There was too much noise in the room for us to really hear each other. Sure, I could've read your lips and you (should’ve) read my hands, but the night was young and we were already drunk. Only a light drunk, like a beginning of a Ryuichi Sakamoto song (that’s what my ex would say on our third glass of wine)-
I’m sorry I keep mentioning a person you would rather not consider.
I also apologize that you and I couldn’t get to know each other like we (really) wanted to. A women with a bruise sitting on her face walked passed the bar and all I wanted was to get some air. What perfect timing, I thought, I finally have another chance to feel someone new and the past keeps circling into my present. Yet, you, were so well at changing the subject-
“It’s the smaller details.” you would say, “It’s always the smaller details that matter. That’s all I notice in life, so maybe it's the same with you.”
I didn’t know what to say back, so I moved my hands into a place of content, and it was then, when we finally began to hear (and know) each other. Now, why was it so easy between us? Is it simply unspoken chemistry or is it truly just the universe giving us what neither of us had before?
TIME AS A FRIEND
time and time again, I fall into this previous pattern of existing-
the smoke from last night dances in my bedroom
as empty liquor bottles sit on window sills, reminding me of all my faults in the first place. but this downfall I so called speak upon, is in fact, a fabrication of my fears.
me and you, we chat for hours as friends, lovers, then family
and are left to consider
what we really mean to each other in the first place-
although you must know, he and I were more alike than you assume.
and this, is a terrible dream. I am left with unsettling actions of the unknown,
because what will our eyes say to each other after so much time has passed?
a transcendence of events, spilling with artistic detail-
"there is so much to see. each time I look, I swear, there is something I have never seen before.
and all I did, was take a step outside!"
I always wanted to be a bird when I was little. I thought they were so beautiful. They could fly away from bullshit and come back whenever they pleased.
When I was twenty, I realized the only time humans can be birds is when they fly airplanes. I also realized that men will view you how they want and physical appearances are only useful when they matter to the other person. Because did you know that touching someone when they don’t want to be touched isn’t a random event? It’s actually very habitual. A guy with bad acne told me this when I was sixteen.
My therapist asked me if I have a sex addiction and I told her quite the opposite. I am afraid of men and they are afraid of me. My dad hasn’t answered my phone calls in a year. Maybe that’s why. But all she does is nod her head and I still don’t know what the answer is.
In order to help, my grandma takes me to church every week. She said I needed to pray but I don’t know who it is I am praying too.
When we left the chapel last Sunday, a blue bird danced across the sky. I pointed above and quickly admitted, “that’s what god is for me.”
She asked if I had been taking my medication. I lied and told her no.
I can’t read her goddammit I can’t read her and it's driving me crazy. She makes me feel as if I’m wasting my time. Dancing by herself...talking to other men...walking around the joint like she owns the place. She makes me want to run away or at least grab her. Take her away from everyone else. Make her mine again. What is it that is making me feel this way? Sure she’s pretty but she’s not beautiful. She is just herself...goddammit, something untouchable. Do you hear me? Saying all this bullshit as if I love her but I barely even know the chick. I just want her until she finally stops...then I’ll forget...because she’s not perfect and neither am I...but just one night when she’s mine. Then, I’ll feel like myself again-
Birds fly towards the horizon. We watch them depart and smile. Here in the grotto, the fading sunlight seeps through the oak trees. A moment of contrast emerges in front of us. Dark lines against ripples. A fish swims through its open passageways. We watch him through the rays. He watches us watch him. Maybe we are more alike than we think. Maybe we are here to just watch. Just watch, see, and observe. Is it really that simple you ask? Leaves fall into our palms. The water floats the residue on its surface. It seems as if we have found ourselves in nuance.
The birds follow me everywhere I go.
Just the other morning one sat next to my bedside window. His eyes looked at me as if it knew a secret of mine. Are you someone from my past? I asked. The bird begun to stare off into the distant as if the animal had never heard me speak. Are you here for something others cannot give you? Again, no response. After one last glance towards the waves, the bird flew away and never looked back.
It wasn’t until a week later. It was the middle of the night and I heard a cry in the distance. It was a soft, barely audible screech. There was no sign of (recognizable) pain yet the screeching could not leave my mind….the windows were open...the curtains were up….and each of the neighbours windows lit the dark night...and there he was...just out of the corner of my eye...inside the middle of everything...dead.
The bird had come back (as they always do) but this time, he was trying to tell me something unseen...unwanted...but where was I to go next?
three words to speak the truth.
we sit in the silence of too many memories
from before. the past is left between us for security.
time and time again we fall into its pattern.
Last night I dreamt of idolization, feeling beautiful, and I (finally) saw what would be like if the world was green. Green-
the colour of envy, the trees during their best of times, spring turning into summer. Summer turning into cold nights of isolation. I am here breathing with you but when will it be into you see me as something beautiful? Not in the way society pictures us, or wants us to be,
but what I see in my dreams-
The genuine smiles coming from the body living inside the ocean, the blossoming flowers in the garden of our first home. You at rest.
Am I too good for you? That’s what (they) tell me when you’re not here-
Half awake. Scratches on body, another story to tell-
Tell me why are the stairs in our home only built upward?
You falling down, me picking you up.
People’s eyes on the train say something true.
They speak with blank intentions but deep down,
they want to feel something real, right?
We all do in a world full of newer days, better days-
More things to attach to and more things to distract from,
this tiny place we’ve built in Chicago is where I always come back to.
Maybe there is somewhere else that feels like home…
(Is it the stuff I bring? My objects full of memory? Or is it just the mindset I carry?)
I am running in circles thinking about the same thing…
Will you maybe, say something?
("his eyes were full of blankness, yet somehow his eyes expressed everything in the world that has been left unseen")
The man wanted to know why it was that I can’t remember anything from the past. The answer was simple.
When you stare at something for too long, the object itself becomes tiring. Ugly in a way (but only to you who is watching). "But how..." he said,
"Let me explain", I replied back,
I once sat in a small restaurant and watched a couple do everything in the world but talk. Everyone else inside the restaurant were fully engaged with the food or with the person sitting across from them. But these two - they were isolated from each other, with no words or movements to express themselves.
When I finally finished and checked the time, I knew I had made a mistake. I watched a pair of lovers do absolutely nothing in a world full of possibility.
After I left the diner and walked among the empty streets, I began thinking about the couples position. Maybe the two simply had nothing to say in a world that to them - has been seen, touched, and used by so many other people. Maybe, all they wanted was a conversation that they have never experienced before.
I questioned this theory and it all, somehow smoothly, began to make sense-
Sometimes we engage in small talk about the most nonsensical events, (the weather, what we are wearing, the habits we partake in). Other times we create glorious and inspiring words that lead us to become heard. Although there are certain nights when the words are brutal or unheard of. Spit may fly or punches may be carried out (but only because the violent person wishes so dearly to be understood) -
However, most times the choices we carry day in, day out are similar, almost parallel to one another. We get caught in routine and then we are bored with not only ourselves, but other people.
This, was when I fully understood the couple's perspective.
So I told the man, “I’m booking a flight to Japan. You can either come with and we can talk even more about beauties and ideas (that never flourish as they should) or you can stay here while I finally see something new."
REFLECTION = OTHERS (and/or)
ISOLATION = SOLITUDE
Nothing changed as we met again. Your eyes still read sadness and your lips would curl up briefly when I complimented you. It had been years since our last meeting yet everything between us was so easy. I knew then certain people were meant for each other. They come and go as please but the story between them stays in one place.