August 19, 2010
Devouring crisp apples waiting for days of fallen leaves. Wishing for the thoughtful loneliness of antiquated Northeastern cemeteries. The bite of Autumn posts against the corner of a summer that never came. I find myself uninspired by old inspirations when the opportunity finally arises. Old scars of love and sun drenched weekends pulse as waves of fog roll on. Wishes for biting October sun or a new moon outrace thoughts on subjects more pertinent. This cycle of heavy kisses and lingering looks will undoubtedly end in ruin and loneliness, the kind of loneliness that I have once languished in, the kind that I have missed but fully intend to quickly return to. These dreams of Fall plague my thoughts and hinder all productive moves forward. Broken hearts and misunderstandings lie dirty and rusted alongside this long road, mine repeatedly among them. As a solemn queen trudges to her death I wait for Fall and fall back into old habits. Without the boundaries of a monochrome board of players I’m left to wander in wonder at this fleeting life, these iridescent pearls of experience strung together by robot-like movements. Smoke streams from the dying fire within my chest and I find myself staring into wisps of steam instead. Entangled like the partners of a pas de deux, smoke and steam, from my fires and boiling points dance past my vision only to reveal that wanton trail of candy red rusted hearts and lost crowns that once sat on stable heads. I dream for Fall so that I may hide behind high collared coats and feathered masks, so that I may waltz through this bright masquerade and find myself hidden in a crowd, hiding in plain sight and once again languishing in that crisp solitude of a harvest sunset.
August 18, 2010
August 10, 2010
August 07, 2010
Every time I wear this jacket I am reminded of that night we danced up foggy steep streets waiting for the bus. Each time I put it on I hope you will appear like a ghost or apparition, I sit in wait, I wait and hope. The warmth of my jacket is nothing compared to the warmth I felt as we held hands on your sunken couch. I’ve kept these memories sacred, cherished moments when I am walking through fog and am reminded of the way you looked in my eyes, the way you assured me of your wiseness. If only I had known my heart would still feel these flutters long after those February days had gone, I may have taken it slower, I may have suggested another venue but maybe it wasn’t place but time that confounded the circumstance. Your bright eyes and sharp wit were no match for my want to swan dive into love with you, with someone close to nothing I had known before and yet too close to everything I know. Now my want for these wishes to be realities is out pegged by the reality that I have cornered myself into love with everything I know and can’t have. To this end I will wear this jacket with the fondest of memories pinned to the lapel like the red plaid bow you liked so much and wait for your ghost to materialize before me for another night of wine soaked dreams to be lost in fog and smoke.