The rest of us
February 25th 2009 06:12
We are two, made from earth and blood, a lot of wind, a pinch of ice, the whole summer night sky, streams of sunshine, the spongy clouds...
We are two, made of one heart and soul. We sat down and put together ourselves piece by piece, your head resting on my shoulder, your breath slow and warm on my hand, your hair tickling the skin on my neck. In front of us is the big puzzle whose completion will also be ours. Would you like a cup of tea? Or something stronger? How about coffee? Sugar? Would you like some milk? Have you tried putting some whisky in it?
The best part of me is in this piece: peculiar shape with uneven parts jutting out, simultaneously demanding, begging and regulating what can fit in the place beside it to conclude, to perfect or to expand it, or to expose it to more imperfection. Or - where my eyes look - to your pieces.
To you.
To you, I sang. To you, I wrote. To you, I flapped my wings. To you, I called out...
To you,
I find my way. Somewhere for me to fit in. So this is what it means by "I belong to you".
Where do I find the time to think about you always? I dig in my pocket and I find it there, like something I've forgotten: a tissue that I left in my pants and after a torrential wash I'd find it in bits and pieces all over my shirt. It's really hard to get rid of the mess. What I'd do, I'd sit down and search through the shirt all over, picking out every single bit.
In a world of missing, you asked me how memories would survive. Survival means fighting, losing and winning. Survival also means struggling not to be forgotten. Imagine you’re walking along the pavement on a bustling Monday evening, then just accidentally – or perhaps due to a trivial habit – you slightly glanced over your shoulder and it was right there. It caught you off guard so that you tripped over your own shadow.
“So, you came back.” You softly spoke without a movement of your head. But your eyes flickered.
“Yes, I am here now.” I dared not take one step further for fear of invading your space. We had become strangers. “Are you alright?” which is an ordinary expression of care. Somehow it sounded to me like an overused social etiquette bare of any real concern. Yet, how can one tell if an expression is true or fake? Wouldn’t it be subjective to judge others’ feelings based on your own feelings?
What does your puzzle piece look like without my piece?
You barely turned your head. “I am alright. How are you?” I got startled by the gentleness of your voice. Another too familiar expression you said, however, I believed it. I believed it because I saw it in you, in the crinkles at the corner of your eyes, in the hint of a smile on your lips, in the aura around you.
And I didn’t know how to answer your simple question. It left me tongue tied. It struck on me like a hammer on my skull. As if I had just got pulled out of an icy cold pool of water and dropped right in the middle of a summer country road. Utterly confused, I fell on my knees and stared at you staring at me. “Look at me!” – You said – “Look at me!” A long pause, then a whisper: “How did you find me? Tell me where I am, please!”
We are two, made of well-preserved, silly wishes and dreams. We are two, made of long murmured conversations in the middle of autumn nights, under crystal sky, on aromatic grass bed. We are two, made of hand in hand eternal walks in the shade of the evergreens along the quiet afternoon path up the hill.
We are two, made of forever.
I am a red leaf sleeping on your shoulder.
We are two, made of one heart and soul. We sat down and put together ourselves piece by piece, your head resting on my shoulder, your breath slow and warm on my hand, your hair tickling the skin on my neck. In front of us is the big puzzle whose completion will also be ours. Would you like a cup of tea? Or something stronger? How about coffee? Sugar? Would you like some milk? Have you tried putting some whisky in it?
The best part of me is in this piece: peculiar shape with uneven parts jutting out, simultaneously demanding, begging and regulating what can fit in the place beside it to conclude, to perfect or to expand it, or to expose it to more imperfection. Or - where my eyes look - to your pieces.
To you.
To you, I sang. To you, I wrote. To you, I flapped my wings. To you, I called out...
To you,
I find my way. Somewhere for me to fit in. So this is what it means by "I belong to you".
Where do I find the time to think about you always? I dig in my pocket and I find it there, like something I've forgotten: a tissue that I left in my pants and after a torrential wash I'd find it in bits and pieces all over my shirt. It's really hard to get rid of the mess. What I'd do, I'd sit down and search through the shirt all over, picking out every single bit.
In a world of missing, you asked me how memories would survive. Survival means fighting, losing and winning. Survival also means struggling not to be forgotten. Imagine you’re walking along the pavement on a bustling Monday evening, then just accidentally – or perhaps due to a trivial habit – you slightly glanced over your shoulder and it was right there. It caught you off guard so that you tripped over your own shadow.
“So, you came back.” You softly spoke without a movement of your head. But your eyes flickered.
“Yes, I am here now.” I dared not take one step further for fear of invading your space. We had become strangers. “Are you alright?” which is an ordinary expression of care. Somehow it sounded to me like an overused social etiquette bare of any real concern. Yet, how can one tell if an expression is true or fake? Wouldn’t it be subjective to judge others’ feelings based on your own feelings?
What does your puzzle piece look like without my piece?
You barely turned your head. “I am alright. How are you?” I got startled by the gentleness of your voice. Another too familiar expression you said, however, I believed it. I believed it because I saw it in you, in the crinkles at the corner of your eyes, in the hint of a smile on your lips, in the aura around you.
And I didn’t know how to answer your simple question. It left me tongue tied. It struck on me like a hammer on my skull. As if I had just got pulled out of an icy cold pool of water and dropped right in the middle of a summer country road. Utterly confused, I fell on my knees and stared at you staring at me. “Look at me!” – You said – “Look at me!” A long pause, then a whisper: “How did you find me? Tell me where I am, please!”
We are two, made of well-preserved, silly wishes and dreams. We are two, made of long murmured conversations in the middle of autumn nights, under crystal sky, on aromatic grass bed. We are two, made of hand in hand eternal walks in the shade of the evergreens along the quiet afternoon path up the hill.
We are two, made of forever.
I am a red leaf sleeping on your shoulder.
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