No more howling into the wind, no more screaming into the night, no more listening for that last word, the last breath, the sanguine reply, no, not without you, I reply. Life goes on, time doesn't stand still, nor does the air during the night's chill. I savor the past, some of it at long last, the sweet smell of roses, the heart when it beats out a rhythm to write into the daylight hours. I savored those moments, that time spent together, and I'll still listen for the chime in the old tower. I always have a goodbye planned, just for an occasion such as this at the end of a story, at the end of a book. The book closes on the last chapter, the last page, the last line...there was the last word I remember. I'll pick up another story, but none so sweet, none so rare, none so deep.
Listening to the wind tonight, my heart reminds me of how it loved to sing to you, I can smile at the memory of little soft notes carried on a breeze, I can hear it in your voice, remembering; yet, without warning, you spin me inside out with torrents of pounding bassdrums - recalling more thoughts of you tonight, making me hurt - a forceful wind, buffeting my senses, a never ending force from which you come and turn me around to face my muse, my tiger, my nemesis, from whom I am falling, falling, falling from grace. You toss me away, you catapult me into the clouds of turbulence; disoriented, I fly with nothing to grasp - a hand is all I ask, just a hand. Listening for my love, a sweet note of music is all I ask.
a dropping off place, that’s where I’m left. the side of the road on an empty park bench. alone. a pigeon, an ant, a sow bug curls up under a rock..quiet and still, alone, next to a stone. abandoned to sit, still, a park bench. a bird’s excrement drips slimy white goo along the edge where I sit. grime on the slats, someone’s spit. waiting, I'm nothing without you. alone. a horn honks in the street, a skater skates by, a look to the left, right. a single white cloud in the sky. the moon came up a dozen times over the hills, through the trees, plunging down, down in the valleys. a year, no goodbye. I sit waiting. the pigeon waits to be fed. I have no food. she flies away. I sit and wait. no return. the sow bug crawls to the next rock, the ant walks home. on a breeze, the cloud lingers, disappears. the whistle of a train, I hear. I’m here, alone.
I hung up my coat, I threw down my gloves, I can’t breath the air without you!
the sky is darker than pitch, I can’t see past the horizon without you!
silver white bolts streak across the heavens, a great bright light, but my god, I can’t see without you! into the abyss, the molten lava flows, down through the ages, since the beginning of time plunging my soul, the heat touching my heart, my veins, runs the blood of time, but my god, my soul, I can’t live without you!
to know when something is over, without a beginning.
started out like any other day, ordinary. I wrote, I read, I went out to play,
just like any other ordinary day.
know how small or how large a part I would play, but we found each other, and
we played with words, around her life and in mine. Soundlessly lurking, that’s how it was
to be, for her, not for me. Words came
easy, and then got hard from experimenting with taboos, my guess. I said, “I love you.”
the umbrella of words in front of the sun, blocking out the rays, a shadow
crossed her face. I leaned
in and pulled back the umbrella to pick up my words from across the arc, the
static was palpable. I
needed to see clearly those eyes her pictures revealed, only her eyes could
tell a truth she so cleverly hid with the manipulation of her umbrella. She needed to maintain, she said, a
distance from the sun. I
experimented with speaking the truth, at least truth as I perceived, but it was
not how she saw it.
sheltered my words against a wall, the wall she leaned against from her side,
balance is what was between us, a solid wall of balance and shelter and
protection and shadows to hide beside. When
my words got too close, the wall grew higher, when I shortened my words, the
shadow receded and I could catch a glimpse, just a fraction of a nose, a
forehead, a chin, and even an eye on occasion.
grew forced, I couldn't keep it up, for wanting to see her whole face. I was tired, I was weary, and I was
frustrated knowing there was a whole face behind that hiding place. I knew it was wrong for me to head
into that space, but I was overwhelmed with a feeling I couldn't fathom as
real. I needed to find
realness somehow, someway, someday.
receptive, she found me critical and offensive, attacking her sensibilities,
her norm, her quiet time, her aloneness, her cultivated art. I wanted to change all of that, the
stupid being that I am; why couldn't I just be satisfied to lurk in the way she
did? Impatience comes with
I am sorry
for my honesty with my words. Perception is everything. Experimentation without perception
becomes a danger zone. We
never established what the word friendship meant to either of us. The deep connection, as she said, was
there. But what does that
mean when two people can’t build on that connection? It is too deep to delve, too deep to
unearth, is it as deep as Murakami’s well he put his character in, that god
awful well, the solitude that nothing else can describe, I felt it, yes, I know
Can I change who I am to meet the needs of someone else, when I really don't
know what those needs are unless they become revealed? Or is it another’s responsibility to
bend the umbrella back a bit and let a ray shine into the daylight hours, or is
it to be two people who climb the wall at the same time, rock by rock, one
stone at a time, again and again; crawling with only bloody stumps; fingers
left behind, leaving a swath of stain that marks the very spot two people gave
into the disastrous place of letting go and refusing entry.
sorry”, she said.
around and take in a glimpse of daylight on my side of the wall, but
when I look up I see a black cloud above my head, so black I can’t
recognize where the wall is any longer. I
cry for that wall, for the prints our fingers left upon each stone. I cry for the moments I lost
while hunting and not finding; for looking and not seeing, for searching by day
and by night, only finding a closed umbrella and no one standing there.
I cry with
that empty feeling in my gut, my throat closes, the water in my eyes stream
down and fall onto my chest, my breast, my belly, my lap. I can’t see for the loss that is in
front of me. I can no
longer see what it is I was trying to find. I can not longer see for the dark
shadows that now cover my heart.
lost. I experimented, I
searched, I dug into that well, and I lost; the light, the only way to find an
opening was through the light. I
plunged into darkness, the hell that seizes the muscles, the pain beneath the
layers of skin of holy need. I
was no longer needed. Plain
and simple: She didn't need
I died a
death that day, there was no turning; neither front nor sideways, not to the
left, nor to the right; no amount of pleading would work, for she shut the door
soundly, and the window and the curtain, she shut every avenue I could walk
down. I stood. I stood in the dark, and that’s where
compromise - No middle ground - No mediation - Non existent.
I thought about butterflies today. I thought about how beautiful they are;
I thought how beautiful my once upon a time friend was to me, once upon a
time. I thought about how
these delicate wings try so hard to keep a body floating up in the air. I thought of her.
I wondered at the human balance. Whatever
that balance was, I lost that balance in a few hard truthful words - I
upset her balance; a teeter-totter balance that was difficult to maintain – I
caused her to fall because of the weight of me. I can only enter into a butterfly's
world by watching from afar, I cannot touch, I can only tearfully
watch, for if I touch a wing, the butterfly will surely die, and so will
holding you, loving you, weeping stories, shed day after day
I clasp your hand, I open the palm and hold it to my tear wet cheek
I can feel your pulse, and with every beat I loose a dream, that last night of hope and longing for acceptance.
Do I speak, will you listen, a song never sung, a word never written, a time without laughter, and sorrow gains the threshold
lost are the glorious waves, gone with the tide; sand prickling our toes, salt air filling our lungs, filling with a richness, a harmony of music unspoken to wipe away the tears; I cannot stay, I cannot say: I will always love you.