Tuesday, June 01, 2010

772. the page

Later that night and unable to sleep, Yul found Trev on the porch. Tell me how it is she asked. He looked at her for awhile and then begin to write. Upon finishing, he handed her the page. She read, then wept. Although they sat till morn, nothing more was said between them.

The page:

How to say it. The sound of her breathing has ruined music for me. Nothing sounds of heaven as her rising chest. And what before, is now but earthbound dust. This is how it is when I say everything has changed. And if I were to say of her, opium, neither this nor that could I deny how the very blood of me courses through the narrows of her touch. And the fit of curve on curve is as canyon to river, of one from the other, each as to the other as light to day and star to night for what am I without her. Nothing. Nothing without her. So when I say she is the very breath within my lungs, the light greening my leaves, and her kisses, so hummingbird like in the giving and taking, so delicate as to make her very eyes appear as dream, then this and only this I say is how it is, for the act itself is untranslatable.

3 comments:

Ms Storm said...

Beautiful - quite simply. I love for what am I without her.
You've always had a unique gift for expression, but just recently it has become even more honed, even more illustrious, to read is to be affected instantly, there are immediate physical reactions so powerful is your expression, eyes water, I seem only able to inhale. A thousand times and still more I have attempted to describe the directness that you possess, your amazing gift for capturing so easily, so conclusively, what one until that moment, of reading, could not imagine could be decribed, only seen or felt...and then your words come to be, whispered as though your lips had touched the essence of a thing, embraced as though you were permeated and had become, who the heck knows, certainly not I, how you are able to do what you do. Long day, late hour, to summarize and hopefully clarify. You are. You don't do. You don't make. You don't create. Bs soon. Love now. Hope your week is going well. Miss you, x

Trée said...

Thank you Ms Storm. Your comments are singular in beauty and touch my heart with such tender regard as to make me believe in angels, albeit I wished they lived a little closer than Denmark. ;-)

As always my dearest one, your kind words are deeply welcomed and appreciated. How would I ever write without you?

ghrency said...

Nicely written.

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