I know you’re not real
But I’d like to believe you exist out here in this great wide world, somewhere. Maybe you’re the every other person that’s walking down the street. Maybe you have a billion eyes of all colors.
The howling of the wind is a song
Written and sung by you
For me to hear– it plays with me
Near my ears
It plays with my hairs
It feels like your finger prints. They’re so different from mine; your fingers are pristine, long, and callous. I hold them between my hands and place them over my face. Feel me, feel my eyes,
my nose and my lips.
Hold me, and take me to the space with you.
Make the stars dance to a tune
That you’ve written
Take me on a ride in your dreams
We’ll explore the great wide unknown
Moon to moon, star to star
I’ll listen to every word you have to say, I’ll look at every little thing you point at
You are a mystery to me
And all these little matters stack together and create you;
I pause and assess each one
I hope you believe me when I say that I’m not so dumb
But around you I’m a mute
I think this is forever, don’t you think so too? When you find something to be fixated in?
Like the lines through your face
The scars that tell a story
I could read them on and on and over and over
In circles, sideways, and forever
Here in the dark
Just if you don’t move
You just smile, and it cracks a secret code
That you’ve created for me to unlock
We kiss; wondering if this is real
Believing in our existence
Feeling our leathery skins
You’re so soft when I touch you
I wonder if you think the same when you touch me too
We are on the same page; the same musical notes on a staff
The same frequency of the waves that surround us and flow in and out of us
We’re made of all the little pieces of dust that make the whole universe
The bumps on your skin
The feel of veins on your wrists
Your soft lips
The curvature between your cheekbone and the side of your face
The hollows of your eyes
The bristles of fine hair
In the landscape of your nape
The burden on your shoulders
I hold your hands before me
The scent of your efforts and heartbreaks
I reach for your lips; forgive me for being so forefront
Forgive me for not stopping
Forgive me for being so hasty
For being so slow
For all things that I can’t provide, and for the little that I can
I want to give you everything
I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and ever miss this
I don’t ever want to leave this
I’m just afraid that I might lose this
She was a blonde high-school classmate who wanted to become a missionary one day. On the bus ride home, she told me about a time when someone she knew got into a car accident and almost became decapitated, or was decapitated. I eventually learned what that meant. Those days were cold and grey from what I recall. Sports jackets and pathetic blue jeans. Rice paper powder face and straight long hair. Cold wet basements and visions of a blue house along with thoughts on what it’s like to be grown and to be so far away from all this darkness here. Across the seas and straight to Europe, people probably lived a better life. Riding a car around blue hills with headphones on. From the basement window, the bleak daylight used to shine where I stood. And my heart would skip thinking about the college guy who could save me. He sat at the dinner table with a pack of cigarettes. He had a checkbook and a history of love affairs. I keenly listened and made glamorous assumptions about the adult world and was jealous of him and his freedom and all that. It was sad thinking about what could have been in those times of eye liners and flare jeans. Maybe weekend trips to California and a dark haired boy to go out on dates with and to brag about. But those were tied to dreams with the blue hills and convertibles; far out of my reach. In order to live you have to have cheap thrills so that’s where his cigarettes and stories came in. Those were hopeless cold times and my skin was pale and the clouds were grey and my eyes twinkled at whatever that flickered before me.
It’s been 273638 years, and traces of you run through my veins
Like rivers branching through the landscape from long lost reservoirs
It’s been 282738 years, and thoughts of you are buried underneath this earth over layers and layers of transitory sediments
Only you can uncover a side of me that’s deep within
That only a few have seen
Only you can awake a part of me that’s been sleeping
It’s useless; every other emotion
that I’m feeling right now.
I don’t know where to find you.
I’m lost again.
I’m seeking beyond the pages printed with dry scientific words. I’m skimming through the shopping catalog plastered with fake beautiful faces.
It’s faster than the car ride that can’t seem to fly higher; tastier than a meal that just can’t satisfy.
This hunger, for strictly you.
smaller than a molecule in the furthest corner of a parallel, deep, dark universe. So much further than tomorrow morning
so nonexistent right now.
This night is cursed and callous,
Everything chokes of dust and death. My throat is calcified, and my skin is pale. I try and try to leave this place
but it’s in my face
like a wall of bricks. I stop and search across it with my fingers.
I don’t know where else to look from here. I’m standing, but I’m so quiet and small.
I’m a blind mice
running down a maze engineered with high walls. Speculated by scientists and the good citizens of the world.
I feel trapped
as if I’m crushed under a ton of weight.
There’s void; monochrome nothingness in my pitch black eyes.
This inevitable, hungry, saddening
That I can’t find you.
I’m suffocating my love, in delusions and illusions. There’s a northern fog that looms inside the empty vessels, that navigate towards my heart.
I reach out my hand; but the window panes get in the way. I’m dying my love, bit by bit,
My heart breaks, bit by bit.
In fragments I recall vague, sunny days filled with beautiful colors,
Of vibrant blue skies and tropical birds, faraway.
But before my eyes, the bare branches remind me of the leaves which have fallen,
And while shedding, I’m left dying with pale skin.
Is this what misery is?
To never be able to touch a sweet memory
To never be able to taste a pleasant tune
To want to laugh but to be unable to move, talk, shout
To never be able to capture the essence of you,
In a jar, forever.
I see the words fuzzily dance up and down, slowly, in the computer screen ahead. I sit and stare just as she would, for what seems like a long time with no other plans in my life. And only then, does my mother make complete sense to me.