The Sound. (Part 3)

I tripped over my own shoelace while I wondered what you were staring at. And it made me frustrated at the time that you didn't say anything, but only now do I realize you were trying to tell me with your eyes.

And talking without listening is a way to say you remember the past instead of hearing me now. Because losing that small anchor you had means that you cannot go back, even when you know the truth.
The places and people and things, all these proper nouns (now-ns) you hold in your heart, are long gone outside of you. Everything you have seen will live in you for as long as you have loved it and continue to do so. You cannot be lost from it. Not ever.

But it seems that no matter how far across the world I reach, you will keep looking at something else, at some other warning sign. And still, even in this isolation, I hope you feel all the warmth I have for you. I want you to do and get the best.

I hope, someday in a fairly distant future, I may be allowed to speak at your wake or throw dirt on your coffin. And then I will know how just peacefully you rest.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

The Size. (Part 2 of 3)

I run into this kind of problem all the time. I cannot sleep at night because I oversleep in the morning. Or perhaps vise versa.
The silence shared with one person is screaming about sadness while a loud concert with someone else is so peaceful.

It's just the little things you have to really watch for, all of them can speak in echos that count frequencies in the thousands and depths that no one has the strength to see. The way you can miss someone so new to your life or feel the way a memory plays out even when the sensation has passed.

These are just the small parts that speak so loudly. So when your eyes splinter your vision into a million sights and chairs become mountains, you'll learn to navigate your way to the shore and calm yourself before walking away again.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

The Shape. (Part 1 of 3)

There is something clear to me.
Part of it is that you haven't gotten it yet.
Another part is that I see that you're not ready to, but you want it.
I wonder if you have this clarity in a different way, though. Like seeing what you know I'm not ready to see.
It is a shame this misunderstanding is actually an inability to communicate something so subtle and so obvious.

When it comes to it, there are feelings and motions that I cannot begin to narrate so I make do with what I can. In the meantime, I hope that someone will pick up on the subtext of it all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to know telepathy. I want to speak in measures and notes and heartstrings. I wish you could feel what I am feeling because I think it would mean so much more that way.

Originally performed on 1/27/11

Originally written on 3/29/09

Dawn.

Quick note: the following is an unedited prose piece I started on a little while ago. I would like to work with it a bit more, but I feel I just need it to be looked at by another pair of eyes. Let me know what you think. (Likes, dislikes, changes, elaborations, etc.)

I woke up and stretched. My fists reached toward the ceiling and I let out a yawn that made lions a little worried. This morning felt different from the previous ones. I didn't linger under the covers imagining you were holding me in your arms. I pushed my feet to the floor and didn't check the pillow for where your head might have been. I wiped the sleep from my eyelids and not once did my blink lengthen to welcome a thought of your presence.
Something felt loose, but not out of place. In fact, something felt like it had finally been put back, returned to its rightful owner. I waltzed into bathroom, lighter than when I had gone to sleep somehow. "What was it?" I blandly thought to myself. Whatever it was that wasn't there, it had taken the pit from my stomach with it.
I thought about nothing and my body understood that I needed to get to work at a certain time. In my mind, I sat back and relaxed in an open field of tall grass. I squinted at the sun until noon. I got up and chased the squirrels and the butterflies and the pollen in the air. In my imaginary world, I was just me and having the fun that I wanted to have.
I get home and sit down. I wonder what's missing as though my life were a children's puzzle. I ask myself, "What used to be here that isn't anymore?" But really, the answer always comes in the form of another question: "What was there before that was replaced by what is now missing?"
I come to see that I live in a series of replacements. And that when I lost one central part of my life, another came to take it's place. So when I lost my sanity, I found you. And when you left, I found a void filled with endless sadness and pain and suffering. And suddenly, today, that void has finally been replaced with life again; a forest of life grown over the smoldering ruins of a dark fantasy world. I'll admit, I still remember why that hole was made, but I think it even more amazing and awesome that the patch has grown so full in one night.
I anticipate what else I get to weave into this great pattern of waking fresh and new at the end.

Still Life

An edit of this. Feedback is thoroughly encouraged. Criticism extremely welcome.

Eons have passed since we walked through that green maze to bronze fields.
Yet I have visited our park so many times in my thoughts,
with the heaviness of death hiding so close to my heart,
it would seem as though it was only yesterday since we were walking side by side.

With open eyes and bare feet,
the music of the air spilled into our ears
and we swayed like stalks of wheat.

Under the blue autumn sky,
I can still hear all of the words you ever spoke
echoing through the blades of grass.

We were not silent then;
we were not patient
and there was no need to be, either.
Our souls touched and grew inside one another.

I can only dig down so far
to find where there is a difference between us.
It would not matter if you lived in any other place,
if I could not see you with my eyes.
We were born to meet each other and live to learn.
(Perhaps if we had never met I may have died?
What about you?)

If my legs could carry me,
I would run.
If you could open your mouth,
you would conduct symphonies.

It was so simple for us.
We were creating worlds by discovering what already existed.
We were flourishing in the void.
We were making peace by not needing one another.

My only fears for you are that fear would get in the way of any life worth living.
That something could paralyze you beyond ever
understanding or experiencing the most necessary affairs.

Waves passed and oceans flew,
time churned and next thing I knew
you were walking away from me.

The crisp air hit my lungs and I decided this wouldn't be when I chased after anyone.
I was tired of walking so far North
that I forgot where the beach lay.
When I was at your place
I never knew which way was home.
I got so comfortable in your bed
I began to dislike my own skin.

Four years ago I might not have known any better,
but four years from now I might say the same thing.

I take a deep breath and plunge in.

---maybe I'll find you after all.

The Only Certainty...

...in this life, is that it will end. Every other concept is up to you to perceive.

It was only yesterday that we walked across bronze fields with open eyes and bare feet. The music of the air spilled into our ears and we swayed like stalks of wheat. Our souls touched and grew inside one another. I can only dig so far down deep to find where there is a difference between us. It would not matter if you lived in any other place, if I could not see you with my eyes. We were born to meet each other and live to learn. My only fears for you are that fear would get in the way of any life we could live.

Yet I have visited our park so many times in my thoughts, with the heaviness of death hiding so close to my heart. Four years ago I might not have known any better, but four years from now I might say the same thing. (Perhaps if we had never met I may have died? What about you?) Even under the blue autumn sky, I can hear all of the words you ever spoke echoing through the grass. We were not silent then, we were not patient and there was no need to be, either. If my legs could carry me, I would run. If you could open your mouth, you would conduct symphonies. It was so simple for us. We were making peace by not needing one another.

Waves passed and oceans flew, time churned and next thing I knew you were walking away from me. The crisp air hit my lungs and I decided this wouldn't be when I chased after anyone. I was tired of walking so far North that I forgot where the beach lay. When I was at your place I never knew which way was home. I got so comfortable in your bed I began to dislike my own skin. I take a deep breath and plunge in---maybe I'll find you after all.