Last night as I drove through the busy lit roads looking at the bright evening sky with the wind blowing in my face I thought of you. I thought of you and wondered where you were, what you were doing, what you were thinking, and if, just if, there were any ifs in your mind......On nights like this I feel like the skies above me feel my sorrow and yet somehow I feel free..maybe its because I feel one when immersed in such beauty or maybe because it's those times that I can be true to myself and you...who knows..but I still hear the voices and questions in my head, the minute I'm alone or lying in bed or when I open my eyes to the bright specks of sunlight streaming through my curtains and the innocent singing of the mockingbird outside my bedroom window, I hear them, it's as if with your exit came a new companion for me, my own companionship, my twin who always lived in my subconscious but far from haunting me, now she haunts me every day with her continuous questions....When I walked in and saw my angels I pulled out their Sesame treats and their eyes lit up, just like how your's would and then she uttered your name...for the first time since she could speak, for the first time ever, your name sounded so foreign, so strange, so unusual, so out of context, so raw, and painful...and then my twin began with her taunts, she began to speak those awful words and reel those sweet moments back into my mind.....once again for the billionth time in this day she reminds me of you and you and you....
idden truths I try to bury it deep within the library of memories I keep filed away, in an effort to shield myself from the pain which gnaws at me time and time again, but I hopelessly fail. The need to look over my shoulder is crucial. One lost look and it will eat into the deep embers of my soul. When I am reminded an incomplete smile forms around the corners of my mouth before my face contorts and small drops of tears begin to fall down my downtrodden facade. I say downtrodden because the memories are as sweet as honey and yet bitter as a glass of lemonade on a hot summers day. Night Over head the rain drops form their own rhythm on the tin roof while outside in the courtyard the squishing of mud by the feet of rushed servants begins another. This song was the perfect lullaby, but my eyes would not give into temptation. The guests were outside scrambling for whatever shelter they could find from the splash of monsoon rains. I sat as upright as I possibly could but it was get
Comments
Post a Comment