Friday, July 30, 2010


"I feel nurtured and satisfied" she said.  "For so many years it was only the wounds of pruning that defined me.  Perhaps I even cut myself too deep at times.  But it seemed necessary."

"And now?" he asked.  He took hold of the Zinfindel and refilled her glass. 

"Now."  A pause to reflect and savour the wine that had been strenghened by time and the care of a young  vintner.  "Now. I do believe that I have bleed out, scabbed over and healed up.  And you know, as ugly as that all was for a time, HELL, as ugly as I was for a time, it's woven itself to become the most beautiful pieces of me."

"Impossible for me to conceive of you ever be anything other than beautiful."  His voice calm and seductive, the hours of the day beginning to stretch their way into the early morning but yet to see the light.

"Ah, but you and I" pausing for another sip of liberation "declare beauty quite differently.  These breasts and this skin along my neck are reminders that beauty is a flower whose bloom is in youth.   Fleeting.  Illusion.  Proof only that we have this temporary power to lay men at our feet, hopeful that we might spread ourselves before them."
She held the glass upward, intoxicated by both the words she spoke and the shadows that swirled around them.  "We are all in the grip of time's embrace."  Philospophical now, her words walking the razors edge of two worlds "She my friend forgets no one and waits for none.  But she does, if we are priviledged enough and brave enough, show us that beauty is everything, even the things most of us can't bare to see in others, let alone ourselves."

On The Wall

She searched her own eyes in the mirror.  Looking beyond herself, knowing that he was in there and if she could just say the words, somehow they would reverbrate.  He would feel them even though he was too far away to hear her.

"I'm not finished" she said in a low and pleading whisper.  "We're not done yet.  Maybe we haven't even started.  Are you going to be this ghost?  Invading my dreams and waking me only to ask if I will forever be wanting you?"

Drawn closer, fogging the glass she closer her eyes and exhaled deeply.  It was his breath that returned to warm her face.  The salt of her tears at the surface now.

"Feel this.  Feel me."  Her hand fisted, instinctively rubbing over the hollow of her breast above the heart.   His face filing up her mind's eye.  Her flesh burning in sensation as though he were touching her the way she'd imagined it had always been between them.

"We're not done.  We are not done."  And with that she tried to let go of the pleasure she sought from the pain, in search of some joy that had mostly eluded her.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Mustard Pickles

“What would be great is if we could bottle this like preserves.”

She nodded in agreement despite the impossibility of it.

“And on about mid November start opening up jars of the stuff and eat them like mustard pickles with supper. Or, you know, like peanut butter off the spoon.”

“Forget supper, maybe I'd drink it mixed in my coffee and have it for breakfast.”

She couldn't stop herself from laughing at the idea. And not because it was ridiculous but because it was so inspired. And immediately began to wonder how large a bottle might be required to capture the moment, let alone the day.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Making Sense

“It's okay with me” she said. “That we're, you know, making this up as we go along.”

“You don't consider it a lot of unnecessary not knowing?” He'd always been the kind for plans and formulas and wanting to have a clear idea of where things were going before they actually got off the ground.

“I guess I'd rather look back someday and connect the dots than road map the future. Besides, the latter seems so dreadfully boring” her eyes rolling involuntarily. “ I want to wake up in the morning and wonder. And in the end, when we do get to where we're going, I want the satisfaction of surprise. Like no one, not even us could've imagined we'd get so far.”

His lips twitched in a semi-smile. She's completely nuts, he thought. And he was unable to decide if anything she'd said made sense. And it all worried him just a little.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010


His voice was heavy with sarcasm. So much so that it was impossible to trust the words he said. The undertone of frustration and annoyance, that to his credit he tried to conceal, negated anything resembling the peace offering that he was currently making.
It's difficult to counter that kind of contempt, she thought. So she opted for silence. At least until she could detect that his high-wire emotions were beginning to wear thin. Knowing him, his anger would not be sustained for long. Hell, he was after all attempting an apology. Not a good one, but just the same she appreciated the effort and knew it was more than she deserved. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, pleased she had not thrown fuel on his flames.
Soon his bluster of fury came to an end. The tempo changed and they both held onto the silence for a moment.
“I love you baby” she whispered into the phone. And those words seemed to ring so true in that moment it was hard to hold onto anything else.
“Me too. I love you too.” And it was impossible to imagine that anything in the world could keep them apart.

The Story of Us.

They sat in the shadow of the full moon's light. And when she looked up it was ringed by a prism halo, spilling colours that were generally difficult to see in the dark. And it shone so bright the other stars forgot their light.

“Do you ever wonder how we made it this far?” His hand tightened around hers and he pulled her in a little closer. Knowing she was prone to asking existential questions, he hesitated to give an answer. “Yes” he finally acknowledged, as though that one word might be enough, when in reality he had no idea what she was probing for.

“Really? Cause I have no clue!” And with that she laid herself out across his lap, hugging his knees to her chest. “But somehow we did it. All these years and here we are.”

He kissed her on the forehead, lingering for just an extra second to smooth her hair. And he wondered, albeit to himself, how the gods had chosen him to love her. Somewhere, somehow he expected there must be a plan greater than the moon. And was thankful to be a part.