Before, I couldn’t see you. I would have written about your eyes Your smile Or your hair. All cliche, all flat. I couldn’t write. I tried. Now I see you.
I see a green mantis I see your freckled patina in that photo with the perfect light I see you engaging the waiter in conversation I see your long limbs loosely crossed, Cradling your herbal tea and segmenting your orange.
The soft nape of your neck is in my dreams
I see you swimming ahead in the river, I see your joy in that, and remember me needing to turn back. I see us crouched on the railway sleeper, the last of the sun crossing us While the washing up waits, We sit looking back at your home.
I see the young and sexless person you told me about your nose in a book on the family holiday.
I see the flicker of self-doubt the slow rising tear that doesn’t spill over being all things, mother, worker, friend, lover.
I see all the things you are not that I projected onto you Now I see you.
What do you when you start to feel like you can’t breathe again? Your chest gets heavy, and a simple inhale hurts so bad a tear twinges at your eyes. My chest, my lungs heaving as if I ran ten miles, but here I am sitting on my bed in the dark grasping at my chest, the burning of a decade of cigarettes beating me down to the point of where if I try to stand my knees would give and I would lay an empty puddle on the cold hard floor.
Sometimes, I am afraid of falling so totally and completely in love with you. I know you wouldn't hurt a hair on my head and you wouldn't dare tear apart my feelings. But I am afraid of loosing you and that fear, alone is far stronger than any magic you can do to ignite this flame inside of me.
You know, the sun could burn so hot, but it never tells you how it hurts when it burns so low instead. Once, you've said, I'm like a bottle of sunshine you sip on cloudy days. That my smile parallels a sun for how it could light up a room or warm a heart. But you could not tear open a sun and touch something cold inside. I have known millions of smiles similar to mine. Under cloudy skies, just millions of burning suns.
sat by the windowsill staring at the polaroid still black and white making memories crystal bright profound tears rolling with the hail hitting the casement frame synchronizing there on the table by was laying the old wooden box with a tearful sigh