Monday, June 18, 2007
I ask you not to let me let go to you of my heart which does no sound but the turbulent purring of all my viscera upon into you running towards a solstice of midsummer warmth when there will be no more fear.)
Saturday, June 16, 2007
It is day. I don't know what time it is, or how long it's been, or how much it's been. How expensive it's cost. But I know it's been days since it's been costing a lot and it hurts having to pay for it. I can no longer bear your absence in bed and I rise after much rolling from side to side. I haven't slept since it's been day, and it has been day for quite a while, or so it seems. It is day, but it's night. It's night in me and, as I can see, it is night also in you because you are up and haven't made your side of the bed like every morning in which you used to awake me from my heavy sleep with a kiss and the angelical billowing smell of warm coffee that, under the effect of my convalescence from the drowsiness, would be confused with the vision of your face, with your smile, your 'good morning'.
You haven't made your side of the bed. Perhaps you haven't even used it tonight. We haven't truly seen each other for days and I don't even know what time you go to bed. Or whether you do. I sit up and I look around the room while I rub my eyes to get them used to the daylight ― which isn't even that bright ― and to the absence of the coffee smell. It's so dim I can barely see. It's been dim since it's been day, for days, and I can't see you. And you can't see me. Gruelling, I crawl out of bed and shuffle my feet unwillingly towards the living room, where so many other smiles we shared, where we'd sit together without saying a word because nothing was needed to be said in this room, of this room, so plenty with things that are gone, where everything is and could be so familiar to us. And yet it looks like a strange place to me, darker, sadder. Uglier. And you didn't see me because the curtains are shut and you don't tell me where you're leaving to. And yet you are leaving.
I see you are are as made up as your side of the bed is not. I see you've got bags by your side. But I can barely see because of the dimness around us, enveloping us, penetrating us. It's the night. But it's day. And still you won't kiss me, you won't say a thing, in no moment do you glimpse at me. Perhaps because there is nothing else to say, perhaps because you cannot see me. Perhaps you don't want either of those. Perhaps because we already know what must be said in this room, on this day, and perhaps we know what day it is and what time it is, and my drowsiness and your sternness and the lack of coffee won't let us see what there is to be seen or feel what is meant to be felt.
You don't look at me and you don't speak to me. But I know that deep inside your heart you don't want to go; I see your repressed wail under that aspect of serenity you're faking in order to look stronger and convince yourself of that, and I recognise your foreseen missing of what you will leave behind. Still you don't want to stay either, there are too many days, too much night in this house, too many presences, too much absence. I don't know if you want me to go with you and you won't tell me if you do. Perhaps you are fleeing and I may have caught you red-handed, but what are you fleeing from? You're fleeing from me? Fleeing from you? Fleeing from us? Do you expect to find a tomorrow for us, lost inside us or by us, inside this house formerly ours, now so extraneous? The price of changing is expensive and I wasn't up to pay for it.
I stand watching you leave with nothing to say, not I and not you. As soon as you walk out and night lingers on this day of coffeeless dimness, without smiles, without any resemblance of what it was, without perspectives of what to be, I am assured that your silence asked me to follow you. But I stayed and I didn't stay well, and perhaps one day you'll return and everything will return to what was before and so I hope and wait. I have been hoping and waiting for so long. So long days of so much night. I don't know what for, I don't know how much longer.
