Tag Archives: sense

89. so we learn to fly

no response. my heart is the silence of the world sleeping.
i barely wrote about him: he never seemed to matter. you are my prince, patience incarnate. often all i need is that little piece of silent tenderness: i am simple but i change with the northerly wind.

all i seem to do is read and sleep: summer brings deep slumber to my senses and burning sun only makes itself felt on the nape of your neck. when my eyes see it, the gently tanned skin colour of sandalwood, an urge from deep within me wants to cradle it with the palms of my hands, feel its warmth as if through it i shall hold a ray of sunshine, all warm and sensual, taken from a book of mild erotica.

funny how when i felt it last, rejection felt like a consuming fire in every which one of my pores. now, it is a slight breeze tangling up my hair, soft sand in my eyes, thorny roses brushing against a scab: strangely seperate from me. 
you think i can’t see the pain in your eyes. true, you hide it well, but i know you and i know that i told you that he mattered in more ways than one would care to. i’m sorry.
S is nothing; i am love.

it’s about aesthetics, feeling, about loving contour and form and not it straight lines … and i got too attached to you, S. funny that, i try to live without feeling.

no response. so we learn to fly.

Advertisements

68. and this is no more than a parallel

it’s funny, this. i started a post on the 19th of october and never finished it. sometimes i do that. sometimes the words are jumbled in all sorts of ways and i just can’t them to make sense. 
19th of october: viktor’s birthday. i always wrote a story on that day; my form of celebration. but this one went untold.

sometimes i still think about him and wonder if he made me. sometimes i think he did. victor frankenstein created a monster. but that is no more than a parallel.

consecration.
when you look back to your childhood and remember the way the priest broke the bread during mass, is there not something in it you cherish? the moment of peace, the silence as the bread is broken. for you and me. for us.

i didn’t know you then. you still don’t know me now. but lets plow on – you reap what you sew.”

i remember my thoughts that day. of S and how not too long ago you were him: longing to stand by my side, waiting forever for the imaginary day where i was yours.
and i reminisced on the act of consecration, the way one would when breaking bread and pouring wine. only not of christ. of S.

and that was that.
and this is no more than a parallel.

59. at last!

‘excuse me. can you tell me where the  station is?’

i stop. it’s early, sunday morning, i have four dozen newspapers on my back and then, a change of route. i pause. ‘err- the station? just walk down this road. you’ll see it in 200 meters on errr- that side’. then i look up. the guy’s about my age. i can’t remember his face, just his hair. it was straight, dark brown. and his gaze was so direct.

i heard the mumbling ‘you’re pretty’, gaze seemed unrelentless.
i smiled. how long ago have i heard that from someone? it’s always you’re beautiful from you. you’re so extravagant, my darling, you are!

‘thank you’ came out of my upturned lips, but i felt a nervous jittery feeling. he seemed so lost. could i have helped him? could i have cured the hunger for company eradiating in his eyes? no, i told myself, no.
so i said ‘you’ll find the station alright? just keep walking straight, you’ll see it‘ and i walked away. without long goodbyes, without any sense of pleasure in deprature.

excuse me, excuse me!‘. almost desperate, he was there again, a hundred meters on, in the wrong direction, next to me. ‘do you know the time?‘ i did. it was twenty past seven. gloomy morning.
he didn’t want to leave. he stood there gazing, telling me his friend ‘got beat up‘ and it as a ‘rough night but seeing a pretty girl…‘ and then, ‘can i whisper something into your ear?‘ i wasn’t keen – one never knows a thief. ‘if you must‘.
he saw my reluctant reaction.
so he said it out loud.
the street was empty.
there was noone who would hear.
and yet it was all so real.

i want to suck you out

and it took him so much to say it.
what was it, desire? impulse? lust?

so here i am. muneca brava. at last!

56. something about them reminds me of almonds

so much to do, so little time.
and yet, there’s always time to feel. there must be, else what do we life for? not this sense of helpless continuity, surely? 

so i run out of the house to take in the exhaust fumes of the passing cars, i slam the door and run to see you again. as if i hadn’t seen you yesterday.
your kiss reeks of aftershave, just like i want it to. you know. that’s why you drench yourself in it. for me.
and i hold your hand in mine. your skin has tanned over the summer. mine hasn’t. not with this rain. and we are no longer the same shade. 
and do you remember how amazed you were at the way the pigments of your skin mirrored those of mine? when the tan washes away, the skin on our hands will be the same colour again. that on our bodies still is. 
and i look at your nails. it’s merely an impulse. yes, they are imperfect but you no longer bite them. i put a stop to that.
something about them reminds me of almonds.

we walked the streets and read the paper. daily telegraph. in the library where we had our first kiss. friday the fifth of february. twenty-nine fridays ago.

obesity's pushing NHS over the edge.
tiger woods' ex wife got his millions.
the "mistresses" was not a hit for all.

the headlines were predictable, but with you by my side i oohhed and aahhed.
with you the world’s a different place.

but i’ve come back home now and there’s so much to do, so little time.

46. like a disco

how did i manage to walk this yellow-brick road and stumble into the emerald city without any sense of realisation? without triumph or glory? without stopping to admire the view?
how is it that i almost can’t remember what my Auntie Em looked like or of how i’ve grown into these ruby slippers, mine by default and no more?
and darling, how comes it none of it matters any more?

my past is past. 
i remember i worried that it may not last. that it’ll lose itself in the water of oblivion somewhere in the base of forbidden fountain. but i know now that the cyclone that brought me here will never return. that chasm has been closed off forever as of today.
my citizenship application has been successful and i am ready to see where else this yellow brick leads.

so here i am now, cruising this jade-encrusted city, as the green glass glitters in the pale light of the setting sun. 
my toto has run off, or maybe he was never here, but what does it matter? i was always meant to walk these streets alone. and somewhere in the distance i hear the wizard command “close your eyes and tap your heels together three times. and think to yourself, there’s no place like home.”

so i do.

and i remain standing just where i was, the bright lights of london like a disco.
my own private party.