Little Things


I tried to fit into your shoes and got crushed. We had similar sized fittings. But in the end the entity of your destiny was the end to me. A disillusion from a master illusionist, I wish and I knew, I could take on the challenge, of you. You were the answer to the ailing cancer, and thus in a room full of people, I looked to you and I looked at you. Assured that my feelings for you were truly expressed. I made eye contact, smiled and said, hey.

Was I clear enough, in between the smile and the first syllable, the only syllable? Did I stress the importance of the essay I wrote on the letter H that glorified your smile. And in a captivating allegory captured in large capacity the confidence of the tender beam of happiness that manifested as your smile. And on page three where I argued my thesis, fully convinced your smile was a triumph of the human spirit.

Did I clearly communicate the melody tied to the letter  E. A ballad, telling the story of you and me, and how it seems that even if the night before, I tossed and turned lucky to salvage an hour or two of rest, while being in your effervescent always effective company little jolts of tingling electricity, enter my bloodstream by means of vivid serene dreaming of me performing this soliloquy of what I mean by an H and an E, and now I’m left with the letter Y.

Y for yearning for peace and rest as you are my respirator in this oceanic mess. Y for you. Y for your smile, and on page twelve did I vividly articulate my closing statement, “that twelve pages later, a ink pen later, one day after having met you. This never would’ve happened if I didn't hold witness to the victory, that is, your smile.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It Was Never Just Falling Out of Love

It Was Never Just Falling Out of Love You say you fell out of love— like the glass had cracked, spilling out the meaning of dreams, the sting of shared growing pains, hopes of home, the gilded laughter curled around our cats, our joy stretched across oceans and train rides. Like love just… poured from that once-hallowed glass, and now the nectar pools, forgotten, drying where no one kneels to gather it. But we were almost a decade in. You don’t lose that kind of time without feeling the unseen quakes— jarring bones, jarring memories. After you slept in someone else’s arms, my body forgot how to seek yours, and yours forgot how to reach. We slept on different floors, in different worlds, each night drifting out to sea, no one left steering us home. And I felt it— the shift, that slow retreat dressed in quiet like it was mercy. The new rhythms we rehearsed in silence: rising alone, still wondering if you'd notice the empty side of the b...
Read more

Upon a Quiet Night

    Upon A Quiet Night It’s surreal, this walking upon the earth—jockeying and wrestling with yourself to stake deliberateness, to claim intention, to become something you yearned for, something that once bore fire in your heart. From quiet self-revolution in spaces outgrown, to traversing avenues physical and liminal previously unknown. It is eerie to sit down upon a quiet night and host the ghosts of traveling souls here no more. To hold the voices and personalities of those once loved and tenderly cared for, now revolving in space somewhere else—off in a distant place without a trace, or crossed over to the world beyond. The residue of loves discovered, or connections tempered, never quite fades. Upon a quiet night, if still enough, the atoms in space hoist their charge—their beauty bursts in magnificent ways. The myriad versions of self that became present and possessed your body become strange—variably close in memory. Some farther, some closer. Some buried, some ha...
Read more

Lightning Tatters, Mirrors Shatter

 It’s comical the slowness with which a face changes. I caught glimpse of myself a couple months ago.   Pale, brooding, spiraling—   I spent more time in the sun than was optimal.   It’s comical, those subtle changes.   A lifetime ago, the mirror would smile—   warm, happy, the feeling   reverberating from glass to lips.   It’s comical,   this mirror holds all,   this mirror holds nothing.   I strike me, the mirror.   It’s comical how it sees—   now more complete.   Cracks crinkle, cracks crinkle into different cracks.   The opulent hue of bliss   that lights a smile—   the deep cold tremor   that lurks below a long look.   The rich vein of love ran dry,   idles in still eyes.   My face, at once a still meadow,   weathers the emotive seasons.   Ebb and flow ...
Read more