it's been three years. he still doesn't look anything like himself on that picture on the roof, with the flowers, the sun, the red brick chimney, the blue sky.
the view isn't like a sunset anymore but there are trees and the floor is made of hardwood. he makes himself some food, peaches and cottage cheese, offers me blueberries, some smiles.
his roommate is watching tv with his daughter and when i tell him i also speak Germa he says he already knows. the couch is made of black leather, his daughter is ten and looks like a blonde California girl.
after he shows me his new tracks we start arguing later when it was that we met first; he is set on fall but i know for a fact it was spring. a spring full of confusions and later we met again, in deeper states of my confusion under palmtrees and ocean breezes.
as i hold him so he can't hold me too much i fight memories and thoughts that evade my mind. it's a concentrated effort and i'm sure i could just get rid of it in the blink of an eye but it doesn't really seem like i want to. i'm complicated i say, i am guarded, not ready to let go. the idea of yummy playfulness makes me giddy but there are these voices fighting inside, i turn to the side, shh, shh, lullaby.
i feel like a little girl all over again.
i feel like i live in a fast forwarded future. we all knew it would come to this. didn't we? and he is so breath taking, with the curls and how he stands so tall and these eyes...and it's only been four and a half months and i just can't forget that he is not you.
1 comment:
Are you really complicated, as you say, or is it more of a defense mechanism?
I find people tend to claim personal complication when they find no energy in dealing with the situations at hand; not at that moment, and not ever. Complicated is an easy statement that tends to roll off ones tongue much too easily. Almost always.
Just an observation.
-p.
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