Shattered

This time it is broken. 

All those harsh words thrown around. Our angry bodies. Not wanting to understand each other’s point of view. That last stance, and a walk away. 

This time it is broken.

Oh, sure. A patch here, glue there. We could try to fix it up. But glass, once shattered, will no longer be the same. In that glass, broke all its memories, its moments, its experiences. 

This time it is broken. I see it now, I see it there…the beginning of the end. 

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If There Were A Word More Loving Than Love

How did we meet?
One day, a butterfly flew like a petal and made a small flutter
How did we meet and end up here?
The corner of the street where we exchanged our love in spring.
It was a sudden miracle.
We slowly held hands as we walked down the street together.
The dandelions beneath the telephone pole swayed brightly.
How did we manage to walk pass all those times together?
Were we able to reach love because we walked past such lovable moments?
I came to believe there’s no such thing as coincidence in love
In order to make two people fall in love with each other
I believe universe calculates even the smallest of happenings
Including the wings stroke of a butterfly.
An inevitable miracle.
I didn’t want to think that…we met by a mere coincidence.
So…the only thing I can do is to do my best…

Once, I read the page of the book you used to read aloud to myself.
Once, I sat on the chair you used to sit on and closed my eyes in order to feel your warmth.
Once, I even caressed the rim of the cup you used to use with my fingertips
An inevitable miracle.
I didn’t want to think that…we met by a mere coincidence.
So…the only thing I can do is to do my best…
To love you
At the moment, I am…passing through your love.

Who

“You will, either in 2017 or 2019. I see it in your numbers,” he said.

“Really? I would never have thought so. But why can’t I see it?” she replied plaintively.

“It just is. Maybe it will happen faster, in 2017 than in 2019.”

And so the roots of hope form, like an idea. Cobb has said once, and many times at once: An idea. Resilient, highly contagious. Once an idea’s taken hold in the brain, it is almost impossible to eradicate. A person can over it up, ignore it-but it stays there.

But hope, like ideas, can be insidious. Quietly skating, sliding around, lightly sticking to the meneges of the brain. On this end, it is waiting. Waiting for that one chance to crush it all.

Will it happen, or will it not? If it happens, will it be good? If it doesn’t, how will she feel?

And she continues to dance, dance, dance.

Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.

– Mary Oliver

Posted in oui |

Time

In my mind, maybe I already have the answer, but am afraid to admit it to myself, and to him.

The other day:
“How much do you really like me?” he asked.
“Much more than I should,” was the answer I didn’t dare reply.

It is mid-afternoon now, and we are alone in a small, brightly-lit room. Outside, the world goes on its business. Here, time slows down. He sleeps, across the table that separates us. The green sofa he is on swallows him in. His new red shirt is rumpled from his moving about. He stirs, opens his eyes, gives me a crooked little smile, then goes back to navigating around in his subconsciousness.

His sleep allows me time. Time to admire the long lashes that rest gently on his cheeks. Time to memorise the shape of his lips. Time to recall how his hair feels in my hands. Time. Something we have been trying to manipulate since we started feeling something for each other. Saving time, squeezing time, dragging out time, borrowing time, stealing time, stopping time.

Time… This word is starting to break my heart.

I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?

Posted in non |