七封情书24 October 2018
The way it starts is the way it ends and I kiss you like the worst I’ve ever had is a paper cut. I dream of asking you out for coffee, watch the flowers grow in real time. You live above me so I stick stars on the ceiling. I’m hoping that they’ll help you sleep better.
Your name tastes like honey in my mouth. It’s sticky sweet dripping down my lip, slow, gentle sounds. Wine-flushed cheeks, a morning prayer kind of beautiful. When I get to the end I half expect you to call for me, and you never do.
Quiet, gentle creature. You’re stupid beautiful in darkness and light and tenderness spilling from every inch of you. I create a feature film out of all the ways you make my face warm: the first time you cried in front of me, your favourite brand of beer, your hand on my hair, your eyes in the dark. See, I’m bold for a timid lover and shy for a shameless friend. Vinyl underneath needle like an indescribable itch.
Here is linen landscape, you and me. You have a voice like the inside of an hourglass, and the world is fuller when there’s just the two of us. I am so tired of playing martyr, but you don’t ask for blood, just pulse. How does the distance between us account for the feeling of your hands rough against mine? Or, how do I say that sometimes I miss you so much that it shatters all the glass in the room?
In the evening, I leave red bean soup on the table for you and go to sleep alone.
I remember you best in a badly-lit room. Warm green eyes, you make me cry even now, you know. The dirt on your soccer cleats, wet from Saturday’s game. The plastic spoon snapped in half from our first ice-cream date. There is nothing poetic about you and yet, I keep trying to write you into existence, summon to the altar what left me long ago. I want you to know that I still mourn for the shade of sky you first kissed me under. When the winter winds blow cold and lonely, I always wonder if you’ve got your coat on you.
The way it starts is the way it ends and I’m standing at the edge of the universe, thankful for the days I have ahead of me. I look back and there you are, my favourite part of the story. Silent hourglass. Always, always warmth.