SOLILOQUY

peddicordwedding-012I am tired of seeing relationships around me fail, break and fall apart, turn so tough that in the end there is no love left. I don’t want to fall in love just so that all of it can be slowly drawn out of me.

You see, it is something like this. Imagine you were a stamp collector. And you go to these stormy deserts and frozen mountains, you visit kingdoms from lost time. You speak to these old men in post-offices, men with warts and eyebrows as thick as grasslands. You do all of this only so that you can add to your prized collection each day. And one day, your box of stamps is beautifully full, it is so whole that you couldn’t possibly add another feather to it. Would you ever turn this box upside down?

What if I tell you you had to. Or someone else would.

I don’t want to go on collecting stamps all my life only so that someone can pick them up and send them on loveless postcards to mailboxes where they will never be read, never be discovered. I don’t want to love until I am empty.

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A Reminder

To the white wine of joy, winters, and New Year cheer

I am writing this so that when I read it later in life, I can recall what a wonderfully happy year this was.

I know the coming year will bring its own challenges and pains. There will be three sad days for every good one. But I hope that by this time next year, I have the courage to call 2017 just as beautiful.

Goodbye 2016,

Thank you for all the memories.

The History of You

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She wore tens of layers in winters. None of them bigger than the ones they superseded. Each the same size, crafted for her round, pink body. They fit over each other like missing pieces of  jigsaw. They made so much sense together.

The white collar peeking from below the red sweater that slept within the sea-coloured coat and the  cream scarf of snow. Each bit a clue to a treasure map I had spent my entire life searching.

Paper Bag

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I have a small paper bag on my table that I fill with all things forgotten.

Also, some things I would like to forget. I hope the latter would one day feel like they have found their family, and finally, once and for all, leave me alone.

In this bag is a photograph from Grade six where I look like a boy. My old iPod earphones. A spool of thread from when I was learning to weave. Bobby-pins that I am convinced I have lost.

Also, a pair of socks that I took out last night. I was to wear them with my grey shoes. But then you never came to ring my doorbell, and I never left the house. So I tucked the socks into my paper bag, disappointed.

In this paper bag is a green pen I used when I wrote poetry, it’s ink dried. There is also a keyring from our first trip together, when I barely knew you, and I later realised, myself.

Also, the parchment I scribbled on on Thursday. A letter I never sent.

In this bag I put a little bit of me and a little bit of you each day.

Hoping to forget.

I am afraid, one day I finally will. And I will wander around my room, and discover a paper bag earthed in mothballs of dust and cobwebs of time. And having forgotten what is was for, I will wonder what it is? Perhaps I will turn it upside down, and filter through its contents all over again.

The Train

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I know you’ve been dreaming of the train all day. I know that you still are.

I can sense that your breath is trying to fit itself within the rhythmic churning of its wheels as they go round and round the blue forest of your mind.

I know you can smell its smoke through your skin, and feel the cold mist that washes in through its windows in your heart.

What if I tell you that when you wake up you’ll find yourself on this train? That you have been journeying on it all the while you’ve been dreaming. And that all it takes to wake up to reality is to break open your dream. Would you have the courage to abandon sweet thought and place your trust where I ask you to?

I hope you do.

Because I promise that this train will take you to a place more beautiful than the one you dream of.

With love,

Dad

Seawater

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I often sit at the beach fidgeting with my wedding band, fidgeting with my fingers. I miss your hands in mine.

I often sit at the beach and wonder that the sea knows too much, don’t you think?

It is so old and aged and wise, I wonder what all it has seen.

It knows of the darkest love and the secrets of the ships that sunk in it. It knows of deaths and the whispers that join the stars.

I wonder if that is what makes it so ravenous for skin.

I often sit at the beach and think if that is why he ate you up? To share the stories it held?

I wonder how you are Louis. Are you still down there? Are you sitting down there looking above at the lovely blue sky?

Are you looking at me? I think yes.

Do your hands miss mine?

Pam.

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One day they will be convinced that you do not exist. One day they will know for sure that you cannot be.

And hence they will think that I am mad, Pam, crazy as a bat to know for sure that you are and that you will be.

They will drug me, and electrocute me.

They will penetrate syringes within me.

As if it is no crime Pam. As if it is no crime to separate Romeo from Juliet and lover from loved and friend from friend and dreamer from dream.

It is a crime. They must know. It always has been.

They will be certain that the cage of your persona keeps me from being free.

But that cannot be. For isn’t a dream the part of a dreamer as much as you are a part of me? You are indeed.

But how will they free me from the drug within my mind, you?

How will they detach me from the worm that curls within each cell?

How will they erase your memories, Pam, when they live in me and flow in my blood?

One day I will think I am delirious. For believing in your existence. I will know one day that you are no realer than the air. You are yet aren’t there.

But my love for you wouldn’t change Pam. I will know in a subconscious corner of my heart that I had a friend who loved me, who held my hand when the night skies were pink, and the ground was hazy, and lived with me through locked doors of asylum. I will know Pam, I will know.

I may not remember but I will know.

Do not leave me then Pam, do not go.

Stay where you are, within my mind, inside my body and in my soul, and we will survive the drugs and toil through, but stay put Pam, do not go.

Stay in my brain, even if that truly is where you always have been, and like a secret I will keep you there.

I promise, no one will know, no one will know.