I could have sworn my nervousness was as soft, a bit ill, bad-tempered and to be honest, much too welcoming. Have another drink, dear, and drown out his ghost from your bones. And let us remain always washed away from your grief and desperation, from the isolation of your woes. With morals rooted so deep in doubt, you’ve exhausted every wind-swept page of your atlas. It’s not much use now, neither of us have yet to find something more fragile than yourself.
So you lay facing the sun, and you lay with your art because artists will only fuck you over. And in such infatuated solitude you covet their madness, because the intellectual’s soul is too tenuous, spreading itself into the curves of someone else’s words. Let your body be your rebellion, your private festival, a universal recognition of the glory in our graceful ankles and nervous hands, our rising collarbones and maps of bruises that guide the contours of our spines.
I am my own salvation. I long to eat up all this courage burning its way through vivid summer days. I am a hurricane and I’m here to be unhinged. I won’t make apologies for my passion, it makes me who I am and who I love and it ignites something exceptional in my eyes. I know we were made to carry more than just our own insufferable hearts. And my feelings are not fireflies you can catch in the belly of a mason jar. I’m dauntless and willing, but I’ll keep them under my tongue while you arrive at this same illumination.
I’ve been slowly freeing myself of you. Caught by the ebb and flow of acoustic covers and jazz renditions of rain soaked shoes, I’m dreaming on as dangerously while you float along in my sea of consciousness. And I’m an island all unto myself, unharmed and disregarded by those concave smiles. I’ve fleshed out a reason you’ll never see, as I’m anchored to it, this happiness I’ve only known since last December.
Honey, I can see your legs trembling, such a juvenile heart doesn’t suit you. You love me and I love you and I’m still weighted with a handful of irretrievables. We could be thrilled by a risk for something extraordinary, if only you’d take it. While our lungs still inhale the warm air and I can sit sunstruck next to you in floral dresses and I swear this is the most honest I’ve been all these years.
She said your body is a tree. “Love your tree.”
Oh darling, if you were happy would you still think of me?