I have become more translucent
the moment I got together with you,
fading out of substance,
and into an undefined background.
I have to look harder now
to see myself when I look
into the mirror to search
for the woman
I find more difficult
to remember on a daily basis.
How surreal she seems,
the bold one
who danced without restraint,
questioned nothing and everything,
and was dangerously free.
The flow of your dissatisfaction
at being single meanders
through your sentences,
staining them with the cold blues
of an angry sea.
But memory is a highway,
and we all take different exits.
My only peripherally involved
mind remembers all too clearly
what yours wants to suppress.
They are all there,
at your disposal
if you would accept them.
The memories of
those countless nights
you showed up at my door,
so ready to drown your misery
in a bottle of wine.
The many times I covered you,
and your pain with a blanket
after you fell asleep
on my couch.
Mostly I recall your eyes,
and this frightening emptiness
that seemed to have
burnt itself onto your retinas.
Do you not see that you
always were at your loneliest
whenever you were
in one of your relationships?
To this day
I can not comprehend
what made me fall for you.
This total deviation from
the good-guy motto,
the sudden insane plunge
into the bad-boy theme,
I am still amazed
at my own boldness.
I’ll just tick it off
as a tiny rebellion
that, to put it mildly,
didn’t turn out too well.
Nobody knows me as well
as you do, but it is not enough,
bared to the bone is not enough,
nothing is ever enough, is it?
You always dig deeper
in search of jewels and pearls,
I share with no one else,
so you can add them to your crown.
I can feel the holes in my mind
where your curiosity extracted
parts of me, the scraps and bits
that caught your interest.
And I wonder what will happen,
when my neural pathways dry up,
no longer retrieving juicy details,
when I have nothing left to give…
Casually you walked
into my orderly life,
and carved your name
across my memories.
Stubbornly your scent of sage,
cinnamon, and leather
clings to my susceptible senses,
holding my rationality captive.
Clearly, everything about you
is a descent into regression,
and obviously, a path
my treacherous heart craves.
All those moments
you shared with me
were hundreds of little gifts
you bestowed on me,
each one a second
of iridescent beauty,
each one a tiny
pearl of happiness.
I want to preserve them,
string them on a silk line,
compose them into
the most stunning necklace
and wear them around my neck,
fashion them into
the most revered jewelry
I will ever own.
© november child
photo credit: TenthMuse Photography via flickr
The keeper of time, merciless scoundrel,
has spoken again, capturing another shard of my life.
Ripped out of my mind with a victorious smile
and added to his expanding collection,
he thrives on the past I have to leave behind.
A greedy fat spider, he sits in patience watching
from the middle of his sophisticated net
for the next hapless moment to stumble and fall victim
to the clasping strings of this silken trap.
He carefully stores them in fragile glass urns,
meticulously labelled with places and names
to grant effortless access and a fast retrieval
when his quenchless hunger for my memories calls.
He savours my heartaches in tiny morsels,
relishing the salty flavour of my tears.
He feeds on my follies and devours my sins
with greedy haste, in impatient anticipation of more.
I ward him off, interrupting his steady advance
by keeping my memories close to my heart.
But Mistress Time is capricious and fading is imminent,
so he reclines unperturbed, certain of my failure,
assured of his triumph, content to wait.
That one
glorious moment
on the lakefront
of Loch Lomond,
remnants of warmth
settled on our skin,
a little breathless still.
We dreamt big
and then fell far.
in response to: Developing Your Eye – Day 7 – Big
summer
summer
summertime
sent us off
to the lake
smoking
boozing
smooching
skinny-dipping
never giving a toss
then life happened
damn it
I can still feel
sunlight & water
on my skin
Looking at you
is a reminder of
childhood days
when looking through
a kaleidoscope
was a miraculous thing.
– all prettiness –
At first the mind is blown
by the projection
of pretty colours
like those of a peacock
fanning its tail.
– all gaudiness –
I found myself
caught between
wondrous delight
and childish awe
for a while,
then I got bored.
– all pretense –
photo credit: duncan c via flickr
I think of
crumpled sheets
and, oh, those slow kisses
serotonin overload
crooked smiles
and endless craving
like chocolate…just better
love letters
and deliciously naughty thoughts
shivers in all the right places
deep voice
and sweet nothings
haunting melody in my head
long phone calls
and our shares of good-byes
imprint on my heart
What was I thinking?
To make sure I will not forget
I have painted a picture of you in my mind.
Of course over the years
in my thoughts you somehow got
quite a bit taller,
your grin a lot wider,
your hair fairly longer,
your eyes so much harder;
and I have no idea
where that beard came from.
All in all you come across
far more adventurous,
your demeanour more forceful,
your attitude more fierce,
so extremely heroic,
even a bit dangerous;
and I have no idea
where that sword came from.
artwork by Tyler Ryan
november child 