Bent Words

Bent Words

January 20, 2009

Around every corner there seems to be a whisper of you.

And how do I stop my ears?

They still hear the hint of your voice on the other line during a busy day, they still fall back upon the crashing waves coupled with the words of promised patience and they still melt with the sunset and your lingering sigh after a long day's work. They bend to remember those entirely truthful tones and they ache to capture the sentiment spoken in breaths of adoration. They seek the rising recognition of your sensuality and the emerging impulses that would never be contained. The laughter released, the stories recounted, the agony verbalized, the triumphs realized, the mundane mentioned. They still listen for your footfall deliberately approaching.

I still listen.

The signs of fate that tempt the edges of our world yet exist.

And how do I shield my eyes?

They cannot look away quickly enough -- they still see the care in which you would take to arrange your hair (while pondering the man with similar shades in the car just ahead). They notice the outline of your shape, the bend of your neck, the angle of your jaw and they seek to slowly trace the lines from head to toe on an endless evening. They still see the expressive stare, reaching out for more, seeking affirmation and understanding. They still shine with the intensity only your arrival could procure and they still glitter with the fear of your departure. They squint under the sun trying to catch your exact position and they often open to overwhelming mornings filled with the amber glow of your glory. They could not blink a moment of the blue sky blazing brilliantly in your eyes.

I still see.

Though I've wished and willed it away. Though I've pressed upon deafness, begged to cease my catching eye. Though the years apart have faded the pictures and hushed the whispers, softened the alacrity and minced the memory -- it's still there. Though we've wrapped ourselves in the folds of other lives and donned different dreams and dressed ourselves according to our new responsibilities -- it's still there. Perhaps we are ill-suited for that old attire but I sometimes wonder now how that wardrobe would fit...

Written at 11:29 p.m.