You never want to go back to sleep when you know she’s not coming with you. But you need it. You need the sleep. And she’ll be here with you when you wake up.
Here I am now watching this scene of perfection, whatever is turning in her fecund mind – I don’t know the meticulous workings – but I see it become beautiful music alive with hope and warmth. She decides she can’t play this one or that because she doesn’t play for people; I tell her I’m only one person. And I am only one, but I know when someone needs their space. It’s tough for me, music. It’s one of the things I can feel but can’t fully understand, yet. Maybe that’s why to me she is so incredibly captivating; I revere her with the same cosmic mystery that song has held in the minds of man since antiquity. She is a tune with an allure so strong I find the river rising, and like the Gift of the Nile, it has both the ability to destroy and create depending on what the great waters decide – Keeping my eyes wide, my ear to her earth, and my breath steady only ensures that I’ll be alive to sing when the waters come.
This is the part that stuck with me: Every time she rides that bicycle, when she goes to shift gears, she’ll think of me and my clumsy self sitting on her hardwood floor; hands black with the grease of exploration as I assure us both that I know what I’m doing. She laughs and I laugh. “I think that’s good,” I say with a wink. She moves to me and puts her hands in my hair. I don’t remember what she said, but it was probably something of gratitude. I don’t remember because I didn’t need words to know. No one disagrees that a thank you goes a long way, but she had something more, and it stuck with me; I still feel it as I imagine her changing gears with a smile – It did turn out good.
I don’t want to write about her in the past tense, so it must be the present participle since it is hard to deny her happening. She is taking place and unfolding with ecstatic curiosity like the flower that has well spent its’ time and effort as the bud – Blossom and open up. She is the perpetual expanding of nature in its’ unmarred soul, stronger than ever after all the winter frosts have tried to impede and steal away that spirit.
I remind again and again that I must remain vigilant, growing and breathing deep so I don’t lose the ground out from under me, so that I can meet the howling winds of erosion and speak sternly.
Does time passing have you contemplating? Are you amazed as much as me?
And all this had passed – Telling you stories, opening up and giving you all the things I could, looking to share a smile, and spend time; I finally understood what had been taking place all along. You’ve been with me now since this started, since you began to know me. Yes, I’ve said it before, and I say it now – You know me. And I suppose I could have arrived to this point much sooner, but I still believe anything worth doing takes the time; takes the focus and energy of many days. Even now as I read you along to this point upon which we converge, I draw my breaths slow and steady because I think a patient and unhurried delivery is due. To who am I writing? To who was all this meant for? Who would find this delivered to them coiled in an evolving script, in the company of countless stamps – Well it’s you.
I’d rather have a bottle in front of me
than a frontal lobotomy.
Without question she was an oenophile. So much so, that every time a bottle caught my eye or a taste awoke an appreciation for the things that went dim during the day, well she went trending in my thoughts – Viral. I imagined how she might like to swish it around her mind some before bathing her tongue with it. She always felt that this was best done, at least partially, nude. That way nothing was being held back; What was the point of all our skin if we let clothes keep it hidden – You open a bottle of red to let it breathe, so unbutton your shirt a tad; Really soften the flavors, release tertiary aromas; The anticipation budding on the senses is nice too.
Navigating the day towards the night, we find ourselves making landfall by evening – And it’s a particular minute; You know when the Sun has just begun to hide away over the horizon, and you’re not much interested in playing hide-n-go-seek this time, but you want to thank it for its’ good turn? That’s the one that greeted us – So we negotiated the evening for a rendezvous – Yes, our bare feet splashed upon the water and took a refreshing sip as our toes wriggled up the sands to meet the crashing branches of the ocean upon the bed. We were the ocean, the branches were us; We laid there, anything but quiet for quite some time since the only thing that calms an ocean is time, and a roaring ocean is as close a sound to silence can be.
As it drew to a close the dawn started striking up conversation, but at this point we just remained still taking in the motions. When everything settled down… well we didn’t. My current went one way and hers another. If you thought this was anything less than magic, then I don’t know what it is you expect me to tell you mate. Because after kissing her merely one breath, my entire being was filled with it. What I’m trying to figure, is if it was in me or her, or was there a reaction of the senses like a chemical one, did I dream this all up?
How many mouth fulls of ocean did I swallow before I made it to shore?
Do you really want to hear about the keeper? Are you sure it’s not too late this time around?
He’s a very poignant man… shows up usually with his go to phrase in mouth, “You know me, we really don’t have the time for this” As he lights up one those cigarettes he’s always burning that never seems to finish.Told me once that it had something to do with the one paradox, you know that one where you keep dividing the remainder of the distance left to travel. Somehow you end up with an infinite amount of segments still to smoke, all a little less than before, but hey a little still counts as long as it isn’t effort. At least that is what he would say – He is always putting in the effort.
And in all fairness he isn’t being cold and calculating; We do have somewhere to be after all – If you don’t believe that, we should really get to talking about the record keeper at some point – This really seems convoluted, but you’ll just have to stick it out since you asked; I can’t apologize for something you’ll wish I hadn’t for later on.
Perhaps it’s all to make up for something he isn’t allowed to go back and change,
“She showed up, tragic and beautiful, with a kind of necessity for which I was grateful to her. She was wearing a dark red dress, and a very pretty black hat with a net, which gave her a fateful look – the look of a woman still young but already marked by life.” – Simone de Beauvoir, from Letters to Sartre
A look to the sky and my eyes could not tell the difference between the light that stood before me, and the one that hovers above all our days. I stood immediately in awe of the rise that comes in rays through the blinds: My mind quickened, “She must like tea, why have I not readied tea already.” She could read my elated spirit, for I basically spoke to her of it from the doorway as I sent out the telegram about how she got me reflecting on the way I stood, and checking my breathing to make sure I was doing that still. She laughed and said, “I know you only get this disheveled at the start, you’re really much cooler than you know.” At this time I could feel my Amygdala pulling on my color, what a good read – I settled in to myself and shot her a smile, “Dear you do know me better than most, let me get you a cuppa.” As I turned and motioned her to come with me I realized that this is as far as we’d ever come. Never did she go further than the foyer, no, she had always been content with standing in my doorway; Playing me like Philip Glass’ Metamorphosis I – And then heading off before II-V could be wrung out – What audience could go on content after such a whetting of tongue? She came to a soft halt, “Dirty, won’t you take my hand for such a momentous occasion as this? “Tea?” I wryly remarked as I turned my gaze to her. Twitterpated, she shot me some quick sarcasm, “Yes, tea; All the tea in China.” Now isn’t it, “Not for all of the tea in China? Laughing as she tugged my arm, she gave me a look that to this day is crystal clear, one of those “You won’t pass this up, not for all the tea in China,” looks.
Now hold on, hold on, hold on.
What is it?
Are you kidding me right now?
I don’t kid.
You are completely off the wall.
I really am.
You know what I meant mate.
Oh, I read?
That is not a look you can read.
I swear it.
Yes, tea; All the tea in China.
I didn’t pass.
I bet you sure as hell wouldn’t
Well I did say.
Not for all of the tea in China.
Come on now!
Hold no jealousy over a nap that lends no rest for it is as empty as the gesture of closing my eyes to sleep these days. She walked in on me in a dark place