Saturday, November 30, 2013
“That my breath does not come w/out some difficulty, does not surprize me. My throat is constricted and my heart o’er filled w/ emotions aimed at you. I thought I’d walk away, just leave w/out yr blessing, w/out yr scent on my body, w/out any of all the beauty and serenity you instill in my day. My heart beats and my heart breaks, for I can’t remember ever loving you only halfway. It was 100% and now I pay the price of losing you, 100%. Yr voice on the phone made me want to crawl thru the line to touch you, see you, be w/ you. I fight and try to tell myself things aren’t what I think. But they are. I love you. Completely. And I am ripped asunder at the thought of you & I apart; perhaps even in some other’s arms. I screw my courage to the floor & try to do what is being done w/ the best of my ability. I am sad. I am broken. I am dreading being w/out you. Sorrow has made my day another colour.”
“… her simpleness is what struck me first. Not plain, not indescript, but simple. A light glowed from her eyes and smile. A warm flame burned in her heart. Unlike the beautifully distinct , she had a countenance that was like a canvas a thousand Michaelangelo’s could be painted on.”
“You sit crosslegged, upright, posture perfect, a thin layer of summer cotton covers yr delicate & balanced body. Yr hand playing lightly w/ yr hair. Yr silver pendant hanging, low, on yr bare breast bone. I wish you’d uncross yr legs so I could peek at yr ultimate paradise. Yr power source and my spiritual black hole. Yr almost childlike face holds all the innocence & wonder of youth but w/ slight clues as to yr true age. I want to devour you to save me from my boredom. Yr nonchalance as to yr actions, the sucking of the cappucino milk foam off the wooden stir stick, makes you either the best actor or overwhelmingly unconscious. Ah, betrayals, betrayals, the inconsistencies seem to harbour cruel hiding spots for yr games and rehearsals. Rubbing yr legs from knee to ankle, slender ankle. Why, why do I write words about you? Yr beauty must dictate it.”
Monday, September 9, 2013
“Who is this guy? And why on earth are we hiding out at his place? You don’t even really seem to like him.” “Henry is someone I’ve known for most of my life. I haven’t seen him in ten years or so. But I know one thing, we’re safe here. And I could use a good night’s sleep and a bit of rest after today. I’m sure your nerves must be a bit out of shape too.” “Yeah, but there’s something about him I don’t know if I like.” “Like? What’s with the like!?! Who said anything about like? Henry and I have been at war since we met. We’ve had three knock ‘em down drag ‘em out fist fights and numerous arguments. But there is one outstanding element that has always remained between us since we met: Respect. “I’ll deny I ever said this if you repeat it but he is one of the best people I’ve ever known.” “You have a funny way of showing it.” “Still, I’ll sleep without worry tonight knowing where I am.” Henry re-emerged into the living-room at this time, arms heavy with pillows and blankets. “Why don’t you two take my bed. I just changed the sheets. It’ll be easier than making up the couch and the floor. I don’t sleep anyways. Not now, not when I’m working.” “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to kick you out of your bed.” Nat almost interrupted. “I would,” Louis said and started towards sleep, “’night, Henry.” “’Night…Louis” The Louis hung in the air with a smile. “Prick.” Louis said. And without looking back he flipped Henry the bird as he left the room. “Oh.” Nat giggled and followed after Louis.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
“She had a look. A presence about her that perhaps made her a tad more beautiful than she actually was; if that makes sense. I suppose if she were a corpse she wouldn’t be the best looking one but alive she was dynamite. Her hair was cut in a Joan of Arc style. Expensive, not like Moe’s from the Three Stooges, but more like Coco Chanel’s in the 20’s. Her high cheekbones were full, and of a natural rosy colour which offset the blackness of her hair. There was a contrast that any artist could pick up on. Her eyes were a soft brown, and big, almost saucer sized. They must have been huge in her child head but now they seemed to fit perfectly. Seemed as though you could park a Buick in them; if you could find the valet and get a ticket stub. I loved her. I loved her from the second I saw her. I knew because all my foolish maleness puffed up. I started bragging like a jackass and I ‘turned’ up at every place she was for the whole evening. But if you ever saw her or knew her there is no way you couldn’t understand. She moved as though she had just walked out of a Bottecelli painting. The gravity of the beginning of all life swayed in her hips.”