29 December, 1944On the beach, the boardwalk, across petite tables, holding hands, window shopping, like two moons revolving around their invisible world. I see them. Everywhere. Uniforms and skirts. Scarfs and smiles. And I die a little more with each sighting.
Into the early eve, Venus rises, as my glass, alone. She seems a sister, this goddess of love, shining bright in a sky without companion. A diamond in the lilac ink of twilight.
Fingers of heat reach forth, crackle of fire, my cheeks winefully warm. I’m thinner than before. Less of me without appetite; less of me without him. As if he took something; as if in the forging of us, the melding of that night, I, we, were replaced with us; and the I before the us is a place on no map I know. How does an us become an I again?
I am a pot without boil, a flower without bloom, petals as lips, closed. Bee-less. My ache, numb. More than December is cold. Nothing I can do will warm what this fire cannot touch. Where do you go when there is no home?
21 comments:
Mary is still at the seaside resort. This is her first journal entry, written in her room, before the fireplace, after dinner (the post below).
....I can relate to the first paragraph so much.....it was especially true for me when I was younger, and then again as a single mother. Going to Disneyland was a painful experience, seeing what I once had all around me, and feeling the "hole" in our lives that divorce created.
Fortunately, over the years and through several more relationships, I don't die anymore. Long a little, yep :) But that knife in the heart doesn't stab any more. I'm using it to cut home grown veggies and herbs instead. LMAO
You are a good woman Grace. The slap of your honesty feels good. Turns me on actually. :-D
How is it that following Marys story breaks my heart, yet I envy her? I'm mesmerized, spellbound as I read this. "This" meaning the entire series. It is written so passionately. To have been loved so sweetly, and to have that ripped out from under you. It is something you never get over. There are three lines in this move me beyond words: 1) And I die a little more with each sighting. 2) How does and us become an I again? and 3) Where do you go when there is no home? WOW Like I said, they move me beyond words, so I'll make no further comments except, I'll be eagerly awaiting your next post.
A, your comment is warmly received and deeply appreciated. Thank you. :-)
Dying by inches and each little snippet of death leaving a larger frozen emptiness. My question would be different. How does an I become an us again? Thought provoking today, Tree. Kind of painful, with a goblet of slight hope.
Limes, I live within this world so utterly, as a fish to water, I no longer know what wet is. And when the lizards on land tell me I'm wet, I blink like a fish, dumbfounded to a reality beyond the water. If pain is all one knows, it ceases to be pain. It simply is. So I drown myself in the words, in the writing; content becomes meaningless, pointless and style, expression, the occasional leap from the pond for a moment of sun, of air before splashing into the depths again--this is what I see, experience, live.
Always nice to see you stopping by. {clink}
"You cleared your conscience and I left a stain, the beauty of sadness is feeling the pain, and all that's left of me now is waiting to drown . . . ." {Soft clink, not a big old hearty beer-garden clink}
Limes, I'll meet you over the waterfall. :-D
{clink}
VERY good ~ meet you there!
I keep revising the opening paragraph. After about the ten revision I reverted back to the almost original. Prior to that, here is what the briar of a paragraph had grown to:
On the beach, the boardwalk, across petite tables, I see them. Holding hands, window shopping, looking at each other like two moons revolving around an invisible world. Couples, it seems, everywhere. Uniforms and skirts. Scarfs and smiles. Landscape browns and greens with a flower hooked in their arms. And with each sighting, I die a little more.
I'm curious about our growing and shrinking while in love. I am in new love right now. I have lost 15 pounds. And yet, I feel larger and more formidable than I have ever felt. What would I weigh were I to lose it? No scale could tell, but I would see them scrafs and smiles, too. I would see them and ache. I would become December.
Erin, beautifully said. It is August and yet I feel like December. Wet, cold and in darkness.
It's strange to read this post, read its comments, and yours. I've always felt I was "of water" and "of the water" and that all subsequent meanderings beyond, will always find me returning, or with a longing to return, to the womb of my seas, embracing its all, even its pain. And yes, there are times now when I'll even invite it in, the pain, the darkness of it, allow it to absorb the whole of me. Sometimes, there are epiphanies born of pain, elevations delivered after its crease, light and life after each almost death within us. Maybe its as simple as falling into so we can rise up again. Maybe we are not so different from sea, sun and the slit of horizons, birthed between them...
Could be S. :-)
Stopping by to see who is Tree. Beautiful post. I am searching back, who was I before the us???? Less in form, more in flight... full of promise, some realized and some not. I told my husband last night, "People change. I change...but I fight to bring you with me. I will always fight for you." I hope I do.
Thanks for the visit and kind words Wine. If I knew who I was, I'd tell you. I write a few words here, mostly mediocre, every once in a while pretty good and equally, at times, pretty bad. I try to do as little harm in the world as I can, yet even in my attempts, I fail more than succeed. Still, so far, I've managed to pick myself up, take another step, but I'm weary of the effort and the world is moving faster than I can walk. All the best to you and your blogging.
And I die a little more with each sighting.
Palpable is the quiet agony within those words, your expressiveness truly remarkable, sigh. Her torment delivered as discernibly as possible with these few words. And elucidated with matching poignancy throughout the entry. The parts that have been highlighted above are the parts I would highlight also, and for the same reasons. The final, encapsulating, sentence securing this specific post, those particular sentences (and not merely the forlornness felt by Mary during these days) will not ever be forgotten. Your writing touches so deeply, so thoroughly, I don't believe anyone could remain unchanged.
Your intuitiveness, every amazing, every perfectly expressed, every well-timed, every innovative, every suggestive, fluid, essential, tuned, profound part of your writing inspires an awe and an appreciation that just cannot be articulated. You are such a naturally amazing talent, every choice, it seems magical. I really don't know what to say. Wow.
You are very kind Ms Storm. Thank you.
I can not imagine every loving someone enough that I would lose myself. And, I love my husband. I do. I just...I love myself so much more. I read these posts and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
Beatiful.
ConverseMomma, I write these posts and wonder what the hell is wrong with me after I go back and read them.
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