I’m not the sort of person
Who falls in and quickly out of love
But to you I gave my affection
Right from the start
- The weakness in me, Joan Armatrading
She’s working elbow deep in clay. Sweat drips off her forehead, which she doesn’t notice. She is intent on the impending figure that will emerge from the clay. She’s trying to spend herself, emotionally, physically, so she falls exhausted into dreamless sleep.
So she can’t think.
The electricity goes around 4 times at night. She is woken up by a thunderstorm, beautiful wild rain pounding amid lightning on old brick roofs and 300 year old trees.
She walks the house at night with a flashlight, checking doors and windows. Drenched in sweat, not a drop of breeze in the house, she lies on the sweltering mattress and kicks off the 6 pillows and spread eagles herself so that there is no overlapping flesh to cause puddles of sweat.
Dreams of going back to school, a reunion, but its actually just him. In a room in the beautiful old building that haunted her childhood. Holding her, swearing he loved her, so convincing her foolish stupid heart believes him again.
And again, every time she lies down, she feels the gaping void. She can feel, feel him on the other side of the bed, where she used to reach an arm out to reassure herself he was there, and be unbearably comforted by his solid warmth.
Freezing in a too cold AC, and rolling over to him in the middle of the night so she could be find warmth. Persuading him to open lift an arm, and be enveloped in delicious heat, held safe between hard lines of stomach muscle and bicep while he snored unbearably reassuring in her ear.
Of waking up in the middle of a dream with a smile, because two three pillows hugged back.
Of going to sleep tangled together, of trying to escape to a quieter corner of the bed where snores didn’t crash so close, and have his arms tighten around her, not letting her go. Of lying awake and staying right where she was, because it felt so right.
Of waking up to the perfect breakfast in bed every day, a prayer and time to do pursue every dream she could ever have wanted. Of being back and being so taken care of, so unconditionally loved and supported, that she never wanted to leave to the awful place that broke her wings and her heart.
How can you have everything yet still want something so bad for you?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
I’m not the sort of person
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
the police come to the door. she opens it, and blocks their way. they show her a piece of paper. she shakes her head. they don't believe her, and have to firmly come in.
there is the sound of crying, a shout, something breaking. a man yelling, cursing. they come out again, with him sandwiched in the middle. the woman is crying in huge silent gasps, burying her face in the the yellow kitchen duster in her hand.
the neighbours are watching.
"can you believe the broad? he clocks her one, gives her a fresh black eye, and she's crying for him!"
- nora roberts
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
the view is breathtaking
the 12th floor seems quite dizzingly high in the third world landscape
the white lights dot the edge of the water, spinning out to pin pricks of probably frantic fishing activity miles away
standing in the wind, hair and clothes being whipped into pleasing streams behind her, she stands, watching, inhaling the beautiful city.
far far away tiny people go about their night life - a maid closes a curtain in a window far below, a boy walks like a little action figure on the ground to the car.
a little miniature painting, put on for her benefit.
is this how God feels, so high in the sky?
looking down at us little insignificant specks, hurtling, full of self importance and pompous problems which mean nothing, being ground to ash and dust in cosmic seconds, living out a giant chess board of good against evil while happily oblivious in the matrix waiting to get the next quarterly promotion and the next annual bonus
maybe we're all just as pathetic as the spineless bastard.