Wednesday, January 29, 2014

I Can See You

If I fast forward a couple of years. I can see you. I can see you driving along the coast with the windows down and the radio up. You have one hand on the steering wheel and one entwining mine. I can see you smiling, that same smile you wore when I first met you, the one that makes my knees go weak, the one that makes me crave poetry, such that if life's a mountain, then you're it's peak.

I can see you. I don't know how, but I can. I can see the flicker in your eyes when you unexpectedly tune into the acoustic version of that Mumford and Sons song you like so much. I can see it and I can recognise it. You had the exact same spark when I told you we were going to see them live on your birthday, and then again, but much more brighter, when we were jumping frantically up and down in front of the stage, screaming and shouting, almost as if we were the only two people left in this world. We weren't; the roaring crowd was delirious. When we then snapped back into reality, all we remembered were the distant echoes of "I really fucked it up this time", and you, looking at me, oblivious to the light emanating from your soul and the little city you single handedly created inside the ventricles of my rural heart.

I can see you pretending we're not lost, when we both know we've been lost ever since you decided to change lanes at the interstate. I can see you trying really hard to find your way back, not knowing that deep down, lost is exactly how I want to be, that getting lost with you is my go to natural high. And it's not like I haven't been lost before. I've been lost plenty of times. But getting lost with you is immeasurably better than getting lost without you. Yes, I can see you. I can see you glancing at the dream catcher I hung on the rear view mirror, the one I bought from London a couple of years back, back when I needed all the help I could find, back when purchasing a handmade object that supposedly catches your dreams was the best I could do.

I don't know what you look like, but I can see you. I can see you pulling the car over to the side of the road just as the sun is about to set. It's so beautiful it renders me speechless. And you, you're not saying anything either. I guess you don't have to. You know I know. I know you know. And we just leave it at that.

Yes, yes, I can see you. If I fast forward a couple of years. I can see you. Meticulously woven to a dream catcher I still haven't bought.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Free Falling

There is something imperceptibly attractive about falling towards gravity.
Imagine existing inside a kaleidoscope, but with a little more clarity.
Your long forgotten heart flutters its weary wings, gets ready to fly,
then bursts like frisky fireworks on the fourth of July,
somersaulting frivolously, dismissing the ground beneath,
understanding the real meaning behind "just breathe".
And then for just a second, time stops,
and the world becomes a paradigm for broken clocks,
one in which the white rabbit is never late,
and good things come to those who wait.

It's a free fall in slow motion,
frozen, like the Arctic Ocean.
Skyscrapers disappear, and
we are now and we are here.
We time travel to a whole new land,
naked, but slightly covered in sand.
I ask and you reply.
I might just do it. I might just try.
Because with gravity on our side,
we might as well collide.