They were mine long ago, I kept them all in a wooden trunk under my bed, to take out and stack like building blocks, to mold like clay into the shape of my demons, to throw across the room and turn my bare walls into rainbows.
And once I put them back in their trunk and locked it, and the key fell from my hands. I’ve searched the lands and the sky but there is no key, and there are no words anymore…
You made paths through the meadows, found the way to the beach..
You sang, and told stories; knew the funniest jokes..
You made ponytails and wiped away tears.. kissed bruises better and warmed frozen feet..
And how you’d swing the scythe through the grasslands, and shadow the field like a god…
Then you died, again.
I buried you a thousand times.
I dug the graves with my fingers.
Remember when grandma used to say, that at the end there’s only sorrow to share,
when the gates are locked and the paint stripping off the walls…
But you joke; you tell those silly stories
and I can almost see you sitting on the steps..
Mute tears wiped swiftly with a trembling hand.
And you laugh, hopelessly clinging to the pretense,
desperate eyes searching for her;
the little girl in her silly dresses
the red bows you tied in her hair.
I see you walking to the old well
your eyes lost now, your heart numb
If only the fields could engulf you..
If only that bottle wasn’t quite so far..
You’re my home, dad..
I’m sorry I never call…
Your arms are made of sunlight, they leave gold dust on my skin when you hold me. The star inside your chest burns brighter when you pull me close and I melt like a candle; my whole body rebuilt in the shape of you.
And now I’m just ashes and dust, shapeless.. my skin has become obsolete and there’s only one place I can be whole. There’s only one pair of hands that remember my shape, that can mould me again..
Isn’t that what they all say? No, they never do. But you know it anyway. You know it because it’s you that he leaves, again and again…
But he did say it. With his head on your chest and your hair wrapped around his fingers… with the taste of your love on his lips he chose her; but you already knew he would always choose her.
So you sit back in your place; and oh, you do know your place now. You cherish the small part of his heart that is yours, but can’t help wonder.. if she gave just a little more, wouldn’t he take it back? Wouldn’t he give it all to her?
The old loneliness I treasured, its icy teeth long settled in my flesh were at home.
Dripping with longing and desire, and traces of trembling fingers on hot skin; with question marks and what ifs..
This is fire and molten rock, it burns through my bones and leaves smoking holes every time you place a soft kiss on the back of my neck, every time you rest your hand on the side of my face.
Yet it’s that same kiss that I await to fill the hollowness, that same hand to piece me back together.
But my love, what if there’s nothing left then? If the blaze leaves only ash in its wake and your final kiss blows me to the wind.
Have you wondered?
I search your eyes for the pain; not the one from the past but the one that soon comes from beneath that loving gaze. For the blow I now know to expect when I tear down these walls..
But you tear them down with your eyes alone, unwrap my mummified heart and hold it in your hands like the holy grail; this bleeding, shivering corpse..
You undress me with a gentle look, layers and layers of black cloth fall to the ground in a smoking pile and the soft smile at the corner of your lips turns them to ash..
I want to hide my nakedness from you, not the skin but the rotting wounds that will never heal, the pain that clings to my bones like a hideous tumour. But your fingers brush against the side of my face and disarm me, blow the last of my shield to the winds…
The words had dried on her tongue long ago. But she didn’t dare blow them away, and held on, a mouth full of sand choking her slowly. She carried the heavy bones that were once wings on her back and still searched for the lost lightness in her step.
The tears had dried too but the silent wails never stopped ringing in her ears. Her voice, almost forgotten, quietly hummed an old song in the distance. A ghost, she circled the grave full of all that she was and wished there was name on the headstone; for that, she couldn’t remember…
Perhaps it’s my turn to pray..
That one day there would be no Goodbyes.
That the sound of closing doors won’t leave lingering emptiness through the nights..
I blow out the candles and the flame in my heart. I welcome the darkness like an old friend yet hope that one day the fire won’t have to go out..
You walk in and the hour glass turns in my heart. The rage settles over my bones.. for the ticking hands of the clock and each second that takes you away, for the water waiting to wash away the smell of my skin from yours..
I squeeze your hands tighter and you slip through my fingers like sand. Your ‘I have to go’ rings in my ears like an air raid siren. I cover my eyes with trembling hands and shrink.. I dare not look again because I know you’ll be gone.
So I welcome the darkness again and pull the pieces of me back together. I lift up my chin like a big girl and walk, one foot in front of the other like my mother said, yet knowing that every step leads me back to you.
The heat and the blazing fire; the sound of wood burning, of synced heartbeats and slow breaths. It’s late, or too early.. but they don’t know; their love keeps no track of time, no fear of limits or ends.
He begins to pray and her brush freezes on the canvas; she closes her eyes, his silent prayer alive in her ears. The whole world grows still for a while.. then their eyes meet again and smile at each other, a thousand words hidden in a warm gaze.
Now God is with them; on their burning skin and their heavy eyelids, on their lips and the ends of their fingers. They draw close, quietly drifting towards each other like lost stars until they melt together irrevocably, their eternety promised once more..