Tears

I realize this post isn't going to make much sense to most, as only a very few knows what has happened. 

I've had some very unsettling and upsetting weeks (which have included a lot of tears) since I returned back from my writing retreat, not helped today by having abuse shouted at me by a crazy person over the phone for like 25 minutes at work. To be honest, with everything else going on it almost made me cry - and I don't cry over work crap. And that's after already bursting into tears over lunch while telling a friend about what's been happening in my private life since my return.

I spent a large part of last weekend with a tissue in one hand and a whiskey in the other (note - not while driving). And Wednesday I burst into tears in my Hendricks and tonic and last night I burst into tears in my Kraken and diet (though that went unnoticed - phew!). So it seems since coming back my life is all about crying.

I have decided to use this constant teariness for some good. Because tears can be powerful and make you determined too. She said she knows I will finish my novel, that it will get picked up and published. And I want to make her proud; I want to do this for her.

So, after I've finished crying for this time and I've been for a run, I'm going to sit down and start editing Chapter 1. Maybe I am committing the fucking sunk cost fallacy, but I don't care - I going to finish this novel even if it kills me. Although, since I told her about my next project, I kinda have to stay alive long enough to complete that too.

Fin

So sweet the scent of dejection.
Like honey mixed with caramel.
And white lilies at the funeral.
To not dream to not hope to die.
End what never began.

It's cinematic.
Fin

Inamorato

It’s always like the first time. The way your touch me intoxicates me. Every strand, the myriad of molecules, every neuron in me is tingling in anticipation as I look up at you, explore your skin, your hardness, your softness, with my body. I taste you. I fill my lungs with you. I can never get enough of feeling you inside me, under me, on top of me, moving slow, moving fast. And when I’m exhausted, you lull me to sleep. Our moments together are so tender, yet so rough.

You never cease to surprise me. There is always a bit of you that’s unknown to me. As you lead me to new streets, new bars, new adventures, and tell me tales of times past, of ghosts, of greatness, I forever fall more in love with you. Time stops; it doesn’t exist. But somehow, it always ends.

Thinking about you, even when I’m with you, makes me breathless, my chest tightens and it hurts. Because, I know, you will never truly be mine. To you this means nothing. As soon as I leave, you will forget about me. You will tell other women your stories, show them your heart, take them to your bed and make love to them. And then watch over them as they sleep.

But I can’t stay away from you. I have tried. You’re in my blood; you pulsate through me. I hear you as I put my head on my pillow to rest. I feel you as I'm running along the Thames in the rain. Do you ever think about me when I’m not with you? Do you ever miss me, miss having me next to you? I sometimes fool myself into thinking that if you knew how I feel you’d confess your true heart. And then we could be together.

Our relationship is breaking me. But I am forever yours, New York. And as we kiss goodbye, for this time? forever? I close my eyes. I don’t want you to see me cry, so I walk away without looking back. I don’t want to know if you are still standing there, watching me walk away, if maybe our parting is upsetting you too. I don’t look back because I don’t want to find out that you’re not standing there watching me walk away.

Still there's a light I hold before me
You're the measure of my dreams

The sound of you and me

The sound of you and me is luminous. It’s standing in the front row at a gig, a summer breeze on naked skin through an open window, the buzz from the first draw on a cigarette, The Shining when you’re nine, a flickering candle flame. It’s scintillating. You and me - I like the sound.

The sound of you and me is suspect to others. Or perhaps obvious. We know too much, talk with authority about each other. A conspiratorial closeness is sensed in the way we stand as one and share affection without words. To others we sound like we belong together. And yet, we don’t.

The sound of you and me is silent. A drowsy head resting against a shoulder in a cab on the way home. A hand running through hair. A finger touching a cheek. A kiss. As we undress each other, our clothes whisper secrets as they fall to the floor.  Our eyes screaming the truth, but there is no sound.

The sound of you and me is borrowed. But it’s all I hear. 

Kisses

I’m trying to remember my first kiss, but it eludes me, the memory. How sad that such a fundamental experience has disappeared - no doubt due to excess alcohol consumption. I wonder how many kisses I don’t remember because I was too drunk or they were too insignificant.

                     

I do remember the boy I used to kiss during break times when I was 15. And there was the kiss which ended a friendship. The kiss that happened just because the guy was so tall (and I was so drunk). The kisses with my big love, who proclaimed that our lips were a perfect fit. I remember the pain of our last ever kiss. But I don't remember the kisses.

So many kisses and so little meaning.

In my mind I still see the surprise on your face as we kissed that first time. There have been other kisses between our first, and our last. But my lips, they remember every kiss. I wish ours had at least some little bit of significance.

I don’t want to be kissed again, now or forever. I want to remember at least this kiss. And I want the last imprint on my lips, the DNA, the saliva mixed with mine, to be from your kiss.