greenstorm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenstorm) wrote2006-11-02 05:53 pm
greenstorm) wrote2006-11-02 05:53 pm
Entry tags:
Some Starts
Just stuff.
Beginning Point:
Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
as that of the rain-soaked purple
of the white birch in spring?
Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
than on a warm fall night
under a Mackerel sky,
the smell of grapes on the wind?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And I'll share them all for a cup of coffee
and to wear your ring
Have you ever had the pleasure of watching
a quiet winter's snow slowly gathering
like simple moments adding up?
Have you ever satisfied a gut feeling
to follow a dry dirt road that's beckoning you
to the heart of a shimmering summer's day?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And I'll share them all for a cup of coffee
and to wear your ring
And I don't know how I survived those days
before I held your hand
Well I never thought that I would be the one
to admit that the moon and the sun
shine so much more brighter when
seen through two pairs of eyes than
when seen through just one
Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
as a face in a crowd of people
that lights up just for you?
Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
as when you wake
by the side of that boy or girl
who has pledged their love to you?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And now every morning there's a cup of coffee
and I wear your ring
Start One: Eulogy. I've never known a grief to end. I think possibly there is no end to the deeper wounds and tears; they simply diminish, revisit, cycle through sadness and nostalgia forever. If I'm lucky I've only lived a third of my life, or a quarter if I'm very lucky; thus far you've made up not quite half of it. If those proportions change will you be washed away somehow? I can't imagine it so, but then, maybe I can imagine it. Each day, each memory will need to be punctured, to have the pain let out of it like a stream of poison, to have tears wash it clean. It comes accidental, like last night, or it comes deliberate when I have peace and a need to search these moments out. Still, tonight it feels like there will always be a hole where you were, and perhaps even a hole where my love for you was. Who would have believed it could fade? It may even disappear, someday...
Start Two: Accusation. You weren't there in my dreams last night. I don't know if I've ever dreamed of you. You were always there, until you disappeared. It's always other faces, fresh or old and familiar, sometimes that familiar repeated pattern of people I come to know in decades of dreaming and, when I wake, they're swept away into complete nothingness except for fragments of memory. These were my lovers, my dear friends; my mind, I suppose, can only imitate what it knows. There were never promises, but there were promises in between the other things, in touches and looks and habits. I suppose the first time is free, because I believed those promises, not effortlessly, but apparently pretty damn completely. Now I can't go back; the second time is fear. I ran the wheel so many times looking for something to have back; he was the same as you and I could have you back, he was different enough from you that I could forget, none of it did any good and it left things broken behind me. Now maybe I've found something again, and there are moments when my lips want to shape 'you're my Kynnin' because that word actually meant I love you. Now I'm thinking that maybe I never did love anyone except you, or maybe I was never in love with anyone except you. Where do you get off taking my past like that? Some days it feels like nothing could ever have existed inside me, like a staticky television in a dark room. Now what? Most days I have to sit there wrapping my brain around the fact that I have this feeling again but that it's not directed at you. I can't imagine crumpling into you now. And who are you? A stranger, now. Dust and ashes and even memory crumbling, that's what I'm left with. A decade of broken, that's what remains.
Start Three: Bewilderment. Why am I crying now, so much later? How can the world pick you up and spin you around so very much in just a few seconds? I was just mopping the floor, doing my life, just doing normal life things with someone I love. I wasn't even listening until the words caught me. I'd never heard them voiced until last night. I'd just seen them, your poem on the other side, pinned in my bedroom for years. I'd just seen them within the last month, I found them and packed them away. I used to drive around waiting for this song to come up on the radio he said, and does that mean something? You gave these to me, a promise? I don't know what connects to what anymore. Everything seems laced with significance, but it's all empty when I look closely. We make our own meanings but my meaning-maker is broken right now. I'm an empty store behind dusty glass and taped-up newspapers.
Beginning Point:
Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
as that of the rain-soaked purple
of the white birch in spring?
Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
than on a warm fall night
under a Mackerel sky,
the smell of grapes on the wind?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And I'll share them all for a cup of coffee
and to wear your ring
Have you ever had the pleasure of watching
a quiet winter's snow slowly gathering
like simple moments adding up?
Have you ever satisfied a gut feeling
to follow a dry dirt road that's beckoning you
to the heart of a shimmering summer's day?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And I'll share them all for a cup of coffee
and to wear your ring
And I don't know how I survived those days
before I held your hand
Well I never thought that I would be the one
to admit that the moon and the sun
shine so much more brighter when
seen through two pairs of eyes than
when seen through just one
Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
as a face in a crowd of people
that lights up just for you?
Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
as when you wake
by the side of that boy or girl
who has pledged their love to you?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And now every morning there's a cup of coffee
and I wear your ring
Start One: Eulogy. I've never known a grief to end. I think possibly there is no end to the deeper wounds and tears; they simply diminish, revisit, cycle through sadness and nostalgia forever. If I'm lucky I've only lived a third of my life, or a quarter if I'm very lucky; thus far you've made up not quite half of it. If those proportions change will you be washed away somehow? I can't imagine it so, but then, maybe I can imagine it. Each day, each memory will need to be punctured, to have the pain let out of it like a stream of poison, to have tears wash it clean. It comes accidental, like last night, or it comes deliberate when I have peace and a need to search these moments out. Still, tonight it feels like there will always be a hole where you were, and perhaps even a hole where my love for you was. Who would have believed it could fade? It may even disappear, someday...
Start Two: Accusation. You weren't there in my dreams last night. I don't know if I've ever dreamed of you. You were always there, until you disappeared. It's always other faces, fresh or old and familiar, sometimes that familiar repeated pattern of people I come to know in decades of dreaming and, when I wake, they're swept away into complete nothingness except for fragments of memory. These were my lovers, my dear friends; my mind, I suppose, can only imitate what it knows. There were never promises, but there were promises in between the other things, in touches and looks and habits. I suppose the first time is free, because I believed those promises, not effortlessly, but apparently pretty damn completely. Now I can't go back; the second time is fear. I ran the wheel so many times looking for something to have back; he was the same as you and I could have you back, he was different enough from you that I could forget, none of it did any good and it left things broken behind me. Now maybe I've found something again, and there are moments when my lips want to shape 'you're my Kynnin' because that word actually meant I love you. Now I'm thinking that maybe I never did love anyone except you, or maybe I was never in love with anyone except you. Where do you get off taking my past like that? Some days it feels like nothing could ever have existed inside me, like a staticky television in a dark room. Now what? Most days I have to sit there wrapping my brain around the fact that I have this feeling again but that it's not directed at you. I can't imagine crumpling into you now. And who are you? A stranger, now. Dust and ashes and even memory crumbling, that's what I'm left with. A decade of broken, that's what remains.
Start Three: Bewilderment. Why am I crying now, so much later? How can the world pick you up and spin you around so very much in just a few seconds? I was just mopping the floor, doing my life, just doing normal life things with someone I love. I wasn't even listening until the words caught me. I'd never heard them voiced until last night. I'd just seen them, your poem on the other side, pinned in my bedroom for years. I'd just seen them within the last month, I found them and packed them away. I used to drive around waiting for this song to come up on the radio he said, and does that mean something? You gave these to me, a promise? I don't know what connects to what anymore. Everything seems laced with significance, but it's all empty when I look closely. We make our own meanings but my meaning-maker is broken right now. I'm an empty store behind dusty glass and taped-up newspapers.
no subject
Honestly, you need to spend some time figuring this grief mess out: You and Kynnin split two years ago, and there must be some reason it's still cropping up this strongly for you.