The Spell's Broken

I have to remember that for the most part, you don't mean what you say or remember. I can't really blame you. You can't bring meaning to something you have no care for. 

In my imagination though, you're on purpose and I pretend you mean every word that comes out of your mouth. Because I don't have the luxury nor am I privy to the language of your touch.

But you know, there were times I got a taste, even if only for a few seconds. You know how a second can feel like an eternity, right? And in those seconds, I swear, I understood what I meant to you. 

You bring joy and sorrow. I was a fool to think it could ever be anything but. I know better. But still, like a moth to a flame, I never learn...except I'm not burned by the flame. Instead, I become slightly more resilient and my outer shell, tougher. I really ought to give thanks.

I live for moments like these, right here, in the space where others sleep. I breathe in every detail and sensation of a feeling I can't put into words. I try, though. I really do. 

There are words roaming in places that will never be caught, brought down, or uttered. Yet, their effects, their poetry, their presence are palpable. They have their own colours, shapes and sizes, maybe not fully formed, but what does it matter? The beauty of it all is intensified by its silence, by its desire to remain secretive. It's self-preservation all the way.

When I think I might want the dream to become real, I see there's no point. Here, I belong to no one. Out there, I'm spoken for. And besides, I'd have no material to draw upon if the word became manifest. What irony.

I love how I'm bathed in that sweet nectar when you take me by surprise. I love how it tears at me a little bit at a time, how it opens up the wound a tiny fraction more. This sorrow, this sweet, sweet, sorrow is how I gauge what's important to me for my survival.

I'm embarrassed sometimes. The past comes flooding back. I remember not being doted on. That's painful. I've always been the giver. You're a reminder of all the things I'll never have. Let me rephrase that because that's not quite right. You're a reminder of all the things I have but never received from another person. Everything I've earned and achieved was done by my hand. 

So it's bitter-sweet when someone else is sweet to me through their generosity. I'm not used to it. I don't know what it really means for a man to be chivalrous. I never thought it mattered. I didn't have time to think about such things. It seemed so unimportant. Why now is there a heaviness? A heavy realization that my ship has sailed? That there was even a ship to begin with? Why?

This is my life now - for better or for worse. I don't have time for silly notions. And then I'm struck by the thought that this pulling down isn't so trivial at all. I long for something that can never be. It's done. That chapter is over. It's over. Over the rainbow. And there is no rainbow.

I swear to God I know you. Because you know, in that quiet place, in that quiet space, when we're hugging, I can hear all the things you don't say. 

I hear, "I care. I want. I wish." Even though I wish, too, when it comes time to getting what I want, my body moves in the opposite direction. I guess it knows better than to rely on what the heart wants. 

I think I'll always miss you. I imagine you being happiest in the water. I imagine myself being happiest in the water, too. It's too bad we'll never be in that water together. 

You belong to the north and I belong to the south. You belong to the earth and I belong to the skies. You and I both belong to the world of principle and integrity.

But, I need magic. And this spell's now broken. Sometimes, words mess everything up.