hands
he stroked the palm of my hand like it was the most natural thing to do. and i, reveling at the heightened facts of the little truths that have escaped change, felt it was the most natural thing for him to do. under the table, away from the teasing looks of our common friends who secretly wish we were still together, we rediscovered the contours, the landscapes of our hands. perhaps we were both thinking of the first day we held hands. how, in our youth it was the bravest thing to do. he, driving his pick-up and pushing past 40, held my hand even as he changed gears. he was the love of my youth.
he would send me poetic lines and i would finish the stanza for him. the poems would end with a hanging thought. like everything between us. for him, everything has a profound meaning. a tricylce driver's remark about the full moon is not just a rambling of a suspect lunatic but a revelation of a patch of truth. from across seas, he still holds me captive with his words. he taught me love has to have passion.
the best date i had was with an ex boyfriend. there must be something about teasing each other with subtle hints that there still might be a little left of that devastating attraction before. we talked more than we did before because we were more honest this time. and retrospection builds a friendship better than fumbling through ecstacy, i discovered. he was my first kiss.
we looked at each other from across the room. a perpetual sadness in his eyes. for a fleeting moment, our gaze would say, we'll be ok. that love sometimes is tragic. but this time, i held out my hand to him and caught him by surprise. i smiled but did not look into his eyes. not this close. and though i believe he has always been mine from the beginning of time when fates were forged, i cannot for the life of me stake what is mine. he has chosen duty over me. and everyday hope fades, though love i find, refuses to lose its sting.
she held my hand and at times when the needle bit too painfully, she dug her soft nails into my palms. the tattoo artist gently blew on the spot on my back. she said pain can make another pain go away. the whimsical dragon fly shall remind me that.
he would send me poetic lines and i would finish the stanza for him. the poems would end with a hanging thought. like everything between us. for him, everything has a profound meaning. a tricylce driver's remark about the full moon is not just a rambling of a suspect lunatic but a revelation of a patch of truth. from across seas, he still holds me captive with his words. he taught me love has to have passion.
the best date i had was with an ex boyfriend. there must be something about teasing each other with subtle hints that there still might be a little left of that devastating attraction before. we talked more than we did before because we were more honest this time. and retrospection builds a friendship better than fumbling through ecstacy, i discovered. he was my first kiss.
we looked at each other from across the room. a perpetual sadness in his eyes. for a fleeting moment, our gaze would say, we'll be ok. that love sometimes is tragic. but this time, i held out my hand to him and caught him by surprise. i smiled but did not look into his eyes. not this close. and though i believe he has always been mine from the beginning of time when fates were forged, i cannot for the life of me stake what is mine. he has chosen duty over me. and everyday hope fades, though love i find, refuses to lose its sting.
she held my hand and at times when the needle bit too painfully, she dug her soft nails into my palms. the tattoo artist gently blew on the spot on my back. she said pain can make another pain go away. the whimsical dragon fly shall remind me that.
entrada de bismuth a las
7:34 p. m.
7 comentarios:
It was nice, how you wrapped it up. There's some of the abstract here, though it does not appear to be so.
Thanks for linking me :)
beautiful post :)
I agree. While I'm having a writer's block over my stable emotional state, people I know are flourishing with their inspired brilliance. Simply wonderful, this post Ü
this was so beautiful. poignant.
what i can't express about love, you do. it's like my own words are made better because a friend has sifted through the sand to find that piece of colorful glass.
jax - thank god we can get over people ...
jax >> that's because you've been drinking too much red wine while watching mexican movies.
my opinion on love is this: we can never get over it. we can try and find that there are moments when we can say we are alright. but there will always be days, maybe more frequently in our old age, that we will catch ourselves staring at a blade of grass or catching a whiff of perfume and wonder about an alternate reality lost in the depository of wasted possibilities.
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