(adj): 1. That is on the point of vanishing or becoming imperceptible; 2. Having no permanence;
Childhood was a foreign concept to you;
You were eight when your father died,
You don't remember much about the funeral,
Except that the building reeked of cheap perfume, everybody carried dirty tissues, and the fake flowers looked oddly cheery for such a solemn occasion,
And your grandmother didn't weep and your aunts didn't sit next to your mom and now you had to be a grown up and help with your baby brother;
At ten your grandmother stopped visiting so often,
She only called when you needed to go shopping because money was the only way she knew how to show her love, and that winter you learned that Santa Claus wasn't real and monsters and fairies only exist in books;
At thirteen you entered high school,
Boys never said you had cooties and there was the boy with dark skin and light eyes who said "I love you" and then left, and you kept a sign on your heart that read "No boys allowed,"
You were devastation, and you never quite figured out how to stop yourself from ruining everything you touched so you left without a glimpse backwards, never realizing how much damage you had really caused;
But three years later you had taken down the sign on your heart when the boy next door knocked,
And it was 2 AM on Saturday when it hit you, he was leaving;
And there will be a new body, or maybe no body, occupying the space you spent so many hours in,
The room where he had his first kiss with the girl who wore too much pink
And the two of you watched About Time and wished you could time travel,
So you could re-live your only remnant of childhood when you hid in the closet at age five so that you didn't have to go home,
The closet that held his glow-in-the-dark shoes and stuffed animals he was too embarrassed to keep on his bed, where you sat on top of uncomfortable toys that had been thrown in carelessly whenever his mom told him to clean, and you'd sit as still as possible, trying to hold back your giggles while holding your nose at the same time because there was a faint reek of sweaty socks and "boy",
The closet where you spent what felt like hours in trying to avoid going home and facing your mom after her third glass of wine with mascara streaked cheeks and black tear stains on old scrapbooks, screaming at God to bring your father back;
The closet where he first told you he loved you,
And you cried.
The overwhelming realization that this relationship would end hit you like a hammer to the chest, cracking all of your ribs and leaving you heart open and vulnerable;
All of your writing turned out to be about the brown-eyed boy next door or the childhood you never got to live,
Every single piece of art you created ended up fading into a point of nothing as if it were trying to escape the page,
And your favorite word became evanescent.
Even after 40
It happens -
The arrival of love, the coming of light.
The mix of emotions
Like the blend of bourbon and ice
Sending warmth thru the body
To be welcomed by bouquets of kisses
Along the spine
And across the lips.
When we reveal our deepest deep
Our bones shine in the moonlight
And the dust of delight
Flares into life.
This room gives me unhappy thoughts
As I sit grumpily and down
I never listen, all self-taught
None make me smile even a clown
Early I know but still sleepy
My mind temps me to dream freely
I should be there outside running
There in the cool river swimming
There’s a movement on the girls side
Curiosity aroused inside
Our teacher came all settle down
Then called a name new to my ears..
Curiosity fills my dull soul
I look up and my time slow
A sudden bliss ignite my heart
Oh, Monday not a bad start
There standing in front of me
This naked mortal eyes to see
Young and innocent, an angel
With a pretty charming name "Belle"
A star fallen to the earth
With a face that glows in every smile
Her warm voice a sweet symphony
What a thrill she's my new classmate..
Balloons and Flowers..
Live today, tomorrow you'll live it too
Working for a change but hoping for the past
Moving on is always lonely, with a synthetic mind and an empty laugh at recycled jokes
The everlasting game of comparison
You idolise the start of what became a tragedy
If it was a pair of shoes you'd never want an old love
Unfortunately love isn't a pair of shoes.
There was a time for us all when the heart beat only with the thrills of youth,
The splendor of a future only just laid bare before our eyes,
And the constant, prickling sense that the world was beckoning us forward..
Inviting us to bask in what we could only recognize as pure, blinding light.
We were not always so heavy-laden with the knowledge of a broken world..
Though the relentless rain of reality pelts upon any glistening surface,
Eventually tarnishing it beyond easy recognition or repair.
Eventually reducing a precious metal to a mass of rust and rot.
I recall a time when the sensation of bare feet sinking into creek sand was commonplace.
A time when the possibilities of open fields were limitless;
And the warmth of the summer sun was never a nuisance..
But rather the life-giving force we needed to thrive.
The mind functioned as a daunting, unaltered generator of wonder.
A dulcet sanctuary which made everything our eyes touched appear enchanted;
Enveloped in the magic and emotion we effortlessly projected into the world.
The very magic and emotion which ultimately leads us to the inevitable..
The loss of innocence.
In the wake of it we struggle against the sensation of countless atoms shifting position,
The searing heat of merciless flames melting away everything we believed,
The sound of every window in our souls shattering into millions of pieces..
Pieces we then spend the rest of our adult lives trying to put back together.
We then flounder in what feels like a gaping void of our former selves;
A nightmarish spiral into the cavities we had always been too afraid to slip into..
Stunned and bare, we realize those skeletons are no longer buried.
No longer shrouded by the incessant, instinctual joy of childhood..
They wrap bony, cold fingers around everything we desperately held onto,
Before slowly, painfully crushing the life from it all..
And we can only watch with stinging, tear-filled eyes as the wounds form.
As they seep, ache, and bleed before eventually becoming the scars we carry forever.
As the scars create road maps of our transgressions, time fulfills its grave purpose.
Allowing us to accept what we have lost, and that we will never acquire any of it again.
We finally lie motionless, stop reaching into the mist for shadows of our pasts..
And when the strength reaches us, we stand up..
We force our trembling legs to carry us onward..
Onward into the terrible realization that wisdom cannot grace the oblivious,
Empathy cannot erupt from the coddled,
Light cannot exist without the constant brush of darkness..
And as a dove, softly closing its eyes as it passes from existence,
We are made aware that even the purest of things must die.