast, but remembered that his mom was taking him to lunch. I made myself an egg sandwich and opened all the windows of the living room. I lit some incense and let the sound of the birds mingle with Tape's Rideau. This is how I wake myself on weekends. Welcoming the day and being thankful for all its hours offer. Afterwards was breathing in the practically-spring air; taking a first jog of the year and helping Sarah make a poster for her uncle's candle business.
Tomorrow will be warmer, and that is something magical. Something undefinable and out of reach. Like the way a woman's long skirt sways as she walks: her hips swinging with the melody of the sunshine. She does not look at me, I am simply in awe. At that moment she is above our human feelings, out of any love she might feel and only embraced by the Day for how she moves. Even if she turns to see me staring, and smiles, we are not connected. I believe in that moment it is the joy of living that shines on her face. A radiance I am in no league with, and must sit in silent appreciation of, because it will be gone when she speaks.
The night before I went out drinking with my roommate, Alex. We had intended to celebrate our friend Dan's birthday, but he took a last minute trip across the state and neglected to inform us. I was already two glasses and a shot of whiskey down when I found out, and it was his birthday after all, so I didn't mind much. I had been awake since 8:00 that morning so I could give Sarah a ride to work, and while I had braced for a long night, heading home to instant sleep in a few hours sounded wonderful. After I finished my first pint of beer we moved to another bar serving food. The jukebox skipped one of my favorite songs, and we chatted for an hour or so about this and that before I admitted how tired I was. We walked home, forgetting that the day's warmth was no longer with us. There was still a line of people outside Rose O' Grady's; I only shivered when we walked past them.
This morning I woke at 10:00 without an ounce of a hangover. I made some coffee and sat in bed reading the book Julie let me borrow last year that I've been trying to finish. Alex had asked me to wake him up at 11:00 so we could get breakfast, but remembered that his mom was taking him to lunch. I made myself an egg sandwich and opened all the windows of the living room. I lit some incense and let the sound of the birds mingle with Tape's Rideau. This is how I wake myself on weekends. Welcoming the day and being thankful for all its hours offer. Afterwards was breathing in the practically-spring air; taking a first jog of the year and helping Sarah make a poster for her uncle's candle business.
Tomorrow will be warmer, and that is something magical. Something undefinable and out of reach. Like the way a woman's long skirt sways as she walks: her hips swinging with the melody of the sunshine. She does not look at me, I am simply in awe. At that moment she is above our human feelings, out of any love she might feel and only embraced by the Day for how she moves. Even if she turns to see me staring, and smiles, we are not connected. I believe in that moment it is the joy of living that shines on her face. A radiance I am in no league with, and must sit in silent appreciation of, because it will be gone when she speaks.
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