The End

In my dreams I'm loved by you. We live by the ocean in a watercolor painting of longing and desire, where every morning we awaken together, lovers greeted by the warm sun on our faces, our bodies intertwined under light sheets and light sighs. You kiss my lashes and trace my back with your fingertips as outside our window the sun's rays tickle the sand and silently caress the waves meeting the shore. The sky is a mellow orange glow, and I memorize every line by your eyes as you tell me a story with no words, and your fingers gently turn the pages. I surrender to your silence and whisper to your lips that I am whoever you want me to be, heroine, damsel in distress, penniless maidservant, but please, I beg of you, don't finish the story. Every dream is the same, and when you reach the final punctuation mark the watercolors melt off the canvas, the sun blows out like a candle, and our flame, your love for me, is nothing but thin smoke fizzling into reality.


3.30.10

Love should always be

I'm watching you pack your things in our apartment. You remind me of how few material possessions a person can own and still be completely happy. All of your stuff fits into two duffel bags.

You pick up this rock that's been sitting on the living room shelf for ten months. I mention how random I've always thought that rock was. You stand there, staring at it resting in your hands. It's just an ordinary rock. Grey and smooth and oval. Without looking up you say,

"This is from the first time Sheryl and I went to the beach together. We were sitting in the sand, and there was this giant rock just sitting there."

Sheryl is typing into her laptop a few feet away completely unaware that her boyfriend is quite possibly the sweetest guy in the world. I sigh and say something about sentiment and romance, and she looks up from her essay.

"Baby, remember this?" you say, holding up the rock.

Sheryl squints her eyes, "What is that?"

"It's the rock from when we went to the beach together for the first time..."

"I don't know what that is."

You have a hurt expression frozen on your face. "Remember...I picked it up and tried to scare you by saying it was a dead bird..."

"I don't remember that."

I think we have the same look of disappointment on our faces at this point. I say, "That's cold, you're lucky to have a boyfriend who is sentimental!" Then I laugh good-naturedly, but it's only to cover up the fact that I want to wring her neck.

My expression must be easy to read because the next thing she says is, "He forgets things too!"

Then she stands up and walks over to you because, well, you do look rather sad standing there with a rock in your hands.

It's just an ordinary rock.

She starts telling you about all of the sentimental knick-knacks she has saved from previous dates, and how she remembers just as much as you do. And you just hold her, with your eyes closed, and stroke her hair. She's wearing your t-shirt, and your arms are wrapped around her, and I think to myself,

Please kiss her. And never stop.


full title: Love should always be this simple
6.12.07

Street Lights

Unexpected moments
Of light and sound
Make a heaven to my eyes
As I watch you
Colliding into me.
Your hands are dancing
Vibrations in your voice
Caress the air
Make love to the strings
and soothe your mind
Like a prayer only you can hear.

Skip through my soul
Like a pebble meeting a stream
Ripple into infinity
Like the softness of your touch
And the warmth in your skin.
Under the city street lights
For a second, we can stop time
If you brush your lips against mine
And look into my eyes
I will put you at ease
Like the beauty of a waterfall
I will breathe in your life.


5.6.06