how vain i should be to reread my own posts, but sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, i find myself scrolling through the past on the computer, mouthing the words or simply caressing them with my eyes. because within me there is something i have not yet understood. an undercurrent of a river lost in my old, unpracticed tongue.
rio de la plata maybe. or river of the sun.
even the sun has sunspots, darker on the background of virginal white; and so i have the blind spots: i always find them when i try. no light is enough to banish the spot of darkess on my sleeve: the drop of blood refusing to wash off in hot water. it would wash off in the cold, i know, but it’ll never get the chance.
chances are far and in between, don’t you know?
and i find myself every time, unexpected, like red peonies on a rose bush in may.
находжу себе кожен раз в шматку чорного хліба.
but what is there to find, other than the poems i had learnt by heart in years three and five. and seven. wordsworth’s daffodils.
the yellow vibrancy of life.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged always, background, banish, be, because, between, blind, bush, caressing, chance, cold, computer, daffodils, darker, darkness, de, don't, drop, early, enough, even, every, eyes, far, find, five, get, has, have, heart, hot, how, i, in, know, la, late, learnt, life, light, lost, may, maybe, me, morning, mouthing, my, myself, never, night, not, old, on, other, own, past, peonies, plata, poems, posts, red, refuse, reread, rio, river, rose, scrolling, seven, should, simply, sleeve, so, something, sometimes, spot, spots, sun, sunspots, than, them, there, three, through, time, tongue, try, undercurrent, understood, unexpected, unpracticed, vain, vibrancy, virginal, wash, water, what, when, white, within, words, wordsworth, would, years, yellow, yet
i’ve decided, i won’t allow words to tear us all apart. and my pain shouldn’t matter. this pain is fleeting. and my heart will be beating into the next millenium, where loves bloom redder than cranberries in the bitter frost.
i said something important to you yesterday. via text. and i don’t know if you picked up on it. so many words get lost in translation from my world to yours.
i don’t believe that every little death brings one closer to life, but i do believe that every little love does.
and i have loved you inconsistently, wrongly asking you to love me as i wish. maybe you can’t love me with all the roses and the cards. maybe my loves are too extravagant for you. maybe i ask too much without the need for such. but i can dream.
and i will dream. in silence.
my dreams will burn and burn.
for three weeks at the very least, i’ll be perfect. and i won’t argue and i won’t bite.
so you can taste the cranberries as they were before the winter, so you can stop and wonder if i’m yours.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged all, allow, apart, argue, as, ask, asking, beat, before, believe, bite, bitter, bloom, brings, burn, can, cards, closer, cranberries, death, decide, does, dream, every, extravagant, fleeting, from, frost, get, heart, if, important, inconsistently, into, it, know, least, life, little, lost, love, loves, many, matter, maybe, millenium, much, my, need, next, on, one, pain, perfect, picked, prose, red, roses, said, should, silence, something, stop, such, taste, tear, text, than, they, this, three, to, too, translation, up, us, very, via, where, will, winter, wish, with, without, won't, wonder, words, world, wrongly, yesterday, you, yours
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.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged accept, acceptance, advance, approach, as, aware, away, bat, before, boy, broke, brother, bud, burn, candle, cannot, cherished, child, contemplate, craves, disbelieved, english, enough, every, face, father, for, from, girl, him, his, i, ignite, imbursed, just, kiss, know, let, life, light, lips, live, lived, lives, long, love, many, maybe, me, mine, more, morning, mother, move, must, my, no, now, on, one, open, parafin, praise, predicted, prose, reckon, resurfaced, s, sarcasm, should, smile, something, stories, sunshine, that, their, then, there, this, three, through, time, times, today, too, twinge, wax, what, which, whole, why, with, words, world, yet, you, your
our fifth month together and all i’ve given you for our anniversary is a revelation of my secret admirer and some of the passion in me.
my english boy. the english boy.
have i told you i always searched for that blonde, blue-eyed and tall perfection?
you’re not blonde and he’s not tall. but it’s you that got me sussed.
if this was a myth, you’d be poseidon reigning me in and he’d be a young soldier, soft features made of marzipan. i, i would be a siren, luring with words and laughter, light touch of my fingers on his a cheek, my toes dipping through the waters of your realm.
so now you know.
and he’s got a girlfriend : clever, but not as clever as me; irresistible but easy. and i’m not. well, not the latter.
so hand me his head on a platter.
i’ll serve him up a game that he can’t win.
i just wish you didn’t know.
his anonimity was something sacred, special. one song i left unsung. so i’ll confuse you, make you doubt all i’ve told you. one can never be too safe in grips of love. and my love for you has spilled over the bank. a scarlet flood.
still, i will be a spy in the house of love.
but as a siren.
and both of you will see me and breathe me in. now that you know each other, you will do so together.
and S will join you.
three’s company, two is none.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged admirer, all, always, anniversary, anonimity, bank, blonde, blue, both, breathe, can't, cheek, clever, company, confuse, dip, doubt, each, easy, eye, features, fifth, fingers, flood, game, girlfriend, given, grips, hand, head, him, house, i, in, irresistible, join, know, latter, laughter, left, light, love, luring, made, marzipan, me, month, myth, never, none, now, one, other, our, over, passion, perfection, platter, poseidon, prose, realm, reign, revelation, sacred, safe, sailor, scarlet, search, secret, see, serve, siren, soft, some, something, song, special, spilled, spy, still, sussed, tall, that, this, three, through, toes, together, toghether, told, too, touch, two, unsung, waters, will, win, wish, words, would, writing, you, young
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
glittering soot on her eyelashes 