Practicing psychology post-romance
It wasn’t until later that I diagnosed him - he was that lethal combination of indecisive, selfish, depressive and perfect that I was warned would be the end of me.
Of me as I knew me.
Whatever I was looking for…
I think my soulmate was reincarnated about 5 years too young. As the perfect little brilliant, short and skinny, sweet, trilingual, witty shithead day-maker. This cruel trick by the gods makes me believe in their wrath.
Yet, maybe, the lesson to be learned is that he was put in my path at this crucial juncture to remind me that there are people out there who can make me shine at my best when I’m really at my worst, who can challenge, cherish and teach me, all whilst getting my jokes and sending me into giggle fits. To remind me that it is possible for a man, or at least, in this case a teenage boy, to make my day everyday.
And I guess that is really something.
I gently grasped his wrists and lowered his hands from the place they tended to find just over my ears, his fingers curling into my hair. I looked up at him, steadfastly holding his gaze.
"It is just that right now… I must be too busy to fall in love."
"I don’t really think you have that choice," he smiled, intertwining our hands. "Love hits you when it wants to and you’re essentially just along for the ride."
I pondered his words for a moment and realizing the astuteness of that observation, I slowly released my grip from his.
"I guess it hasn’t hit me then."
Look out insomnia. Tonight I come armed with camomile and reiki.
I took a great many steps today. Back and forth on a path that has become too familiar. One I won’t walk again after tomorrow. There’s always a time when you need to leave. Sometimes before you are ready, but it is better to leave too soon than to stay too long. In any case, these feet have become restless and this heart growing lighter by the day, as if the wind could just catch it and whisk it away. These feet might forget that path. This heart might never drift back. Still, trust my truth. I’ll remember your laugh.
I guess you never really left the city.
How could you have?
It was in your veins
As much as those
Uppers that you abused
The reason you always
Wore long sleeves
The red wine hoodie
Fraying at the cuffs
Fading more with every wear
A cover up, arms and face,
As the shadows under
Your electric blue eyes
Grew dark and menacing.
I know you loved this place
With some bizarre, inextricable
Bondage of spirit.
I feel you lingering around me
As I pass the Saigon noodle house
And the dry-cleaner’s run by that
Funny Korean couple you joked with
When you used to wear suits
Mostly, I feel you downtown
Sweeping around street corners
And ducking in alleyways
Just like you did when you were
Worried that I’d see you
When you were high.
I see you now - On the faces
Of the derelict and disheveled.
The reflections of promises wasted
And I couldn’t fulfill mine and let you
I keep you in this city
As a magnet, as you said,
Because I can’t live here
Without you haunting me.
I never deserved all the questions you left me with.
Besos de seda
Él me dio besos de seda anoche.
We spoke in French because neither of us were particularly gifted in Spanish, but there is no other way to describe those kisses. They were made of silk - de seda.
He joined me on the couch hours later, smoothly contouring my body. Silk wrapping the back of my neck and my cheek, as the sides of my lips curved upwards into a smile and the room spun slowly, weaving into a dream.
Whenever one is at the most peace with the world, when one finds that tranquil space, one loses words. Maybe writers must be troubled to write. Perhaps there is a certain limit to the space we have in our souls and in our minds. Words get crowded out by harmony and the sweetness of living when life is going right.