Category: Literature

* Left *

Your shade leaves that agitates my heart,
As though moonlight vanishes in that thin morning mist,
Into silence, you depart driftingly.

I sit up into a pitch of dark torment,
Forgot the length of time, weakened corps aches as if the deaf hears the cry,
A self floating.

Vast, void, antithesis of eternity,
Fear now sleeps in me, surrendered to night terror with my incapacity.
What an atrocity.

Yet you assert this is reality, as I 
Inhale the emptiness that permeate the uninhabitation. 
You left; “morning has been blackening.”

Robin egg blue
Wintery lentil soup
Inexperienced parenthood

Heart-pounding 
Forestry wedding
Your voice in our tiny kitchen

Ash tree seeds
Baker’s yeast
The irresistible moisture of your wee lips

I miss you,
And all those miscellaneous reminiscences,
My memory a daze, bygone is a future once might be reality.

* Cloud *

The trillion molecules
Drafted from the ground, station in the air,
Transcend into heaven, we once called.
The immense, remarkable.
So light it weights as angel,
So substantial it sustains storm.
That which shadows the earth,
The unimaginable, so to speak,
Ask Kant, we call it sublime,
That trillion molecules,
The awe-inspiring wonder.

* Read Tulips *

“To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free –“
You said.

Whispering into my wicked bones, like fairy slips through lichen and moss.
Lie on the floor awaiting to be taken,
I smiled as if this corps would be still for ever.

How free it is, I know exactly.
Yet I miss the excitement of the spring earth,
That chill of a summer refrigerator,

Calling me is the voice of a country singer.
Now that I think, 
Even the odor from the back alley of Parc Avenue is somehow familiar. Not only that,

I wonder what it feels like when my son pees on my arm,
How painful it would be, to see my daughter falling on the ground,
How wonderful it is, to see an enfant growing into an adult.

And I want especially,
To hear you read Tulips to me,
So much,

So much joy awaiting,
So many miracles pounding.
That I have to wake up, into this dreamy reality.

* One Day *

One Day,
Gabriel García Márquez might teeter on the tip of your tongue,
Your legs might become too stiff that walking together in a quite forest would be luxury,
Your wrinkles would proliferate as the memories carve into your beautiful body,
Your illed body would be too clumsy that I have to grab and lay it down on bed every night when I’m at home,
Life will demand us to pay the due and the obstacles would sabotage our happiness.
Or that might be me,
But still,
I will look at you and all the memories will come up and I will smile deeply so intensively recalling all the moments the reasons we fall in love the aroma of your hair the texture of your skin your body hair your existence and I would feel that love is always there and I just can’t stop loving you and I’m still deeply in love with you and all the dreams the fantasies the desire and the hope

If you stay

Journal Entry #3 – Notes on Writing

I sincerely am not even trying to write good poems or proses as a mean to express if any, of my inner self. What I am trying is merely to take note of my thought, my suffering, my existence, and wish that years to come I have a realistic account of what happened to me, at this very moment. I thought about naming this blog “Look what love did to me”, as an honest demonstration of exposure, of myself being able to display the most vulnerable part of me, or a way to process my growth in a therapeutic way. However, I realized it will, as the original intention is to process the lose, one day not about a lost relationship anymore, so I decided to use the name “the fleeting moments” to suggest a possible future focus.

That doesn’t mean, however, this is currently anyhow about self-pity, digital mourning, or public bereaving. 
I just want the words that I wrote precisely reflect the flows of my inner dialog, maybe depressed, or maybe angry or even joyful. I have no idea, as she always said, we will see the story unfold.