can you tell me, why de ja vu haunts me like a predator stalking its only surviving prey? the de ja vu, embossed with its frenchness. just like you. just like those kisses you plant on my lips, their buds opening in the middle of the darkest nights, as i wake in cold sweat, clammy hands turning on the lights to chase the demons away.
and i realise, that love is french, italian, dominican. but more than that, it’s foreign to all of us. it’s language – mysterious hum in the early-morning air, it’s lands – unbounded by borders, it’s people waking up every morning, just like the rest of us, seductive scent of coffee in their kitchens, shatter of broken cups imprinting its echo on the windows.
and when i think of love, i think of the mess that coffee would make, drops collecting, puddle spreading with every beat of the heart. my mess.
and it doesnt touch you. you’re not really here. not entirely.
and love doesn’t cut you with its broken china or stain your slippers with instant coffee, fresh those marble tiles.
does it touch you at all?
…
it’s been three months now and i’ve nothing to tell me that i’m yours, only a herbarium of those flowers you bought me the day my mother went to the zoo with my little sister in tow.
only a dead plant, in an envelope somewhere, next to Y’s unopened loveletters and the note that X kissed so that a part of him may remain with me forever, or whatever his reasoning was.
and at night, in somebody’s kitchen, in a land far away, my heartbeat keeps the coffee flowing.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged air, all, away, beat, border, bought, broken, bud, buds, can, chase, china, clammy, coffee, cold, collect, cups, cut, darkest, de ja vu, dead, demons, dominican, drop, drops, early, echo, embossed, entirely, envelope, every, far, flowers, flowing, foreign, forever, french, frenchness, fresh, hands, haunt, heart, heartbeat, herbarium, here, him, his, hum, imprint, instant, italian, just, keeps, kiss, kissed, kitchen, kitchens, land, lands, language, letters, light, lights, like, lips, little, love, make, marble, may, me, mess, middle, mither, months, morning, my, mysterious, next, night, note, nothing, now, of, only, open, out, part, people, plant, predator, prey, puddle, realise, really, reasoning, remain, rest, scent, seductive, shatter, sister, slippers, somebody, somewhere, spread, stain, stalk, survive, sweat, tell, that, think, three, tiles, touch, tow, turn, unbounded, unopened, us, wake, wake up, waking, was, went, whatever, window, with, x, y, you, yours, zoo
our whole life is a mess of those fridays. we know them so well. the fridays when we go somewhere and one of us, at some point, any point at all, ends up feeling miserable.
i’m no magician, my love. can’t turn grey into a million of colours, can barely turn grey at all. but together we almost manage, the shade changing from darkness to light, from dawn to night.
friday was nothing more than that, you must understand. a sort of middle ground for all our ghosts to come out. and mine did. X was there, as was his new love interest, or rather his soon-to-be ex-love-interest.
she goes through men faster than i go through lingerie and yes, we know her. she catches our train sometimes and don’t you just love the way she talks of her life so freely? i never could quite muster that attitude. you know the one: where casual sex is just another bad habit she really must give up; where a ciggie on the sly hasn’t hurt anyone and two-timing is merely a way to make two people happy at the same time.
but no, i do exaggerate.
still, do not think me bitter for i am not. not at all. and it only seems so because i’d rather people see a tint of jealousy in me than see nothing at all.
and you must remember your promise: you said you won’t get upset at such occasions.
and when the past runs before your retinas again, scanning for weakness, don’t be too quick to give up on our happy ending, where cinderella meets her prince charming.
and the glass slipper never shatters.
Posted in chapters of my life
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glittering soot on her eyelashes 