Aflame

I wonder if he remembers my face
as I’m pulled into the building of his current life
on a stretcher, my left leg bleeding openly
a superficial wound borne out of carelessness
in this foreign land I now call home.

Those flames licked the brick walls of its chimney
so eager to fly high into the cold evening
as I heard my friends laugh away the hours
and he sat there refusing to meet me halfway
but I saw fire burning inside that mountain.

Years have passed where we last glanced at each other
where we kissed as the sun rose above the clouds
before I sailed across the sea to another home
only remembering his face in passing conversation
although the memory distorts itself with time and space.

I stare at the ceiling wondering what I’ll do
before he comes into the room and looks at me
nothing registers between us until night draws in
and we open our eyes from our dark corners
and meet again for a cold winter’s love.

Postcard

I often write of solitude as I know it well.
Who is rash enough to live in a world full of those they only merely know?
I do not find this courage easily
and it becomes increasingly difficult as I grow up,
as I change into the lady I think I should be.
Expectations have a way of leading me on,
they coax me into false entitlement,
they whisper sweetly into my ear
and I am lured into that familiar trap.

I live in a world that may not exist,
a place buried deep in the mind of strangers,
to a point of disappearing altogether.
The sometimes unexplainable love I have for life
somehow will not justify the reality.
Your words make me wonder,
they weave in and out of my dreams in the dark,
they are a cacophonous blend of sounds.
Where would you end were I to begin again?

I find myself lost in the tangle of time,
roaming this starry expanse with nowhere to finish.
Do I fall into that uncomfortable chaos
or reside here in this perfect stillness?
Would I wander aimlessly into the future
as my heart tells me to hold onto that fleeting second?
Life may be defined by how far-reaching one’s affections are,
yet I am profoundly dazed.
I am lost, I am retired.

Worn

Do I not have love? People ask for me when I go missing from a room. They write to me when they need things. I’m needed for things. I’m their friend, adviser, provider. There are days when I come home from a family dinner and think of how fortunate I am to be surrounded by these people, these bodies that find comfort in mine. There are times when I feel like running off a cliff because I’m almost certain for a millisecond that all the happiness in me would be enough to keep me elevated. And then there are days like this one when I feel utterly lost, confused and alone. I’m lonely in this gigantic universe. I see people doing every day things and think of how easy it all seems, so why don’t I partake? Why are these things so difficult for me? Why can’t I keep my relationships going? Why do I always go so far up in my head that I wander into the woods to sometimes never return? Why am I so hyper-conscious when it comes to other everyone’s emotions? Where is my purpose? If I sit here and ask myself these questions for too long, I’ll go mad. But it’s tough to render oneself ignorant after all this time, after all the thinking and learning and realizing. Still, I can’t help it. Does any of it matter? You tell me.