To eat your name for dinner means I wake up with the Ocean’s rage in the crevice of my guts. The movement inside crashes into my organs. My heart, reverberates an incomprehensible dissonance of beats and rhythm. My lungs, slowed down by Chaos and Confusion, dance like little girls with two left feet. one. two. three — a waltz gone too fast.
To eat your name for dinner means I hold on to my sheets and cry out in pain as little stars escape my mouth. These stars do not fly out gracefully but fall on my sheets like defeated warriors. I shiver lightly from fatigue and nausea. I do not count theses celestial beauties instead I abandon them without a choice.
Another wave of movement inside me forces me to curl up into a ball. Pieces of the moon in its sheer silvery sheen make its grand exit out in such haste that my tears were not able escape my eyes in time.
A splitting pain and emptiness inside me gives birth to a strange light that stays with me and lingers… long enough to blind me.
I eat your name for dinner and awake throwing up the universe.
please. i need time. i want this to run smoothly. the universe, despite its omnipotence, demands so much. i am not made of rubber. i am stardust, and tears, and mistakes.
Every night I wish only that you would be mine. This I always shyly and cautiously leave hanging in the air. Only the stars and the leaves that rustle by my feet bear witness to my desperation – my pathetic contradictions.
Every night the moon watches me and drowns my plea with its silvery moonlight. I watch my shadows dance beneath the lamppost as I whisper my request out into the world.
The moonlight does not falter. It seeps through my very being. It fills me up and empties me.
Unlike the fragments of light that escape the clasp of leaves and branches, my wish will not reach the Gods.
Every night I whisper your name out into the world in the hopes of having you closer to me. In exchange, a piece of you is taken by the Gods as my own special atonement.
My heart tells me I should stop. My mind urges me forward.
Tell me, will the moon ever run out of light?
I’m in a book I’ve read before. His struggles are now mine. Apprehension swallows me in a millisecond. Damn this book. Curse this storyline. I know how it ends. I know it like the back of my hand.
the wind, knocked out of me.
my lungs, like stubborn wind
does not succumb,
unable to surrender to death
for your sake.
my heart breaks
to a fast paced waltz
it shatters more,
each piece crying out
each letter of your name
it starts with a loud J
and ends in a hushed
it comes back.
like the ghost of poison
enough to bring forth
and cause me
to bend forward.
and scream your name
I am against bullying.
No matter what you tell me, you will never convince me otherwise.
“Ends are for yesterday, not for tomorrows”
Mitch Albom’s The Time Keeper is interesting enough to freeze time or at least to keep me from noticing that quite a big chunk of it has gone. It basically tells the story of Dor, who is imprisoned in a cave for 6,000 years for trying to capture the essence of Time through his tools and invention. When he is finally “freed” from the cave, he is tasked to teach the real value of Time relative to the meaning of Life to two mortals and as an effect, to himself.
The book presents life-lessons that are not entirely foreign or new such as how we waste Time by trying to “catch” Time or how we miss the living part of life by counting our days and minutes only to find ourselves begging for more when we’ve noticed we only have a handful of it left.
What makes this book engrossing despite the cliches, is its simplicity and how it tried to veer away from a preachy tone which is almost always present in books that are lesson-giving.
“There was always a quest for more minutes, more hours, faster progress to accomplish more in each day. The simple joy of living between summers was gone.”