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There are things that I can remember that hide away in the dark of me until I pass that grocery shop on the corner. You know that organic one? And they’re selling blackberries on special for a dollar.
Or it could be someone I have never met falling away from my gaze and bringing his laughter like a resonant chord plucked from the depths of my falling away from gasps. I shudder. Close contact with my chest is my heart beating through my ribs pleading to be ripped out.
You can see. I know. You can see, but you never say a word. Is it pleasant? Being that, oh look there, again here, oh where are you? Can I tell?
Echoes through these tunnels that are so familiar, I could scream out the similarities of this terrace and the five hundred million shoes outside the front door and that man in the heat standing outside and yelling at his four hundred and ninety-nine million children, in another tongue I can name but can only say hello in.
Do you know what my name means? It would even make you laugh, I tell you. Here is where the memory filters into a reality, and there is where tomorrow was last week. Can you tell me what I’ll be wearing; can you tell me what they would be saying to me when I told them about you?
I swear it is another continent where I can breathe easier. The air will smell different, perhaps it would not be as red apple crisp as white chocolate mountains in South America, but it would feel thick, and syrupy and hazing me into a stupor. I would drink it in, this land of scents other than. And not
Fall inside the crevice of different oxygen, different accents, different platitudes
Will you swoon? If ever I glazed my crinkle lids in your direction, smiled bird-like at the corners of my eyes to show I mean more than just skin ripples
I’m not too sure what that would mean, to the birds if they were singing, and it was another day that I can remember where there was a running stream, and the noise in the air was like a carnival and the trees were like a cardboard fairy tale and my fingers were not hot because of the summer
Surely it is as easy as waking up. Dipping your toes in iced water, sucking out the sweet from the crystalline mother-liquid, hoping it will only ever cost a dollar for the rest of your life.
I saw this movie once, where I did not see the movie at all. And I can tell you the contours of every nose in the flickering sideways outline showing up on my own little screen. I could remind you of all the times I was unsure of where to point the fire extinguisher. Trees burn indoors faster than they do in the light, outside. Where there could very well be helicopters.
Slow down, just before you need to speed up so that you can fool them all. Go on. Do it.
I am weary of the way you pause to take a breath. I linger on the Hansel and Gretel crumbs that fall away from your words, but I know. There is no home. And there are no condolences for catch-phrases that descend into disrepair. And blurred meanings.
This is what I was meaning. I was meaning hello, joystick further than a replay of what I told you I could remember of that year, it is everything I never said in those moments before you caught your breath. It is the book I let burn, it is the book I let burn, it is the book I let fall on to the cement, it is the book I gave away.

I gave away more than an afternoon in June. I gave away more than straight legged red deities for thighs. And I am sure that I had medals for all the early mornings I would ever have to cloud-breath whisper in the tunnels that I was more afraid of not finding my future painted on the left side, than I was of finding a switchblade on the right.
Let me keep the day before I met you, let me keep the day before I ever came to my favourite place, let me keep the day before I shied away from every inquisition, let me keep the day before I remembered how to crease my lips in a real way, again.
Of course, you are there on the corner. The way I remember, or not. It doesn’t matter. Details, they just don’t exist more than sound is in my taste buds pulsing through my love for discord. You’re holding yourself they way you always held yourself. Because people don’t take notice, because people always take notice, because people matter in that strange way where they don’t, much, at all.
There you are. And I am mistaken. Because you are not there, picking up that punnet, picking up another, shuffling your weight from each sole, or is that me? It isn’t you. You are not there, reaching into your pocket, for your wallet, picking out a coin, picking out a smile for her. It is not you wishing everything you ever loved could cost a dollar, when it doesn’t exist anymore.
I'm terribly behind, I apologise, but I haven't had the time at all. And might not have much in the near future either, but I'll try.

love love

[Who are you to choose? Who are you two? Who are you? Who are? Who?]

I have no clue.
mesmeric-revelation Featured By Owner Dec 1, 2007
i wish i could fit all your poems/prose into my mind pocket, and let them dance around and stay up until whoknowswhen.

loveliness :heart:
saturnineguise Featured By Owner Dec 21, 2007
hehehe i could bring popcorn and tasty things from the asian shop :giggle:
mesmeric-revelation Featured By Owner Dec 23, 2007
hah,cursing in different languages because they didn't salt the popcorn =P
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November 30, 2007
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