Justin Blaney's Blog, page 46

201 you call me beautiful

201
you call me beautiful
but i wonder how you can know i’m lovely
if you don’t talk to me
i’d rather be adored for the heart i can give
than hear again about my dimples
how quickly i’d trade your lies for wrinkles
and a man who wanted only me
you have no idea what’s inside this shell you stare at so happily
how i’d never give up on you
how i’d love you after every fight
how i’d do anything to make your dreams come true
and you’ll never know
because you only see what you want to see
said the pretty girl

 

 

 

All my books are free forever including, Where Whispers Willow, a collection of 100 reverie, musings and lingering dreams.

 

Last Night’s Farewell, Chapter 11

i can’t stop looking at you

girl over there 

close with a friend

even with the chaos between us i feel caverns and depth

rushing waters rising endlessly within you

desires to drench another spirit with yours

and i’m wondering what it would be like to have your oceans crash upon me

<>

My best friend Danny had a knack for getting attention from men no matter where we went, or how lazily she dressed. Married guys. Single guys. Old guys. Young guys. It didn’t matter. In the time it took to walk from the Uber to where I was watching through the windows of Purple she was hit on three times. Some business guy who was just walking by held the car door for her. The host laughed at every word from her mouth as he showed her to where I was waiting at the bar. Then this surprisingly hot guy who had been ignoring me turned and introduced himself. She went with her standard, let ‘em off easy reply.

“Sorry, we’re lesbian.” She put her hand on my thigh.

“Even better,” the guy said.

“Ok, sparky, you can go now,” she said.

I laughed as he turned away. The wine felt good, washing away all the shit inside like a good hard rain after a month of sun and dirt and trash collected on the side of a highway. I tipped my glass back until the deep red liquid was all inside me. “You know, that’s my problem. I should have been a lesbian.”

“Shouldn’t we all.”

“You’re still not dating?” I said.

Danny ordered a drink from the bartender. “Single life is great. I’m getting a ton of shit done.”

The guy next to us glanced over his shoulder.

I leaned close to Danny. “Sparky is still interested. You might want to give him a shot.”

“Your legs are less hairy.” She slid her hand up my thigh.

“Chubbier too.” I laughed.

“Cut it out. You’re gorgeous.”

“Do you think if I had lost 10 pounds Lysander would still have fucked someone else?”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to say.”

The bartender brought out a plate of California rolls and wasabi. “Another Cab?”

I slid my glass to him. “You realize you’re my only friend left right?”

“Awe. Besties.” She held up her hand for a high five. “But seriously, what about your friends at St. Martins?”

“They hate me. It’s even worse than that actually.”

“You still have Lysander. He wants you back.”

I pulled her closer to me. “Can you promise not to judge me if I tell you something?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I told anyone about that night at my dad’s house in the San Juans.”

“That was a long time ago. This was last night.”

“Oh my god, did you sleep with someone?”

“No. Well, technically yes. But—“

“That’s great Adela. You deserve a little one night stand after all you’ve been through.”

“Nothing happened. I was too drunk. Well we kissed. I mean, he kissed me.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t even know.”

“Nasty.” She looked at me like I’d just taken $50 for a blowjob in the alley.

I shoved her. “You’re terrible. I feel so bad.”

“Why? Lysander cheated on you.”

“That doesn’t mean I should too.”

“OK hold that thought. I have to pee.” She looked around for the restroom. Spotting it, she slipped off the barstool.

“I’m stepping outside,” I said. “I have to call Lysander.”

I put napkins on top of our drinks so the waiter wouldn’t take them away. Cars zipped by on 4th. In the distance a siren blared. A couple pulled up in a black BMW. The guy, with slicked back hair and a trench coat, jumped out and tossed his keys to the valet. The restaurant host held the door open for him as he took his date by the waist and they disappeared inside.

I rummaged through my purse for my phone.

“Miss,” the valet said, “you’ll have to smoke around the corner.”

I showed him my phone. “I’m just making a quick call.”

“Well there is a bench for smoking around the corner.”

I didn’t feel like arguing so I found the bench. Sitting there, I stared at the phone. I searched for Elliot’s text history, hesitated, then messaged him. Are we still on?

Cars and trucks rolled past, while I checked my phone every few seconds. Nothing. I breathed the cool night air deep into my lungs. It burned, but felt like paradise inside me.

I messaged Lysander: I think I’m going to stay with Danny tonight.

I’m not sure why I sent it. I guess just to cover myself in case I didn’t make it home again. But I’m going to say goodbye to Elliot. I can’t keep this up on the side. I have to concentrate on my marriage if we’re going to have any chance.

Danny walked around the corner. “There you are.”

“Sorry, I was just enjoying the night air.”

“Can I bum a smoke?”

“I don’t have any.”

“What the fuck? You holding out on me?”

“I quit remember?”

“Then what’s that?” She pointed at a burning cigarette at my feet.

I stepped back from it, like it might bite me. She reached into my purse, too fast for me to keep it from her and pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims.

“Don’t be a stingy bitch.” She laughed. I realized she was messing with me. She must have planted the pack there when I wasn’t looking.

“You’re so sassy tonight.”

She smacked it against her palm, packing the tobacco tight up against the filter, and slid one out and between her lips. She offered one to me.

I shook my head. “No thanks.”

Danny found a match and sucked the cigarette as the flame burned bright against the dark city night scape. She blew the smoke at the sign hanging above us. “Fuck that’s good. Sure you don’t want one?”

“I can’t stay long, I’m seeing the guy from last night soon.”

“How did you meet?”

“It’s a long story.”

“What did you say his name was?”

“Elliot.” Just as I said his name, I watched him—Elliot—cross the street toward us. I turned away, hoping he didn’t see.

“What is it?” Danny asked.

“It’s him. He’s here.”

“Elliot?”

I shushed her.

“Where? Is he cute?” She looked behind. I glanced back. Elliot was blocked by a plumbing truck with a script on the door: Stop Freakin. Call Beacon.

“What’s he like?”

“I don’t know hardly anything about him. He’s a writer. He’s passionate. He gave me an amazing letter. He punched a guy who was acting like an ass toward me.”

“Sounds sexy.”

“Danny, I’m not going to have an affair with this guy.”

“Lysander cheated on you. Why even stay with him?”

“Because he’s my husband.”

Danny took a drag of her cigarette. “If you don’t want him, maybe you can introduce me.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

“I just have this feeling about him. Something familiar. He’s not out for a thrill. He said he’s in love with me.”

“They all say that. What he really means is ‘take off your clothes.’”

I caught a glimpse of Elliot entering the restaurant. He was speaking to the host. Danny tried to trace my eyes to Elliot. She pointed at a tall guy in flannel and a cowboy hat. “Is that him?” She laughed.

“Shut up.”

“Let’s go inside.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door.

“No.”

“Pleeease.”

“I’m breaking up with him.”

She threw her cigarette into the street and walked toward the big iron doors. “I’ll just go ask every guy if his name is Elliot until I find him.”

“Stop, Danny. I’m serious.” But she was already pulling open the door. The valet ran over and opened it for her. I followed her inside and grabbed her from behind.

“What’s the big deal?”

“It’s just complicated.”

“What is?”

“He told me he knows me. Like from the past or something.”

“And you don’t remember him?”

“No. And I don’t want to. I mean. I do want to. I want him. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted. But I’m married. I just can’t.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying some guy found you, a guy who is everything you want. He said he’s in love with you and you have some kind of past with him that you don’t remember. And with all of that, you’re just going to say goodbye and never talk to him again.”

“I have to give me and Lysander a chance.”

“I know,” said a voice behind me.

Danny looked up. I spun around. Elliot.

“You’re Elliot?” Danny said.

“Hi Danielle,” Elliot said.

I looked from Elliot to Danny, and back. “You know each other?”

<>

Complete list of chapters here: Last Night’s Farewell

I’m hoping this is an interactive experience. Comments, ideas, and feedback are welcome.

The best way to get each new chapter is to subscribe to email updates below

i can’t stop looking at you

i can’t stop looking at you
girl over there
close with a friend
even with the chaos between us i feel caverns and depth
rushing waters rising endlessly within you
desires to drench another spirit with yours
and i’m wondering what it would be like to have your oceans crash upon me

 

 

 

All my books are free forever including, Where Whispers Willow, a collection of 100 reverie, musings and lingering dreams.

 

7 how can everything be going my way

 7

how can everything be going my way
yet melancholy fingers creep under my door
through cracks in windows
grasping at toes
spidering up legs
if i were to stare into those cold eyes for more than a moment
my marrow might melt into ice
the only walls tall enough to keep me safe or even momentarily bipolar
are dark red wine or sex or sleep
probably in that order
do you ever feel that way?

 

 

 

All my books are free forever including, Where Whispers Willow, a collection of 100 reverie, musings and lingering dreams.

 

5 haven’t seen you around for a while

 

6

i muffled the downpour with the slam of an old wooden door
wiping fog off my glasses, i followed a girl in an apron and glasses and eyes brown as the chef’s to a coral chair in the corner under dim chandelier
the peruvian cantina was filled with sunday brunch chatter and fast strumming guitar
the chef seemed as interested in hugging patrons as arranging enchiladas and cilantro into art on painted plates
most of the way through my glass of alicante bouschet a woman with dark hair up in a bun, above a round face, introduced herself as mama and filled my cup with one hand
setting a plate before me with the other
the enchilada was infused with fresh minced garlic and cumin and crushed chilis
i stopped writing long enough to clean my plate
mama brought me more wine and i lost myself for a moment watching her husband laugh so loud vibrations rattled my chest
i finished my last glass of wine slowly, writing faster as the liquor flowed through my loosened thoughts
a few pages filled before the noise of clanking dishes and laughter hit me
the words that had been flowing so freely now felt choked inside me, all sticky and unwilling to move about
mama was in the back room and the chef was busy with a sauté pan
sensing an opportunity to slip out unnoticed, i threw a few twenties on the table and snuck to the door
but as i turned the handle, the old man’s voice baritoned behind me
“i hope you come back my friend”
i turned and his arms pulled me into the folds of his apron and belly
i should have known i could not sneak away so easily
pulling my coat and scarf about me, i stepped into the rain

 

 

 

All my books are free forever including, Where Whispers Willow, a collection of 100 reverie, musings and lingering dreams.

 

5 haven’t seen you around for a while

5

haven’t seen you around for a while
sent you a poem last week about that one perfect day we shared in charleston
but my phone tells me the message hasn’t been read
i stopped by your house last night
you said it wasn’t safe to come
but i’m worried about you kid
an empty bottle of syrah sat where you usually do when you need to write away the demons
the glass
smeared with lipstick you bought for our christmas date
wasn’t quite empty
perhaps you’d had enough
perhaps you’d disappeared
i called your name
searched every room
but you were gone
as i turned to go
a gust of wind swept through the open door
carrying a twisting thread
hovering as if it had not the mass to fall
nor the will to rise
i caught it
the scent of you touched me
for a pregnant instant
i curled the string around my fingers
slipped it in my shirt pocket
smiling at the memory of your hand
touching the fabric to feel how soft
was your excuse

i thought of all the places we’ve shared
elliott bay’s creaking wood floors and shelves of essays
the fallen tree deep in the woods where we knew no one would stumble upon us
the benches along lake washington
i think we’ve sat in each one
the harvest vine on madison, so small we laughed about eating with the chefs
the library at salish lodge we snuck into and stole the fire’s warmth with a complimentary, for guests only, cup of coffee
the least of our sins
i went to them all
and found in the silence
floating down a hall
hovering in a corner
hiding beneath the undergrowth
trailing low across the water
threads of you
i wound each with the first
colorless blacks and greys
but as i collected your pieces
flecks of coral and late afternoon sunlight and running shoes yellow appeared
i purchased needles from a man in a fedora
sewing patches on torn jeans in a street fair booth
he must have recognized the fear in my eyes
worry that i possessed not the skill to weave your pieces back together
his shaking hand clasped mine as i turned to go
and he croaked four words above the din as if each one hurt
“one thread at a time”

 

 

All my books are free forever including, Where Whispers Willow, a collection of 100 reverie, musings and lingering dreams.

 

Last Night’s Farewell, Chapter 10

why do we let go of the treasures we have

only to claim that we’d never let go

of the treasures we can never have?

<>

Lysander was the director of marketing at a startup called Tune, a company that managed advertising for big websites with lots of traffic. Everyone in Seattle works in programming or marketing, pretty much split between the sexes—guys in programming, girls in marketing. This meant Lysander was in charge of a department with 15 women, each one of them with perkier asses than mine. As I buzzed the receptionist, I had this sick feeling that She could one of his employees. I had a sick feeling about seeing Lysander too. I didn’t want to pretend everything was fine, but I couldn’t hide from him forever.

The company had just received a second round of venture capital which meant a fleet of drones for buzzing coworkers heads, a bigger yacht for the annual party, and the hiring of a team of private chefs who made organic superfood lunches for the staff every day. About a third of the 150 employees brought dogs to work with them, so walking the office felt something like roaming a veterinary clinic. I heard last time I met Lysander for lunch that office etiquette dictates you pay in cash to replace a coworker’s pants or skirt if another dog shits on them. I pretended to enjoy the black lab shoving it’s face into my crotch.

“Aww, he likes you,” said one of Lysan’s interns.

I smiled at her, asking something about the name of the animal while trying to shove the eager dog’s head back. Lysan came out of a conference room titled Sriracha and kissed me on the check. “Thanks for coming down.” He leaned close and added, “I’ve been really worried about you.”

A storm of women rushed out behind Lysander complaining about Facebook’s new T&Cs and clicking their cute little high heels past me. A few looked me up and down, showing only the slightest level of distaste for what was obviously a rushed morning. Lysander never believed when I told him women don’t dress up to get men’s attention. They dress to avoid being judged by other women. Men are easy to impress. You could wear overalls to a wedding and as long as you’ve got boobs, to a guy you look great. In most cases, a guy’s impression of how nice you look is directly correlated to the percentage of skin that is showing. But woman have a list a mile long they’re evaluating you on. Are you dressed for the right time of year, the right time of day, the right type of outing, the right kind of company. Does your makeup fit your personal style and the local culture and the dress you’re wearing and the color of your hair and the guy you’re with and the drink in your hand. And on and on. And if one small detail is out of place, they let you know with that look. The look no man sees. It passes between women on a different frequency.

“What’s for lunch today?” Lysan asked the intern with the lab.

“Quinoa arugula salad with banana hemp seed sushi.”

“No Chia seed?” I asked.

“I think you can get it on the side,” the intern said. She obviously wasn’t hired for her brain.

I joined Lysander and the growing crowd heading to the cafeteria where we lined up to pick up our tray. Lysander got us a pair of lime San Pellegrinos and we found a table on the far side of the room away from his co-workers.

He leaned close to me and sniffed. “Have you been smoking?”

“Of course not. I haven’t touched a cigarette since I quit.”

“You must have been with someone who was.”

“I guess. I don’t remember.”

We ate a few bites. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Huma called me.”

I put my fork down harder than I meant to. “You talked to her?”

Lysander looked confused. “She was worried about you.”

I buried my face in my hands.

“What is it?” he said.

“You know what she’s done to me.”

“I thought you guys made up.”

I looked at Lysander. “It was her, wasn’t it.”

“Her what?” He seemed to realize what I mean. “Oh, Adela. I just don’t think I should talk about who it was.”

“She’s destroyed my life. I have a right to know.”

“I think you’re really misunderstanding her. She’s a kind person.”

I covered my mouth. “Oh my god. It really was her wasn’t it?”

“Whoever she is, I’m not interested in her anymore.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

“Can we please take this down a notch.”

“Sorry if I’m being a little fucking emotional.” A few people glanced over, then went back to their quinoa salad.

He took my hand. “I’m sorry Adela. Please. I’m so, so sorry. I want to talk to you. I want to listen. I want to get through this.”

I wiped tears from my eyes. And suddenly felt shame. I’d gotten drunk with a man that I didn’t even know last night. I’d slept in his bed. I wanted to make love to him. I would have. If he kissed me, I wouldn’t have stopped. It was so easy. Just like that. Who was I to judge Lysander? I was the one who lost the baby. His baby. I watched the co-founders of the company walk through the cafeteria, greeted and stared at by employees as if they were Daft Punk. They both had beards and wore baggy shorts and T-shirts, one with a spaceman riding a unicorn through a rainbow, the other with text that said “Feel how soft this shirt is.” This was Lysander’s place. His people. The chasm between his world and mine had never seemed so large.

He kissed the wetness of my check. “I know what I did was terrible. I need your forgiveness. But I’m worried about you  too. I’m worried you haven’t forgiven yourself.”

“I didn’t know. I, I didn’t mean—“

“I know Adela. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Is that why you did this? I’m damaged goods and you were just going to cast me aside for some girl with less baggage?”

“No. Of course not. It was just a mistake. I was wrong. I’ll never do it again.”

“It’s more than that Lysander. You’ve changed. This job and your sports and your friends and your TV shows, you just don’t have room for me anymore.”

“I know. But I’m going to change all that.”

“But for how long? After this all wears off, you’ll go back to the way you are now.”

“I can change.”

“I’m not sure you can. You used to be passionate about life. You would write me poetry and songs and we would stay up all night talking about God and arguing about the best way to end homelessness and dream about adventures. And then the next morning we’d walk to Pike Place market and buy breakfast and flowers. Do you remember?”

“That’s the real me. I want it back.”

“Maybe that was pretend, and the real you came out after we settled down.”

“It’s not, I promise.”

“I just don’t know. I’m not ready to trust this new you yet.”

“It’s ok. I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He pulled out a card from his pocket. It was bent on the corner, and curved to the shape of his butt. He tried to straighten it out. “Sorry. I was going to give it to you earlier.”

I took it and stared at the heart he drew on the front above my name.

“Read it later, ok?” He looked at the clock on his phone. “I have to get into a meeting. I’m late already.”

“It’s fine. Just go.”

“I’m really sorry. I wish I could have had more time to talk.”

He picked up his dishes.

I took them from him. “You go to your meeting. I’ll clean up.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. He kissed me. “I love you Adela. See you tonight.”

He disappeared and I slipped the card into my purse then took the dishes to the trash bins, sorting out the compost and recycle and placing the dishes upside down on the commercial dishwasher racks.

Back in the car I pulled the card out and stared at it for a while. As I was staring, my phone buzzed.

A message from Elliot. I take it you liked my letter?

I stared at his message, then turned the phone off and opened Lysander’s card. Inside was a poem.

i’m not sure you realize

i’m never going to let you go

i will not allow both our hearts to shatter so completely

we cannot be separated

it’s not a choice

but a law of naturestopping my relentless pursuit is like stopping the springthe space between us brings only hurt and confusion

i will do anything to close this chasm

if you ignore me

i will find you

embrace you

because i know you need help to fight through your fears

if you hide from me

i will pursue you morebecause i know you’re hiding for fear

if you retreat i will fill you with my warmth

because i know i’m the only one in this world who can love you the way you most desire to be loved

i am not giving up

no obstacle will stand in my way

no enemy no mountain no fear no anger no river no distance

nothing will keep me from loving you forever

I held my hand to my heart. This is what I’d been wanting from Lysander for three years. And now I was getting it. But was it only because he felt guilty? Would it last? I had to give him a chance.

Then there was Elliot. This confusing, passionate creature with a sketchy story about our past. What was I going to do about him? I couldn’t indulge feelings toward him. Not with Lysander and I so fragile. I wanted to make things work with Lysander, for the kids sake if nothing else. I had to say goodbye to Elliot. Any friendship with him was only going to be bad.

I opened the phone and looked at Elliot’s message again. My phone buzzed. Elliot. Can we meet?

I’m meeting a friend tonight, but should be done by 9. You? 

Let’s meet at the same place as last night.

See you then.

I ached at my thoughts: Elliot didn’t know that tonight I would say goodbye.

<>

Complete list of chapters here: Last Night’s Farewell

I’m hoping this is an interactive experience. Comments, ideas, and feedback are welcome.

The best way to get each new chapter is to subscribe to email updates below

love is giving the pen that writes my story to someone else

love is giving the pen that writes 
my story to someone else
and allowing them 
to write in my pages

 

 

All my books are free forever including, Where Whispers Willow, a collection of 100 reverie, musings and lingering dreams.

 

Last Night’s Farewell, Chapter 9

do you have the strength to rise from your graves 

join in my suffering

and then perhaps

we shall no longer feel alone

you and I, dark void

<>

Leaves fell, twirling and wandering to the pavement, from rows of old maples on both sides of the street as I drove to Volunteer Park at the top of Capital Hill. A yellow school bus idled, spilling exhaust out its tailpipe and kids in bright coats and hats out onto the lawn of the Asian Art Museum  where tired parents and teachers corralled them into groups. Parking at the south end, I walked to the century old, brown brick water tower and climbed to the observation deck. I leaned on the stone ledge, staring out at the skyline of towers and mountains and fir trees and yellow construction cranes, proudly flying #12 banners to support the Seahawks or #367 banners to support their local welding union. A chilly wind moved across the tops of the trees, flowing with a low burning thunder, another thousand leaves in its arms, beauty that had lived and loved and was now making it’s final journey into dust and earth. I wiped my runny nose, wishing I’d brought a coffee or dressed warmer as the wind whipped through my thin blouse and tangled hair.

Footsteps approached behind me. I turned and saw Elliot appear at the top of the stairs.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” I said.

“I’ve been looking for you all morning.”

“Have you been stalking me?”

“I saw your van turn past me on 15th and followed you here.”

“What happened last night.” I felt sick about what he might tell me.

“You were sleeping when I left to get breakfast for us. I came back and you were gone.”

“Did we… um, you know.”

“You think I’d sleep with someone as drunk as you?”

I folded my arms. “I don’t know what you would do.”

“There are easier ways to get laid.”

“So you just kissed me then.”

He looked embarrassed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Just tell me who you are.”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Is this your game? Make women believe you’re some forgotten lover, get them to trust you, and then what?”

“If this is a game, it’s not a very fun one.” He handed me a letter. “Here, I wrote this for you.” He turned to leave.

I stepped after him. “Wait.”

“Read the letter. If you want to see me again, I wrote my number at the end.”

He was out of sight before I could object again.

I opened the letter, handwritten in blue ink on plain, unlined paper. His scribbles were heavily penned and beautiful, hurried and rushing upon the page as if he was afraid they might evaporate from his mind if they didn’t fall from his pen quickly enough.

Dearest Adela,

I’m sorry to be cryptic about our past. Can you trust me? The easiest way to explain is to tell you that we were lovers once, but you had to forget me. Too much darkness had fallen upon us, too many shadows and closets where I had to be hidden. I’ve been here, in your heart all this time, but you had to make me disappear for a while. I don’t blame you. The fault is mine. I forgot you too for a while, and I was a fool. I will never make this mistake again.

I am not being dramatic, I’m not being carless with my proclamations, I am not being thoughtless. I have considered with great care each word I’m about to say to you, and after much consideration and much emotion and all of my heart, I know that these things are true, as true as anything I know, as true as I trust gravity to keep this body from floating away into the clouds, I trust these words.

You are my perfect match.

You are my one and only.

No one more exactly meets my soul. You and I together are as close to perfection as two beings can be, as equally matched as two people have ever been. I have looked into heaven, to the time when we were conceived, and I watched a single breath flow from God’s lips, separated into two hearts—you and I, made from the same breath of God.

I will explain more when you are ready, but for now, I ask you to trust me. I will never hurt you. I will never leave you again.

Then what about Lysander? Yes, while I hide in the shadows of your heart, you met someone else. And you married him. I want you to be with him instead of me. He is a good man. He loves you. I know he has strayed from the man you fell in love with, but that man you loved is still inside him. Give him the chance he deserves. You must do this for me.

Though I’ve just told you this great truth about us, that we are cut from the same breath of God, I must turn my back on that truth and be your friend instead, not your lover. And I will be your friend, I will be whatever you need me to be so you can be whole. Someday, you will see your husband again as he was when you married him, and you will find happiness in his arms and I will slip slowly from your heart, I will watch from the distance and pray for you. And it will be summer for you, eternally shining in the July sun. And I will say these words to you someday.

 

Do you remember fourth of July? And fireworks casting over the lake? I imagined you sitting close to someone warm, a friend or a child on the shore below the home you built. And I watched each burst of light from the other side on a park bench, the same one we shared years ago on a fourth of July just like this one.

The crowds gasped, their voices distant. For our bench—my bench now—is up in beneath the canopy away from the people. All the better for kissing in the dark instead of watching fireworks. I could catch a glimpse of you across the dark waters if my eyes weren’t blurred and teary, so close I might reach out and feel your hand in mine and yet so far away that I will never feel your touch again.

Do you think of me when you sneak a glance at the moon scrapping the tree line low in the sky, the same moon that lights my night, the same moon that tied us together when we were a thousand miles apart. She smiles at me, though I can’t smile back. If my lips curl into a sad grin its only for the thought that you might be looking up in the sky at that very moment and thinking of me as she lights up your face with silver moonlight.

I’ve stopped reading that book of poetry you gave me the last time I saw you. My tears warped the paper at the thought of your precious hands flipping through those pages, your eyes reading those words, your memories of sharing those whispered words with me in the dark. So I sit in my old leather chair, alone, drinking tea from that blue clay mug you bought from that old lady who wouldn’t stop talking and you eating up every word of her stories until we were late for our dinner reservation. This is how I survive now. The fragments of you surrounding me. All I have left, the memories and shards of a life once lived.

So I will watch you from afar as you soar. You, who are so beautiful, with so many gifts to share with this world. I will watch from the distance, the quiet figure in the shadows of the theater watching his lost love perform. You’ll leap high in the air. The crowd will gasp. And tears of happiness will form in my eyes as I treasure the thought that of all world enjoying your grace I knew you first. I saw you. And you loved me, though you will never see me again. Remember me in the shadows of your life and I will endure in your heart beating along side you, filling your lungs with clear fresh air. When the world bears down on you, the ghost of one who loves you most, here, invisible by your side.

Your silent and enduring partner in life.

I touched the place where Elliot signed his name at the end, his phone number written there, slowly and carefully, as if to make sure I could read each digit. I stared at the letter, the blue ink running across the page and into my skin and through my veins, his thoughts pulsing inside me. I typed his number into my phone and messaged him. I’m speechless.

I stared at the phone, wondering how long it would take for him to reply. But before his message came back, Lysander’s face appeared, calling me. I rejected the call.

I got a call from St. Martins, Lysan texted. Where are you?

Elliot? Are you there? Please message me back. I wanted to shake my phone, to make him hear my pleas.

Another message from Lysander. Can I meet you for lunch? Please. I want to talk. 

You’re not going to reply, are you Elliot? Was this just another dream? You pop in and out of my life, confusing me. Luring me into you, then pushing me away. Are you even real? Am I just imagining you?

I sighed.

Then replied to Lysander.

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Complete list of chapters here: Last Night’s Farewell

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4 what does it mean for a man to be known and adored by a woman?

4

what does it mean for a man to be known and adored by a woman?
by one woman?
for true meaning, the purest most passionate and delightful companionship must require the knowing and adoration of a single woman 
each that is added is a watering down
one closer to a crowd
the opposite of intimacy
for how can one be intimate with a crowd?
a crowd can never bring companionship 
or knowingness

a crowd can never know 
and knowing is the stuff adoration is made from
adoring without knowing is hollow of meaning
it is lust, infatuation, a job, a business exchange, a trade of needing for having
to be admired without knowing is merely the reflection of beauty on water
it cannot be held
it brings no warmth
it cannot fill the soul 
to adore one must first watch, listen, observe, seek, question, explore, breathe in
only then, once truth is known, can the truth be wholly accepted

this is what a man desires
to be sought, pursued, discovered
then to be found pleasing in the most pleasant ways
to discover that my nature, who i am, brings pure happiness to a woman who knows all of me
this is the death of loneliness
this unleashes a man to walk upon the face of this cold world
because he knows a woman, his best friend, a creature of beauty
knows every corner and nook of his soul, and approves of all
this gives a man greater strength than sinew and bone
this strength is powerful enough to overcome obstacles and battles and odds
from this strength comes rushing and blinding life
this is what a man desires

 

 

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