Fancy

  I like it when you randomly call and tell me to get ready. I never know where we are headed, but as long as it’s with you I don’t mind being over dressed for a walk or under dressed for dinner.

   I like that you don’t get me potted plants and instead get me flowers I could put in a vase for a week before I throw them out. I could never keep a plant. It would die of thirst.

   I like that you sit and listen to me mumble incoherent words when I drink too much wine. I like that you don’t judge me when my drunk self is free enough to be that level of crazy that no one ever sees.

   I like that even though there is so much you have to hold over my head, you don’t, and yet I hold everything I can remember over your head. I like that between the two of us you are the forgiving one.

   I like that by some weird twist of the hands of time on my broken watch, we kept finding ourselves in the same places, looking for the same things and eventually finding ourselves in the same friendship.

   I like that you’re easy to love. And that it’s easy to love that you love me even though sometimes you have to struggle with it.

All these are just things that I fancy.

Dru_Dru

Love Letters

She came awake at the chiming of the clock. Somehow it seemed to be a little louder at six o’clock. The sun was up, waking up the rest of nature, gently shaking it out of its sleep. The moon faded slowly into the background, quietly bowing out, following the stars in their slumber until the night time. She liked to think that was how it was.

She picked up the letter on her bedside table written in a neat hand. She looked over at the writer of the letter and smiled. It was a silly thing he had suggested when they had first met. He promised he would write her letters even though that was not the norm anymore. And he did, he wrote her every week, and then it turned to every month and then every other month.

Often the letters were his way of saying to her what she said to him in her sketches. She kept them in a little box on her bookshelf and looked at them as she worked when she missed him.

Today’s letter was short, a reminder of a week before when they had strolled down the street and she had told him she would paint him with the jacaranda tree in the background. It was on a jacaranda tree where they had done the corny thing of engraving their names into its bark.

She picked up a paper and pen and wrote him a letter. The only one that she would ever give him.

Dru_Dru

Intoxication

You’re my drug.

From my waking my only craving is you. The smell of you, the taste of you, the sight of you. You should have been packaged in vials for easier access, a quicker flow into my system, a faster high.

My world is constantly spinning. It seems to spin around you. You’re everywhere I look, you’re in everything I touch. I feel you the way an alcoholic feels the gin sliding down her throat. I want you flowing in my veins even when I know I can’t stomach you. I have one sniff of you and I’m retching, spewing out my insides, balling my eyes out, wishing I could pull my heart out of my chest.

But when I don’t have you, my body protests. My hands shake so I can’t hold on to anything that’s not you. My mind conjures images, throws me into desolate trenches where you don’t exist anymore. I get cold and yet I’m hot. I want nothing more than to see you again, to talk to you again and listen to your infectious laugh, see your eyes crinkle when you smile and feel your hand gently squeeze mine when I need reassurance.

I don’t want to not have you, but I have to not have you. I have to let you go. I just want one more time. One more sniff, one more puff, one more feel of you in my veins. One more death by having you before I face a thousand deaths without you.

Dru_Dru

The End And The Beginning

She sat on her stool and looked at her paper. The easel was leaning slightly to the left so her drawing was bend too. But it worked fine because the object of her concentration was permanently leaning on his left too, pushing his cane into the ground as he walked and squinting even though he had his glasses on.

She chuckled. She would miss that, even though she knew she would be gone first and would leave him to mumble to himself whenever he misplaced something. She would need to leave him a guide so he wouldn’t get frustrated just to get a glass of water.

She leaned forward, added a few more defining lines, glancing occasionally in his direction. He was asleep, open book in his lap. Barely a page had been read before he dozed off.

So this was their end, more beautiful than the beginning. Him growing older still, and her dying slowly. She scribbled a few lines in the bottom corner of the paper and signed it. This was the end of her sketching. Ending right where it had begun, with the man she had loved from the beginning.

Dru_Dru

It’s You

You often think I’m lying whenever I say I’m shy. I don’t know if it’s because I lie so often and you see right through me, or if it’s because it’s the one thing I’m sure is true but you don’t think so. Or maybe it’s because I always manage not to look away from you when you look right at and into me.

For the few moments that I can hold your gaze, I see so much in your eyes. I see a lifetime flash through, bright and sunny with some rainy, dark days. Its a little something you picked out of my imagination. Or planted into it. I’m never really sure when I’m around you.

I like to think I have it all together, but all that I have scatters when I see you and I’m left empty handed, wondering how you always manage to dispel these notions I have of myself. And then you fill my empty upturned hands with yours and pull me out of my dark spot.

It’s those eyes. They pierce me and seem to cut clean lines in places where everything is muddled and stuck together. It’s that smile, that mouth that manages to turn up even when you’re angry with me. It’s you and how I can see your worldview when you gaze at me.

Its all the things about you that I can’t explain. They seem to turn me into someone I’m not. Or maybe it’s into who I really am.

Dru_Dru