True Love - 2

When does one stop; where does one arrive where they finally let go of this ambiguous pining, this vague pain? To find a keeper, as they say, would be a place to start. I see the world around me; well kempt. I believe that to be found through the world is to be found with at least an iota of borrowed truth; when the body shakes, the stomach aches.

Preaching kindness, we live in a selfish world. Everyone born the same, but some just want that much more; more from me, and more from you. Giving suffices as valid currency in and of itself; and that’s if one’s lucky. The loose change doesn’t even care if you notice that there isn’t all that much there to notice; it just wants, and you best cough it up. Because if you don’t, laughter will follow you asking, “where else will you go?”

These prisons that we construct for ourselves, all manifesting in a search for ‘the one’. A true sight, a happy couple; fills the heart with warmth. There was a time I’d think it best to pine and to wait, smelling fresh flowers rot. The question struck me in the kidney: would you like to be a station, or the train? Are you someone’s final destination, or are you just afraid?

When did the fellow winds stop being enough? The dry leaf and the army of ants trotting it home; when did the skies stop showing me their dreams for me? How much of this life is enough; for a person to seek out another. How much soul has to die, in order for another to fill its void. A solitary whistling wind had neither the nest – nor any longer the desire – to be heard; the tune’s divinity the only constant company. A loneliness may be able to colour what love’s purveyors enjoy; however, this loneliness thrives in its freedom.

Setting sail on the railways, there is too much life yet. The heights we seek come from the depths of the oceans within; and may this abyss cut deeper still. Hear me now, fellow travellers…the journey is hardest and longest for those that can feel what awaits.

Written on Wednesday, May 19, 2021

Through the Breeze

In the gentle wind of spring, her eyelashes would dance with an urgency; almost a desperation she thought no one could see. Looking on as he walked by, wonderment followed by a curt dismissal. It was a while before I realized: we all seek answers, but what of the multitude of questions they uncover?

Few revel in the heaping chaos that grows as answers start to pile up around us: stale. Would she go home walking through the same fantasies? Those tired, trodden what ifs…or will he finally turn around, wipe his palms and say hello? Tiny moments of pure abandonment, where we forget ourselves; so deeply enthralled by another, brought down to our purest forms.

She’d seek him out every morning, not to actually say anything to him, not even because it gave her any kind of joy; she just wanted to know. Maybe she was testing herself, ‘today, I’ll know why…’ But every morning the search, and the gaze – finding its treasure – hiding itself, confused by its own actions.

Thoughts that shackle us: explanations for why, who, when and how? What exactly? To process these into thoughts and words, would be to empty the ocean to explore it. An inclination, a leaning…a fond gravitation to his being. ‘Wise men say, only fools rush in…’ she writes before she wanders into that dark space of uncertainty, of random coherency; into her dreams.

How I miss those spring breezes, caressing my cheeks with a hint of cool, as though whispering that life’s here to stay. At the same time, pinching me with that teasing heat; a lover struggles, forever waiting by the bay. ‘…but I can’t help falling in love with you’, he scribbles.

Written on Wednesday, May 13, 2021

War

Five left, slide the mag back in. Click, snap, turn safety off; they’re waiting, past the Leather Tech manhole…or maybe a few have ventured farther, I wouldn’t put it past them. It’s raining, the last time I had a moment to enjoy the rains were exactly a year ago, been a while.

This college, I’d been here a month and I had never seen more dysfunction in such close quarters, though that is what I thought I’d left behind. Little did I know what was to happen, little did I realise what I had truly lost. Day-in and day-out I treaded through the stale pieces of sunlight and shadows strewn across the dirt on the tiles intertwining. Detail, noticing so much, I was lost; crouched wounded in oblivion; lost in the smell of her hair, the brown and gold merging in her eyes glistening, the subtle sweet beckoning of her voice. My heart had melted and seeped out the moment I had seen her, and was now on a plane to the darkest, farthest point of zenith it could find. The ol’ heart didn’t take “So, now you’re off to college…we should talk” too lightly. The cold rhythm of Eminem blasting on my earphones, I did not hesitate in assigning cathartic innuendo to the rain: how dare you console me?

Whizzing past goes the soft-point bullet. Abrupt end to the Fam, they were an average bunch anyway. This fight had to stop, tonight. It is obviously not going to. Undulating back and forth, inside and outside her over and over I felt like I had raped this college into oblivion, couldn’t go back; this college needed a break. Sorry, I forget…the rain, the rain. We were now far from a college, just mere passengers on a plane, as if looking at each other and thinking, “Hey there, sex?” Dammit, that one was close, these people aren’t letting up, I gotta push harder. But how, I’ve only five left, can’t keep this up all night.

I had sat awake all night, cigarette smoke giving me company, dancing ever so slowly, reminding me of the girl I’d just met. She was special, in more trivial ways than others, definitely in more ways than most. For one, she wasn’t all that bad to look at. The seniors claimed that our place could possibly compete for the ugliest campus on the planet: sir, I beg to differ. She was an escape, funny, smart, everything I needed, that I wanted and had in order to maybe get my mojo back. Or better yet, was she just ‘just another, another mistake’? Brilliantly, she turned out to be.

I’m fading now, bruises down the back of my neck, bite marks along the rest. Scathed with scratches from nails so sharp, how sweet the pain. Shoot, for ‘happiness is a warm gun’. I’ve three left, she won’t relent. My Glock’s tired out, sitting warm in the palm of my hand, it has seen too much action in these past months. Who would’ve thought that at the darkest hour, my grand scams, bland plans would be thwarted by her: a woman is the end of me? I had fought hard, no one expected me to, but well, they were dead and I was crouched here. The sun should be rising in half an hour. Maybe if I jump across fast enough to the other side of the gate, it looks more comforting. This is what had gotten me through, immediate choices of a dead man. I jump, roll, palm down lean leap. Fuck, I’ve been shot. Blood’s oozing out the back of my calf, down to my ankle, it is fine – I didn’t expect to see this night through anyway, in an hour it would have been breakfast time, when we were still sane. But she’d just emptied her rifle out, she’s running on the idea that she might have a couple cartridges left…sorry honey I can count.

Counting the minutes sitting in the Mess waiting for her to join me for breakfast was the only time I pleasurably employed arithmetic, the only time I did so.

“You’re late.”

            “Three minutes na?”

            “ I got here much earlier…”

            “…Sorry??”

            Or have this for a little tickle of one’s medial insula,

            “But didn't Charlie want to be a butterfly?” she’d always ask.

“Yes, but that was because his dad wouldn't let him”, was my quirky, nonsensical reply.

Then we’d eat, it wasn’t serious banter, but the jovial juvenile roaring and kicking within us. But one day, someday, I noticed, that our lil’ juveniles were rubbing against some egos the wrong way. Surely friends would not be jealous, lest hateful of what we had? As averse to logic as it might be, they were. Little snide jabs were in order, a duel was brewing…

At my wits end now, I see it all clearly. She knows she’s out, but she’s smiling, simply standing waiting. How silly of me, I didn’t add to the equation my wound. Taxing, draining and defeating, my calf’s bleeding had killed my leg, literally. Without my right-side hind limb, my balance was useless, nay, non-existent. The biology of my existence was over, my mental make-up smeared. Yet I persisted, it’s now or never. I flung around, blind shots, bang bang…bang. Face first into her, the cosmos went up in the air and came crashing down, and I looked her in the eyes, tears, monsoon’s the best time of year. They will know who I was with tonight, they will know I won.

One fine day, it was. The weather was perfect, autumn, how I had loved thee. I was busy readying myself, had-ta pop the question. Well, I was just asking her out really, but at the time, it felt nothing like pouring the love I would have into a marriage proposal. I turned to face her, and that’s when it happened, he walked up to her and said,

“Hey, we need to talk about last night”

            “Why…all we did was make-out?”

He had just pulled out his Uzi, and rattled it off in his puny palms, right in my direction. Nabbed my shoulder, fortunately I still had conviction left, pile on the anger, throw in some logic and sprinkle with clarity topped with sanity, I was ready, I was free. It had begun, they had preyed on us, in the darkness, lurking, waiting to strike. Goddam guerrilla warriors, cadre et al. Little did they know what was coming their way, which it was that had decided to now march? Valve in frame, insert bullet bullet bullet…click, snap & shut: my Glock was ready, cool and calm waiting, in my stead.

                                    This was war. 

Written on Sunday, July 8, 2012