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Today whilst wandering the forgotten realms of old disks, I came upon an old hyperlink poetry page I used to have. Strange to find again old soulpourings about people I haven’t seen in years.
Looking through these old files, I realize that all these precious insights, these understandings that kept me warm at night – they are nothing now, no matter how true they might have been. Frozen crystals of clarity that have been glazed over with a patina of disuse.
I’ve recently become obsessed with an old relationship I was in. I’ve been wondering if I remember it the way it was or has my mind twisted it somehow to romantisize what I now wish it was? It doesn’t help that it was one of those dances that you can’t pin down at the time. Can’t impale like a butterfly onto a board. The steps can’t be studied, nor the movements compared to other pieces of random grace. I remember wishing to stab the beauty and preserve it, if dead.
It’s the weather.
This oppresive mix of heat and sky and cloud.
I haven’t slept, it’s eleven now. I am taking your shirt with me when I go, so I will have something to carry with me.
I cut myself recreating the heart. I put a nail right through my thumb. Almost enough blood to write with, but not quite.
I think I would like to be your crawlspace. I want to be that. That place between. Between breath and breathing. Between thighs where you store old paintings and furniture nobody uses anymore. I want a chance to come back for you. I feel like today is the day that you and I first meet in another world of circumstance.
Taking little sugary pills to prevent contraception. Strange sometimes to think about. I feel now that the inside of my head is gray. Sometimes now, I want a child. Clocks ticking.
The noon alarm you set for me would not have gone off. The first day of spring again I suppose. You’d forgotten to remove the block from between the bells. No matter. I don’t believe I was meant to sleep today. I picture you in the sun, hair caught and played with by the wind coming off the water. There is green, though placing you seems difficult. I could put you anywhere. A flash of you climbing above me at the sandcliffs, wet, heavy sand caught clinging to the cuffs of your red jeans and filling your shoes. Laughter as you turn to help me and smiling as we both slip. It
can’t happen, could never happen. They’ve shored it up, my slippery cliff slope is gone, terraced out of existence, but I can still see you in the moonlight. Above me in a moment from years ago. A night with you that you likely spent sitting up, with no wisp of this inside you. Enjoying the fine summer night a million miles and half a city away. But I can see you(underlined). A night by the fire we never had.
Between spaces, darkness between stars, windowsills, I could take a memory and put you in it, between fantasy and reality. Your hand (want to add the word forever here) under a dark sky and a half waning moon.