It has been a long time
since I have been here
You are cold to the touch
yet you feel familiar
As I observe your approach
I start to rationalize with myself
of reasons why I disappeared
My invitation to you will never have RSVP
because our collisions are always unexpected
and you are always welcome
Our place has not changed
but I am different
therefore it will not be the same
I have self-inflicted old wounds
that still need to heal
They are raw and intense
The infection of regret
disables healing to reveal its essence
Yours truly
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
It Has Been A Year
It has been a year since I have seen his face.
I remember watching him sleep while the moonlight caressed his face. I would be consumed with pure adoration for this man. I used that time to memorize every curve of his face and all of the furrows the day had brought him. I also memorized the sharp glow in his eyes and the scent of his skin. His exhales were the sweetest of all fragrances. My love saturated every part of him.
It has been a year since I have heard his voice.
His voice had the ability to make anything under the sun sound primitive. I remember being able to depict the true tone from the friendly inflections. His voice also had a dark chord in his throat that he would choose to lash me with without warning. I would receive the blows with the sensation like the crack of a whip.
It has been a year since I have felt his touch.
I longed for his touch all of the time. When he would touch me, I could not feel the emotion behind it. There was no emotional security that followed. I constantly fantasized feeling beautiful in his embrace, feeling the warmth of his breath on my neck, and his hands on my bare body. But not even the dreams would meet me half way.
Throughout the year of no sight, sound, or brush from him, he quickly became the deepest and darkest regret that I would allow obsession to leave me with only hoping the memories of him would fade away with the smoke from my cigarettes.
It has been a year.
I light a cigarette.
I pick up the phone.
I dial his number.
...ring....ring....
"Hello?"
I remember watching him sleep while the moonlight caressed his face. I would be consumed with pure adoration for this man. I used that time to memorize every curve of his face and all of the furrows the day had brought him. I also memorized the sharp glow in his eyes and the scent of his skin. His exhales were the sweetest of all fragrances. My love saturated every part of him.
It has been a year since I have heard his voice.
His voice had the ability to make anything under the sun sound primitive. I remember being able to depict the true tone from the friendly inflections. His voice also had a dark chord in his throat that he would choose to lash me with without warning. I would receive the blows with the sensation like the crack of a whip.
It has been a year since I have felt his touch.
I longed for his touch all of the time. When he would touch me, I could not feel the emotion behind it. There was no emotional security that followed. I constantly fantasized feeling beautiful in his embrace, feeling the warmth of his breath on my neck, and his hands on my bare body. But not even the dreams would meet me half way.
Throughout the year of no sight, sound, or brush from him, he quickly became the deepest and darkest regret that I would allow obsession to leave me with only hoping the memories of him would fade away with the smoke from my cigarettes.
It has been a year.
I light a cigarette.
I pick up the phone.
I dial his number.
...ring....ring....
"Hello?"
Black-and-White
Amanda felt that she needed to do spring cleaning in the middle of December. The Christmas decorations were a constant reminder of her last relationship and the nearing new year. She felt that it was time to purge her memoirs that have been haunting her.
The house was empty. Everyone was out. It was quiet. She was alone. There was a sense of comfort that always came with not having to entertain anyone. The clouds outside brought the promised rain that the weatherman warned about earlier that morning. The beating of the rain on the roof and windows was tranquilizing to Amanda.
Amanda walked down the hallway and into her room. She stood in front of the closet and stared into the mirror that hung on the door. She studied her face, noticing the changes that have erupted within her over the past year and a half have restored the way she viewed herself. She put her hand on the knob, gave herself a little smirk and opened the door. She took a few steps forward and looked up. Scanning the top shelf she sees her old high school yearbooks that she put her nostalgic memories behind. Sliding the books to the side, she sees the box. Once a shoe box, but was turned into an "Ex-Box", revealed that it had already collected dust. She stares at it for a moment, took a deep breath and reached.
As she walked back down the hallway she let out a prayer under her breath, "God, if you're here, please help me to let go." Amanda slowly made her way to her fireplace. She gathered a few logs of wood and stacked them horizontally, then she started the fire.
She traced the lid of the box with her fingers. This moment meant that she was a step away from seeing the highlights of the past relationship that made her very happy.She took a few deep breaths and opened the box. The first memoir she sees is a shirt he had given her one night when she spent the night with him. She remember the way the shirt would lay on him in all the right places. She slowly put the shirt up to her nose and she inhaled. There was a hint of his cologne he would wear all the time. She remembers picking out the scent for him. With closed eyes she buried her face into the shirt. The darkness took her deep into her memory of that night. Flashbacks of play wrestling, jokes, kisses and the blissful ending of the night - cuddling. She took the shirt away from her face, trying very hard to seal her decision to turn it into ashes.
The heat from the fire on her back felt warm and strengthening. She turned toward the fire and watched the flames rise. A lump rose in her throat and she could feel the tears coming. She hadn't wept over him in a year. She permitted herself to unleash the tears and release her weakness with only herself being the witness. Before she gave herself a chance to convince herself to hold on, she threw the shirt into the fire.
As she watched the flames envelope the shirt, she could feel the pain of healing breaking her heart again. The pain felt as if it was mandatory. She memorized the way the shirt was disappearing in front of her. The process of it turning into ashes made her realize that she was looking at a reflection of what was happening within her. She was burning parts of herself that she needed to let go for herself. She let out a whisper to cement her epiphany the fire had given her, "I can do this."
Amanda wiped her tears and looked back into the box. She sees a Christmas card he had given her. She smiles at the cover. It had a couple holding hands on a bench wearing Santa hats and looking into each other's eyes. She opened the card and it sang the song "All I Want For Christmas Is You". She read the message he had written silently. The last line escaped her lips under her breath, "Merry Christmas baby! I will always love you!" She dropped her head, closed the card, laid it on her chest and pressed as if she was pulling him closer than ever for one last moment. She wept again.
She pulled the card away and looked at it one more time. She put it over the fire to let a corner get caught by a flame. When it was ignited she let the card go.
There was one more thing in the box that represented his chapter of her life. She knew what it was. She looked into the box and remembered she had put it in face-down because she knew this day was going to come and she wanted her last effort to see his face to be a twist of her wrist.
She grabbed the picture and turned it around. It was a picture of them. It was a capturing photo of pure joy, happiness and euphoria. The photograph was black-and-white. She let the style of the film solidify this moment. The black-and-white photo let her know that moment, relationship and feeling was in the past. As much as she wanted to go back to that point in time, it would never be possible.
This was the last piece of him she was going to let go. She allowed herself to weep one more time. As the photo sits on her lap, she speaks to her previous lover with great sincerity and she let brutality fall from her lips and into the picture.
She says, "I love you, but I need to forget you."
She held the picture in her hand, extended her arm and put the picture close enough to the flames so she could watch the heat warp the image slowly.
She whispered, "Goodbye."
The house was empty. Everyone was out. It was quiet. She was alone. There was a sense of comfort that always came with not having to entertain anyone. The clouds outside brought the promised rain that the weatherman warned about earlier that morning. The beating of the rain on the roof and windows was tranquilizing to Amanda.
Amanda walked down the hallway and into her room. She stood in front of the closet and stared into the mirror that hung on the door. She studied her face, noticing the changes that have erupted within her over the past year and a half have restored the way she viewed herself. She put her hand on the knob, gave herself a little smirk and opened the door. She took a few steps forward and looked up. Scanning the top shelf she sees her old high school yearbooks that she put her nostalgic memories behind. Sliding the books to the side, she sees the box. Once a shoe box, but was turned into an "Ex-Box", revealed that it had already collected dust. She stares at it for a moment, took a deep breath and reached.
As she walked back down the hallway she let out a prayer under her breath, "God, if you're here, please help me to let go." Amanda slowly made her way to her fireplace. She gathered a few logs of wood and stacked them horizontally, then she started the fire.
She traced the lid of the box with her fingers. This moment meant that she was a step away from seeing the highlights of the past relationship that made her very happy.She took a few deep breaths and opened the box. The first memoir she sees is a shirt he had given her one night when she spent the night with him. She remember the way the shirt would lay on him in all the right places. She slowly put the shirt up to her nose and she inhaled. There was a hint of his cologne he would wear all the time. She remembers picking out the scent for him. With closed eyes she buried her face into the shirt. The darkness took her deep into her memory of that night. Flashbacks of play wrestling, jokes, kisses and the blissful ending of the night - cuddling. She took the shirt away from her face, trying very hard to seal her decision to turn it into ashes.
The heat from the fire on her back felt warm and strengthening. She turned toward the fire and watched the flames rise. A lump rose in her throat and she could feel the tears coming. She hadn't wept over him in a year. She permitted herself to unleash the tears and release her weakness with only herself being the witness. Before she gave herself a chance to convince herself to hold on, she threw the shirt into the fire.
As she watched the flames envelope the shirt, she could feel the pain of healing breaking her heart again. The pain felt as if it was mandatory. She memorized the way the shirt was disappearing in front of her. The process of it turning into ashes made her realize that she was looking at a reflection of what was happening within her. She was burning parts of herself that she needed to let go for herself. She let out a whisper to cement her epiphany the fire had given her, "I can do this."
Amanda wiped her tears and looked back into the box. She sees a Christmas card he had given her. She smiles at the cover. It had a couple holding hands on a bench wearing Santa hats and looking into each other's eyes. She opened the card and it sang the song "All I Want For Christmas Is You". She read the message he had written silently. The last line escaped her lips under her breath, "Merry Christmas baby! I will always love you!" She dropped her head, closed the card, laid it on her chest and pressed as if she was pulling him closer than ever for one last moment. She wept again.
She pulled the card away and looked at it one more time. She put it over the fire to let a corner get caught by a flame. When it was ignited she let the card go.
There was one more thing in the box that represented his chapter of her life. She knew what it was. She looked into the box and remembered she had put it in face-down because she knew this day was going to come and she wanted her last effort to see his face to be a twist of her wrist.
She grabbed the picture and turned it around. It was a picture of them. It was a capturing photo of pure joy, happiness and euphoria. The photograph was black-and-white. She let the style of the film solidify this moment. The black-and-white photo let her know that moment, relationship and feeling was in the past. As much as she wanted to go back to that point in time, it would never be possible.
This was the last piece of him she was going to let go. She allowed herself to weep one more time. As the photo sits on her lap, she speaks to her previous lover with great sincerity and she let brutality fall from her lips and into the picture.
She says, "I love you, but I need to forget you."
She held the picture in her hand, extended her arm and put the picture close enough to the flames so she could watch the heat warp the image slowly.
She whispered, "Goodbye."
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