92. the only one you remember


i knew for a long while that the summer was over and now it really is. i only vaguely remember the way it began: pavements covered in blossom, lounging in the field under the stars, watching sun setting above our heads.

there was majorca.
there, in the evening, i scoured every shop for a memento to give to you. i found a wooden statue, obscurely sexual, sensuous, expressive: two figures entwined in an embrace, their sleek polished bodies holding each other. the male form bent round the female: side view of him, the woman – face on.
you didn’t like it very much and i can’t say i blame you: you had enough trouble reading a spy in the house of love. of all her men, the only one you remember is allan: the one she married, the father figure in her life. what of the others?
 ———- a blank.

can’t say i agree.
i had a dream of the english boy night before last: his birthday party conjured itself in a palace. i was with you of course. then, somehow i was speaking to him. back to you, fawning over the flowers Y’s girl had. and then a girl attendant handed me a huge box of those very flowers. scribbled on the box was “i love you”. from him.

still, those are only dreams. and i don’t mind that.

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4 responses to “92. the only one you remember

  1. i read your pieces and i think “i must know you…surely I know you”…if not, how is it all so familiar then, these stories of the heart? were we mermaids together in some earlier life? do words stretch out like leather cords and tie our wrists together? is it just because hearts that love can recognize one other? well anyway, these stories, if i may call them that, are really wonderful…keep them flowing!

  2. ahhh, i know exactly what you mean. i think love transcends cultures, languages, hopes, dreams and lands on an empty page the way rain falls on dry ground. maybe we know each other, maybe we don’t but, here, now, each others words help us understand a little more of the world, help us feel something right beneath our pulse. and i like that (:

    thank you for always popping by and reading what i have to say :) xx

  3. i would have loved to see the wooden statue and told you it was worth everything it represented.

    PS. i love the way you do this, how I can read a few paragraphs you wrote without knowing the premise or story behind most of it, but still getting enough of the heaviness and hunger to feel as if i were in your shoes. it’s a gift, my friend. i’m so glad i know you.

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