#5 Bitter + Sweet
Where We Are Now
I thought I’d want to write everything I ever felt, but the leaf falls and the time is lost for the right words to complete the thought, the feeling, the memory; to honor any of it. I keep my lips sealed and my fingers moving on to the next moment or I’ll never keep up. And my mind will do me the favor of replaying all the rest in every quiet moment.
Do I think about the process when I’m in the middle of it ? Do I reflect on the ways I felt and the ways I grew, the ways those feelings changed and made me? The Process—during, is the sweet part, right in the middle. And I always forget that until the very end.
What can I say about the end? What can I say about the beginning?
I am happy with things as they are. And then the beginning comes again and I lose my step. It’s not easy to make sense of either, the end and the beginning. Both can be bitter, both can be sweet. Things come to have different meanings and importance when you’ve understood more, when you take time to analyze. When things are new to you, the slate is clear. And by the end, things have more meaning, but, where you don’t have patience to understand, to feel and to anatomize (to a degree) is where you will only feel confused. Through a well rounded understanding, and the acceptance of change, we can become balanced. Just like when reading and writing poetry.
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It’s extremely hard to say goodbye to things, I wish my hands could hold them, you, all of it all at once. And become stained a million layers deep from the feeling.
With my eyes shut, I give this year one big, HUGE, sweet kiss and a thousand long, warm waves goodbye.
— Love 4ever, Infinity
Where We Are Now
*・•✧..~ ~..✧∙・*
Can I read my book in the quiet
while you drink the last sip of pomegranate
juice out of a clear, thick glass?
My hands are stained burgundy.
Each page painted with fingerprints
faint and fading
and fading
and fading
and with bare hands, I polish away
damp rings in forever symbols
all over my wooden table
stained a million layers deep.
My head felt clear
and my vision felt new
as I watched the seeds decompose—
in an earthy pile, fleshy, sweet
and rotten.
They reclaim the ground,
on which we struggle to balance,
—outside my bedroom window.
Under the yellowest light.
You were in my dream last night.