I want to tell him
that I’m scared,
that I’ve been here before.
And that the last time I felt potential like this it imploded;
I imploded.
But I don’t want to taint it,
You see I’m still hopeful
That maybe this time
Won’t end up laced with maybes,
Or what ifs,
Or open wounds pouring blood onto paper.
That maybe this time,
just won’t end.

I’ve not quite worked out whether I think it’s beautiful,
Or stupid -
The human capacity,
And pliancy,
And longing,
For love.

No, that’s not how it goes.
Start again.
Do you remember the tree on the lake?
It was a forest.
No, it was black, like tar. It tasted like broken glass.
I remember the incense on the drapes.
Yes. It clung to our clothes.
You cried.
No, I smiled.
You cried smiling.
Yes.
I hate it when this happens.
What happens?
You know?
No.
Um. Sometimes it feels like the world is too crowded with words. Like it's too dense to speak.
That--
Like there’s something in the air that pushes against my throat.
There was a black dog, just then.
What?
Outside. It’s gone now. Sorry. Start again.
Do you remember the tree on the lake?
There was a raven.
Yes.
It was black like tar.
It caught a worm once.
Ravens don’t eat worms.
Yeah. It just sat there, with the worm in its beak. The worm squirmed, wrapping itself round the beak, over and over.
Is that why you were crying?
It wouldn’t stop. It kept going, digging its flesh deeper into the edges.
What was your father doing?
Smiling.
Why?
He’d filed for a divorce earlier.
Right. I wasn’t there.
No, you weren’t.
Do you regret locking the doors?
Sometimes I can taste the rain before it comes. It’s a skill I’ve had for as long as I can remember.
I’m lost. So your father was smiling?
No, he was crying.
Sorry. I swear I just--nevermind. Start again.
There was a storm in these parts when we were young. The worst storm in a hundred years.
I don’t remember.
You slept through it. I held your hand all night.
Why?
Because I was alone.
You still are.
Yes.
I hate it when this happens.
What happens?
You know?
Yes.
Where have you been?
Everywhere but here.
And where will you go?
Nowhere.
Sometimes when I look at you, it’s like looking through static. It’s like I’m looking at an impression of a person.
I get that a lot.
It’s like all my memories of you have blurred together. Vague feelings rise out of the haze. Feelings I recognise, yet cannot describe. I cannot connect them with who you are, what we were, or where we’ve been. It’s--
Like exiting a dream.
Yes. Exactly.
You feel a gap in your soul. One that has always been.
Always been. You held my hand, once.
During the worst storm in a hundred years.
When was that?
Every night.

"If I told you I was fine, would you believe me?"
No, he said in a hushed voice I could barely take as a whisper.
He told me that everyday when he asks if I'm okay he is waiting for me to tell him I'm doing great, He said that he knows I'm not fine because of the way I say it, "the sadness in your voice is so painful to hear, it could make my ears bleed and my heart stop beating."

Last night when I went to bed
I had the most wonderful dream
I dreamt we both fell in love
I was King and you where Queen
I could lavish you with so many gifts
Playing my loving caring part
But the biggest gift of them all
Came from my loving heart
I could give you my whole kingdom
But that's not what love should be
For you already carry my gift
To my heart you hold the key

6/10/2015

I've said goodbye at bus stops
In coffee shops, on planes.
In broken down hotel rooms
and in sudden summer rains.
I've said it without speaking
when I could not find the words.
In parking lots, at funerals
and to the song of birds.
When forced to without meaning it
I've even said it too,
but the hardest thing I'll ever do
is say goodbye to you.

She lived with the stars, where he stands beneath them.
She was dressed like the Sun, where he enjoyed the warmth- and
She painted the clouds to gray, while he was praying for some rain.

They were perfect, until I came.

I am the Moon- and took his eyes away from her.
I am the night, as he was begging to share the same bed- and
I am the wind, who blew her away from him.