Friday, August 12, 2011

A Patchwork of that Nameless You

This pain amazing: a week's passing
spent in bed with a mind spent lingering
lost in a maze of troubled, tortuous thoughts
constructing a thousand scenarios of emotional
disasters all of which suck me into this languid black
hole of idle reverie. Yet, smiles constantly fight
back and tear through these delusions of despair and warp
this curve of time, taking me back to a moment so simple
that the wrinkle of your nose finally taught me the
meaning of home. I pet my pillow, remembering
when your fat, furry cat of simple silly affection
stretched out between us in bed and everything
was giggle as broken sunshine thatched through your
blinds and hugged our skin so proudly. That thing some call
a soul bubbles with ice cream and sushi, heel prints in my
dashboard, pirate lawyers, scrabble-wine-madness-texas nightmares-and
car wrecks and all of it you. So much you that your face marches throughout
my day evaporating a world of people as you and you and you
pop up everywhere around me to the extent that I no longer see another
woman -- I see only hints and memories of "Oh, remember when she did that,"
or "Oh, that's like this one time," and "Oh, she kind of smiles like her."
Everything reduced to the distance of a pronoun, because I dare not
speak your name. Everything magnified to the scope of the
unyielding, because you are the one, the she, the her, the it
unspeakable, unnamable, ineffable you. None of this feeling possible without
you. Never dreamed possible before you. Gone it may be from here on
out, but that stretch of life that entangled you and I will
never erase. I will always wear you in every expression
I make. You will always color my smile, shadow my eyes and ease the
furrows of my brow as your ghost returns to ninja dance through those
cinemas of memory. More than any one or thing, you have given me a makeover
that may hurt like hell, but, in the end, will let me leave this world that
much more beautiful.

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