Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Till death.

Smokes help him open his eyes in late evenings. He blows perfect rings on her face, knowing full well how she hates that.

It is noon for her and she rises from sleep. The world outside bathes in rampant sunshine. Yellow daffodils swaying on green, green grass against paper buildings. Someone's children run after stubborn pigeons they fly land away two steps away and the chase continues.

Through time and space and all the other more material things that separate them, he kisses her eyelids.
Are they tired of wakefulness? And lights?
He moves beside her in her bed and follows her breath with his eyes. She lies completely still as he kisses her forehead.

I hate lights. I went back to my village, and I loved the luminous black of the night.
She breathes as she looks at him, taking liberties with love. Free falling.
And the moon. Oh God.
She hears him talk because that seems to be what he wants.
He brings her black and white pictures from the place he calls home. His eyes tell stories of devastation and ruin and people who live those lives. What do you do with something that is broken beyond repair.
This milestone, I carved your name on it. And on this tree.
He kisses her ears and hold her close, close, close.

Do you want to be kissed? Do you like it? Don't be afraid, I will kiss you the way you want me to.
Transitivity or some other law dictated she be who he wanted her to be but she didn't know who or what that was. So she lay in silence, letting him break her with his words and his hands and.
Baby, don't be scared of me.
She touched his neck, the side of his face. Finally she spoke.
Tell me what it's like, every time you go.
The tension was in his hands and in her as they went through her.
It's an absence of life.

She held him, trying to take away whatever it was that broke him, trying to give him whatever it was he wanted, to be whoever he wanted her to be.
And he let her for a while. And then he asked her, the way he always did, to see how well she knew him.
Tell me what you see in this. And this. And this.
I feel related to your land.

Do you think I'm good?
I'm not fully convinced. Pass me the pictures. Let me see if you're any good..
He let go of the pictures and kissed her. Long and hard. And the way he wanted to.
Do you think I'm good?
Will you stop showing off already?

3 comments:

  1. Ahh Great Post Buddy :)
    http://magicaldrawing.blogspot.com/

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  2. Although the last line made it sweet and playful, it's poignant, nonetheless.

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