All that stays unknown

There he is, the morning of.

It is summer and he feels good in his skin. Stretched to the corners of his life, filling them out. Everything is as it should be; he is where he should be. He’s solid here, close to the ground, nothing shifting underneath him.

There he is. Oblivious and satisfied, this morning of.

Oblivious: Unaware. Without memory.

Oblivion then, is this. All that stays unknown. There are fires forgotten, under that skin. Little licks in his veins he tries to out-run. Thinking flames can be exhausted this way. Not knowing a single spark can revive.

And how close he is to burning, now.

There. Here. There he is.

He’s out the door, and the sky is blue, and he’s running along, not knowing her name. He’ll hear it today, this name, for the very first time. Unaware of the dreams she’ll soon gather, of the clocks and counting just ahead.

He doesn’t know that he will remember. And that she is his memory, waiting.

(I never, not for a single day, forget)

Somewhere, waiting

There she is, the morning of.

It is summer, and she feels it. The winter sadness has been shaken, sloughed from her skin, and she’s lighter now, present. Waking without the ache, without the anchor thud dragging her down.

There she is. Happy and forgetful in her getting ready, this morning of.

Ready: Prepared. Willing. Equipped.

The readiness is all, they say, but at this minute she thinks she has escaped her fate. She thinks one can survive it. She does not know, as she takes that last mirror look, as she smoothes her hair and tongues her teeth for lipstick stains. She does not know that life can change in other ways, that there are slower, softer ways of starting.

She does not know what’s out there, waiting.

There. Here. There she is.

She’s out the door, and the sky is blue, and she’s humming along, not knowing his name. She’ll hear it today, this name, for the very first time. Unaware of the ghosts he’ll soon gather, of the tracks and stopping just ahead.

She doesn’t know that she’s begun. And that he is her somewhere, waiting.

Walt Whitman Poetry

All this time (4)

5.24 PM

I’m finishing my third wine; I tilt the glass at you each time I make a point, flirting over my nervousness, drinking it away. Twice now, we have touched. Fingers taping on arm to emphasise, a gentle shoulder push at something controversial. Easy, inconsequential, like the little stories we are trading. It feels good. Natural. But I am nervous all the same. There is more than distance between us, after-all.

Two years. I cannot decide if it is a lifetime, or yesterday. I built up those days, used every single minute and hour to create distance between us. One day placed on top of another until I had a fortress of time to hide behind. It was the only way I knew to do it.

You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

Leaving you.

It was like losing the sun. I spent weeks, months, fumbling through the dark of your absence, jumping at shadows, and sleeping with my eyes wide open. Barricade building, until I could no longer remember the glow, how we used to power this city.

Until, enough days had passed, and a whole new life grew up out of the dark.

Some of it I share with you now. I want to tell you, dance my life in front of you, show the accumulation of these two years. But there are also parts I want to protect, things you don’t deserve to hear. You are carefully choosing your own sharing tonight. There is nothing unusual in that, but you have not thought of what I already know, of the ways you still come up from time to time.

I am now fully aware of what you won’t say.

A lot has changed.

Do you say it? Do I say it? Is it a bitter offering, or lament? Your hand goes to my knee, and suddenly I am blazing. Suddenly, nothing has changed at all.


Eidyia’s note: Two former lovers meeting again after years apart. What changes? What doesn’t? Does time really heal everything, or do we merely learn to pause certain feelings, certain desires – and it’s all just there, waiting. Does what we resist, only persist?

All this time – a little writing exercise to see …

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3: