You bought me white chocolate with port wine. I have never known
such a thing. The world is a truly weird place; part of me would like
to think. Part of me imagines it. Another part touches your hand,
afraid you might evaporate. Dissolve like dreams.
Putting down
Exit to Eden, chilled coke in the glass next to me. Today
was so terribly hot, I had barely showered and then my hair was soaking
again from perspiration. That could have
been your voice. I'll have to imagine it, laughing together with you.
You
told me there is something unique about the books I fancy reading, my
favourite paintings, poetry and words. And we laugh again because
you're just so damned obstinate about
liking me. It makes me feel fuzzy.
And you even like my little
scribbles, millennia of fantasy and slight boredom, the escapism of an
old mind in a young body. Today, I wrote a letter to my aunt, on the
other side of it, a drawing of a proud creature. Hand clutched to
chest, wings spread, hair flowing. You drew an inexplicable gaze and
justified yourself; that's me!
I wonder what I'd do without you.
You
brought me tears, pain and dreams of love. Whenever I was scared of
myself, you gave me another place to hide in, another wall to crawl
behind, yet another reality to sink through. Your warm
whispers, your soft hands, beautifully deep eyes, smile like ashes
and grey clouds. Sweet pink lips. Feeling joy, I laugh again while
you're staring back at me in the mirror.
I say, this is an ode to the one I have loved the least.