I tried to write a poem about my Guardian Angel being angry at me but when I asked him for help he said nothing. He was real mad, silent mad, so mad he wouldn’t vocalise it. I understand, I’m not a very good human often so I can’t blame him.

The poem went something like this:

“It’s funny, this back and forth we have. Today I’m mad at you and tomorrow you’re mad at me. Good old fashioned relationship dynamics at play.

I don’t like to dwell on the fact that I’m always the one at fault….”

And then I had nothing else to write because every time I turned to my right he was looking at me with a face that said, “Are you being serious right now?”

I actually was. It was my way of trying to lighten the mood when all I should have said was sorry. I don’t imagine – no. I know having to watch me is hectic. I am tired of me, I wouldn’t expect any thing less.

But Guardian Angel, I just gotta say, I’m really grateful I have you. Life would be magnificently chaotic without you.

Kassy_Lu

Whispers

Some days the silence is so heavy, palpable, portent, enough to be cut through with a knife. I sit in it, wondering if it would shatter like glass if I screamed.

Other days, on the days I want it the most, the silence gives way to whispers. Little rustles that seem to never stop. Thoughts in my head that speak to each other, have a good laugh and turn to me to share their findings.

I wonder what that looks like to you. Does it distract you from your watching over me? I wonder if it distracts you when it’s time to fight the darkness that flies at me from time to time.

I imagine the pointy end of your sword sticking in the ground in between your sandaled feet, your forearm resting on it, ready to strike at any moment and that makes me feel good, I feel safe.

But I can’t help wondering, if you stabbed into my silence, would it abate?

Kassy_Lu

Another place

Whenever I closed my eyes all I saw was you. Your smile and how your eyes close almost completely when you laugh. I could hear your laugh, an almost non-committal sound like you never thought that it was serious enough for real laughter.

I never allowed myself to look into the future and see myself without you. Funny, because you seemed to manage that just fine. And every time I told you about future plans, you smiled your lazy smile and figured I’d find out eventually that you didn’t feel like those plans fit you well.

And then you walked away and I felt like I’d never stand again. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball or burn down your house, no in between. I think about that and I laugh.

It was good to see you today. It was good to see you and not feel any anger or sadness. I was happy to see you happy. It was good to see you and not feel like I lost you, to no longer feels like something was missing.

Maybe in another time we worked out. Maybe our futures aligned and made sense in a weird way, the way the sounds of violins in rock music do. Maybe in another place you were my everything.

But I don’t think I’d like that place very much.

Kassy_Lu

A Song You Know By Heart

I like it when you sing. It’s something between the right notes and notes that are a semitone off . I never quite catch it when I try to play it. I like it because you enjoy it so much, you add lyrics that make no sense and drum rolls that really shouldn’t be there.

I like it because you sing when it’s just the two of us. Only I get to see this artistic side of yours, only I get to watch the show.

It’s funny too. Sometimes you go so off-key I can’t recognise the song you’re singing. You seem to think everything should have more to it even when it doesn’t need to.

I want to be that song. I want to be on your lips, pouring out like warm honey, soothing aching bones and sore limbs. I want to be who you summon when you’re sad, when the world makes no sense and music is your only solace. I want to be the reason you dance again, the reason your heart skips a beat and your stomach flatters. The one who puts the goosebumps on your skin.

I want to be the rest that accentuates your rhythm, the rest that creates the syncopation, the melody you can’t shake off, the harmony that fills your mind late at night.

I want to be the song you know by heart.

Kassy_Lu

Out of Focus

I’ve never been great at throwing things. I always did it with too much force in the wrong direction or too little force that never got the object where it was supposed to be. I took it as a sign to never take up sports.

Clearly my hand-eye coordination is pathetic so there’s a bunch of other things I had to scratch off the list. But I still like to fantasise about it.

I still like to imagine our moments together, you laughing at something ridiculous I said, me wishing I didn’t say it but happy that it got you to laugh. I still like to imagine you tolerating my lack of aim when you ask me to throw you something and then you shaking your head when I fail miserably.

I still think about you because there’s a lot of good associated with you and I don’t want to let that go yet. But everything is coming full force at me to pull all of that out of my hands. It’s all coming at me to bury you under layers and layers of time, but you were always like a light, piercing the dark even when you annoyed me.

My mind’s eye may be losing focus, but I’ll never forget the silhouette of you.

Kassy_Lu

Better Half

I’d like to use the cliche line that goes “you’re my better half”, but that wouldn’t be true.

Rather than two halves of a whole, I like to think of us as two different colours of paint that blend into one.

They can’t be separated. They’re not what they used to be, but what they are now wouldn’t be without what they used to be.

But I suppose I must try to equate your calm blue and my chaotic orange to some halves of an object, maybe a wishbone so we can have luck, or you being the top half of our hour glass, pouring into the bottom half that is my life.

I like having you around, and I like that you’re not a half. I like that you compliment me and I like that sometimes it makes no sense why we work.

Kassy_Lu

All the Reasons Why

The question that people always ask is why. Sometimes even when the question has no answer. Even when it has the stupidest answer.

When people ask me why I love you, I never know what to say. Why do I have to have a reason? Why can’t I just love some random person I met on the street just because?

I suppose they expect me to say I love you because you’re kind and generous, and you make me laugh. Or that I love you because you get me and I can be myself with you.

The answers that people want to hear are that I love you because you’re intelligent and sharp, you unapologetically you and you’re a total goof yet you’re the most serious person I know.

I guess all these answers would be the correct ones. But what if my answer is just that I love you because there’s love in my heart to give? That I love you even when you’re not loveable, even when I know that loving you will hurt me and take away from me till I have nothing left?

What if my answer is that I love you because you’re here now, in the radius of my love and are the lucky recipient?

What if I just love you because even if you’re not perfect, you’re worthy of love?

Kassy_Lu

Mint tea

I like a hot cup of tea on chilly days, bundled up in a throw and folded on a chair, lost in a fictional world full of adventure and intrigue packed in a book.

The cup of tea sits on the table beside me until its warm and no longer hot and is slightly bitter because the bag stayed there longer than I’d have liked but it’s okay because you made it.

It’s okay because the taste of it reminds me of how we first met, how in a crowd of strangers you were a friendly face with a barely there smile.

The scent of the mint is a reminder of the nights we spent up, talking about things we couldn’t remember the next morning, whispering and giggling like children being up late when it was against the rules.

Holding the cup is a reminder of how you held me tight as we listened quietly to the sounds of the night. It reminds me of how whenever I started to doze off, you squeezed me tighter and whispered something that sparked a new conversation.

So saying I like a cup of hot tea actually means I like a cup of tea as long as you make it, and especially if it’s mint. I like it even more when you’re seated next to me with your own cup.

Kas

Clockwork

There’s a constant ticking sound somewhere in my subconscious. I can’t hear it but it’s there and I know it’s there even when I don’t know that it’s there. It reminds me from time to time. Everyday, to be exact.

Every evening, after the sun has tucked itself in and the moon has woken up to bestow her beauty on the night, in the dark while I lay on my bed and will myself to sleep, that ticking turns into a chime. A reminder that the day is ending and there is something I’m missing.

It hasn’t been missing, I just haven’t acknowledged it. In my rebellion and, dare I say, pettiness, I choose to pretend that I don’t know He is there. I can feel Him watching me, waiting for me to give him a lick of attention, patiently waiting for me to get over myself. So much more patience than I have.

So, finally, I turn to Him and say hi and feel a sense of shame for being so self consumed. The chiming dampens down and is replaced with a silence that stretches into the night, satisfied that I have given in to what I have been avoiding all along.

The ticking resumes in its silence, some form of anchor and reassurance, to chime again tomorrow and remind me to get over myself.

Kas

The Master

The evening seemed to have no end and the Master was quiet. He had spoken quite a bit during dinner and said and done some disturbing things, but now as they walked deeper into the thicket, he said nothing.

He had done what was out of character earlier. Well, it was very much his character, but anyone else with the title “Master” would never do what he had. Washed their feet. Their dusty, dirty, hard feet.

And then he had said that Peter would deny him. Peter scoffed as he recalled it. He scoffed even though something in him reminded him that the Master was never wrong. But he was sure in himself of his stance, he would fight to the end.

They got to a clearing in the garden and he told them to stay watch while he prayed. He wasn’t far off, they could hear his prayer. But they were so tired that his voice set the perfect background noise to falling asleep.

He woke them up and asked them to pray again. And again they dozed. And again. Finally, he told them it was time to get up and that was when he appeared, the traitor. He had a whole army with him and the most that they had were a few swords and an extremely gentle leader.

Peter suddenly found himself staring at the ear he had cut off. It was like a whole moment of time had been erased. The Master picked it, stuck it back onto the man’s head and then surrendered himself.

They were finished. This was not going to end well.

Dru_Dru