tempest.

August 23, 2017 J. 0 Comments

The blog has undergone another major facelift, hasn't it?
"The playground" lasted longer than the rest
but now it's time to change. Because i am changing again.

i am tempest. 

there is darkness, fury, grief
i write as i learn - you should know this by now.
the tortured artist is a cliche
i want to say that; but will it be true?
 
these days i find myself
walking barefoot, drifting
and sitting cross legged on the floor
darkness and all
have i ever felt so free?

i guess we will just have to find out.

- Gypsy.


0 comments:

Love,

For you.. at last.

August 03, 2017 J. 0 Comments

So today I am expecting you. I have made myself up and I smell like sin. If you do not come, you will crush me. Again. As I made up I told myself that it was purely for me. For vanity. For you to pause, stare, gulp, regret. But as I sit here feigning indifference I know the truth. My heart whispers it softly. Because if you turned up with a dozen red roses, a black velvet box, on bended knee, I would say yes. I have always said yes to you.
Even without the bended knee.
Even without the roses.
Even without the velvet box.
Even when you do not ask. 
Aftermath.
I knew I shouldn't have agreed to meet with you. I was over you and no good could come from it. I should have sent your stuff through the mail like I had wanted to. But you asked to see me and perversely I wanted to see you too. So I agreed.
Idiot.
We took that memory lane, for why wouldn't we? The blames and reasons. You wanted to know, I couldn't ask. For I am the cautious one between us. I have to keep my head because if I don't, we will both be lost.
“Why didn't you?”
So here I am. Sitting on the staircase. Remembering your face as you left. I snuck a look back as you car drove past, I had to. And when I caught you looking back, I looked away. Because this is the last time I will see you. As I left your car, I teased you and told you I'd see you in 4 years.. and you'd probably have 3 kids by then. We laughed about it. You didn't know it was my goodbye. Perhaps I didn't know it too. Not until you drove away and I walked into my garden. Somewhere between the roses and dahlias, I made my peace with it and regained some of my equilibrium. You could throw it all off again, but you won't. You wouldn't bother to. And that's fine, for this really is goodbye.
I will not write about you anymore. You can't write about a ghost. We've been star-crossed for as long as we've known each other. Without such fodder for my imagination, I'm sure the inspiration will die too.
Be happy my almost never lover.
I pray it for you. 
Goodbye.

0 comments:

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)