I dreamt you up inside my head as Sylvia said and you bewitched me just the same, and
then the world dropped dead, and a bird fell from the sky.
I wanted to kiss you, but I found an urn, filled with the ashes of all our burned hope,
stricken by a terror & vitality greater than my ability to contain it,
I swore I’d hold it as a memorial to the love I would never know.
At 21 my therapist told me that real love for me would likely be impossible,
her words, like a curse haunted my existence.
Who gave her such right? To predict my heart’s abilities based on the fickle readings of a
mercurial mind, as elusive and hard to pin down as a butterfly..
That night I rode out to the prairies, surrounded by marshes and countless miles of isolated nature, where I drank as much alcohol as I could and turned on the carbon monoxide, hoping to forget love as it seemed an invention made solely for torturing the psyches of those whose hearts were wild and wide as the prairie sky, too much for any one body to hold, or any one mind to occupy.
It had to be annihilated.
It survived in spite of the poison. In spite of the toxins,
in spite of the way you withdrew from me that day.
I would find a way to outlive it I told you, I’d be inhuman if I had to, but I’d endure this life of lovelessness.
Then I woke up from a very bad dream, and I was in that place known as the afterlife. People think I still exist here. But I died in the café, where you asked me if I wanted you.
I became 3 years old again. My mom was holding my small hand, she took me on a bus ride, and I carried a small bag filled with all my worldly belongings, (everything that ever mattered in my three year old world,) but when we departed, to my horror, my bag was gone, I forgot it on the bus, and it was never to be found again.
When you asked if I might have you, I felt this way, so small and afraid, thinking I lost my world.
I learned to exist so long without it.
When you sat there in the café, with stars in your eyes, It’s like you were this simple, uncomplicated, child with pure virgin eyes, asking me if I wanted the world back again, only the way you asked it was so humble, and you put this strange accentuation at the end of your sentence, as if it were a question.
This antithetical statement “you will love, in spite of it.”
“You will live for the first time in your life, you will defy modern medicine. You will feel true elation, true joy as it was meant to be felt.”
In my bag there were books in which to colour, and girly things, that’s what I recall. And when you came you brought these to me again. You painted my eyes and gave me perfume, you surrounded me with beauty and endless sweetness.
I became 3 again, and the ladies on the bus who seemed so old to me then, remarked “what an adorable child, she has such deep, dark eyes,” and I hid shyly away from their gaze.
When you offered me a new life, in that simple yet amazing way, that is so you, I cried, and I covered my eyes with sunglasses, but you told me, I didn’t have to hide anymore, then you came home with me, where you “sung me moonstruck, and kissed me quite insane, “ and somehow in the most natural & effortless way, you rearranged the constellations.