Tag Archives: mother

85. cherry soda loves

there was a line in streetcar named desire that i remember. it said it’s touching to notice them making their first discovery of love! As if nobody had ever known it before.  it resonates, for now the time has come for the bud to be broken and flowers to bloom in the late-spring night air.

the risk is nothing. nothing, really. there are only the long sprawling afternoons this side of summer, when paper is scrunched up into tiny little balls and burnt with a magnifying glass or matches. whichever, the result is all that matters. words are nothing: this air requires action! 
and there are trees, so beautiful this time of year. they remind me of walking to school in the summer and inhaling the scent of apple tree blossom with T. those were the days, eh?

but now, no now, those buds will open and blossom will scatter into the hands of a handsome young man that we choose. for me, this sweltering summer, it’ll be you. and, god willing (an expression i borrowed from an altogether more believing friend of mine), next summer also. for T (if we were boys, she’d be a brother from another mother) it will be someone else. Her new beau (a rather lovely Tenessee expression!). her very first. amazing stength and will and beauty.

so here we are, and isn’t it queer to think we shall be here always? in the arms of another, in the throes of spring, the coming summer alighting hopes in every single one of us, as if petards were thrown at the pavement before us, at our feet, at our willing young hearts?

and we can’t help this feeling hopeful. and we can’t pretend we didn’t want this life.
so every year, like clockwork, we will be discoving those cherry soda loves and shedding blossom in each other’s arms.

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69. let the whole world ignite for me

i know the child in you. the one which craves the praise from the lips it longs to kiss. and yet the child cannot accept it, for the twinge of sarcasm ibmursed in the words.
and then you long for the acceptance of your mother, father, brother: their words of praise, like mine, cherished but disbelieved.
what of it? one must live for something.
you live for praise.
i live for love.

the english boy’s resurfaced. just like i predicted, him and the girl broke up. now, he is moving on. moving on me, maybe, but i reckon just moving on to the world. today, he approached me three times. and every time, i bat away his advances with a smile on my face. why should i contemplate burning for him if i am the candle of your life?

too many lives, too many stories and there will be no more parafin, no more wax, no more light. i am aware of that.
i lived through life before you. 

now i know it’s enough to burn for you so let S burn for me.
and let the whole world ignite for me. for this love, this kiss, as it opens its bud of sunshine every morning on your lips.

62. straight into the recovery postion

blackout before my eyes.
blood, scalpel, heart, darkness. and then my mother’s voice, soothing, recieving, full of love.

i fell softly, straight into the recovery postion, noiselessly, languidly, water flowing downhill, gurlging softly at the impact with the rocks. as if i’m used to this. as if. 

and there was drama, panic, shock, laughter even, lab oozing with emotion like a devil sick of sin.
noone would have ever guessed that i would faint: i was strong. a rock. a pillar. nobody’s princess. 

but there it was. pig’s heart. or lamb’s. whichever. i cut it open, hands almost firm, quite agile. who knew how i was trembling deep inside? i didn’t scream or flinch, i looked at it from inside out, i smiled and laughed and feigned disgust. i know how to put on an act. 

tension released, i fell like a birch leaf in the autumn gust.
standing there passive, watching older, firmer hands cut right through a heart, talking of it, the ventricles, the muscles, the–
that was too much.

no use for me as such.

and yet–
are you surprised i crumbled or rather that i didn’t crumble straightaway?
whichever one, that’s quite okay.

i came around.
before you know it, i’ll pick the scalpel up again.

22. we’ll ease ourselves into the night

watching the sunset with you was like a dream come true.
and the sky was golden, the snow swirling in the clear winter air.
the snow was sparse and there was little of it, but every flake was magic, every second we stood there watching the clouds swim across the vast expanse of fiery orange was a moment to remember.

and then we parted ways.

i’ll see you again today. 
but sleep evades me and my eyes are slowly gluing together now. i would sleep if i could, but there’s never any time. ironic.
and though i didn’t spend all night wondering what it will be like with X and you there, when we go to see that play, i still didn’t sleep. and you know, it doesn’t really matter because me and X will be over.
today, if i can do it, a little later if i can’t.
and i spoke to my mother of it and she said have you talked with X properly? are you sure you want to let this one go? and i know i have. i know i do, purely because i just can’t do it any more.

i dreamt of being single for so long now and every day that brings me closer to Valentine’s day, that dream is reinforced. my friends are trying to find themselves guys before the fourteenth and here i am trying to get rid of one. how marvelously original of me.

and today will be a long day, i know.
not so much for you or X or whoever, as for me – a morning lecture nearly awaits as i sit here rubbing my bloodshot eyes.

that matters not so much.

we’ll meet up on par with the setting sun you and me watched melt to liquid gold yesterday and we’ll ease ourselves into the night.
and then – whatever will be, will be.

2. a few words hastily typed

the moring came and went.
the snow that turned to mush yesterday froze over, ice making walking impossible, or difficult, or both. but i perservered. did my rounds, every step a third of what it normally is. slowly, willingly.

i didn’t talk to you today. not since i called yesterday did i dare think about you. now i see you sent me a message in the morning. nothing special, just a few words hastily typed. 

have a lovely day… say hi… already forgotten…

the likes of that, you know. oh yes, you know. you wrote it, sent it and then probably smiled at the thought of my reaction.

you weren’t the only one to haunt my dreams last night. i saw your mother in them too. she seemed to like me, her voice an echo of my broken thoughts.  i nearly dialled her this morning, the drowsiness still not worn off. 

i can’t remember my reasoning behind calling her, only the sound of her voice, that high-pitched semi-audible way of uttering my name when she shouts for you to come to the phone.