words were dangerous around him.
because they were so few and they meant so much.
he placed his open palm above my knee but below the hem of my dress, let it live there for a moment, feeling the shape of my thigh through my thick, black stockings.
i like you in tights, he said.
oh god. time. awareness. the awareness of time.
i took a quick, sharp inhale.
how is it possible he knew me before i wore little more than tights with skirts or dresses or ill-fitting sweaters--anything oversized to cover a ballooning body in the throws of a disease? how is it possible?
six years.
seven.
eight.
four.
years and years and years.
two months.
time. countless breaths marking time.
and he was there before. but not during. not really. and so much has changed and passed and morphed. and for each of the worlds i've traveled through, he's traversed his own.
and we know a little.
but not so much, not enough
and we don't use our words terribly well. we talk in the space of silence. willing nearly impossible interpretations.
and there's been so much time. but not enough, really. not enough.
but he knows me. words or not. six years or not. seven, eight, four, years and years and years, two months, or not. he knows me.
more time.
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18 comments:
My GOD, this is heavenly. I want to carry your words in my pocket, every day. You inspire me to be a better writer. To want to be a better writer. You inspire me to live a better life. To want to live a better life. You inspire me to combat those worries and those plaguing, oppressive fears. To want to combat them.
You absolute beauty.
Stunningly written. You are such an inspiration.
You are SO talented. I always check your blog the moment it pops up in my google reader because I can't wait to hear what you say.
absolutely beautiful.
you need to write a novel or something. You use your words so beautifully.
I don't know what this means, but it sure is cool!
These words drew me right in. The scene is bare but somehow so vivid in my mind.
holy...
this is beautiful.
so beautiful. and so happy for you if this is true.
I know everyone has said it....but it really is beautiful. Gah! How I wish I could express my self so eloquently. I've come to the point where I crave your posts, more than just once daily. Hehe, it's getting bad. :o)
I'm obsessed with this. You are such a wonderful writer.
I have no words for your words.
Truly beautiful writing!
I'm left wondering if these words are based in truth, and if so I hope it all goes beautifully for you.
xox
Even though I'm copying what everyone else wrote, but... LOVE your writing! :)
parlons peu mais parlons bien;
should have been a choice, but it was a timid soul
my fingers pulled my hand to a spot on her thigh, had to really, and wanted to stay
something about the curve from knee to hem, wrapped in wool-- black i think.
i mumble something, trying to sound--
well you know. Silence. Heavy, dripping seconds.
she half chokes on her saliva
she sure has changed from the little beach ball she once was-- time's been kind
Where once were hidden lines of her body are stark asymptotes 'tween the heat and the cold
seven years?
eight.
four.
six?
An even number of years-- sounds better that way.
yesterday.
she still hasn't said anything. should I move my hand?
When it started, i have vague memories of that. then I left. sort of. what did we look like? How now? she's called me, scar for scar and wrinkle for wrinkle.
one more second and I move my hand.
or maybe I won't. is it sweating?
hope not. Say something. anything. quick. nothing. i got nothing. soul's drowning in her iris.
where has she been all this time? it's been too long. or just enough
take me, i'm home. damp silence or not. odd years or even. she's walking down my marrow, leading me home.
i can't take it. I'm clearing my throat.
Absolute truth, my friend.
It's shocking how terrifying it is to know someone for so long, and let them know you in and out. You're throwing yourself at them with everything you've got, just hoping for acceptance.
Love your writing. Excited to hear more!
http://frolicsandschmoozings.blogspot.com/
i don't know who monx is, but impressive writing all around, from meg to monx's response.
can't get over this: "and he was there before. but not during. not really. and so much has changed and passed and morphed. and for each of the worlds i've traveled through, he's traversed his own." yes, yes and yes.
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