“Line them up like purple pansies”

I never understood what it meant. You used to say this when you lay asleep in the middle of the night.

I told you about it once and you laughed at me. I never understood what they meant — your laughter and the sentence that seemed to belong in your dreams.

I never told you about it. But I will tell you now.

The first time I heard you speak in your sleep woke me up in a haste. Your voice was clear and cold when you commanded him, her, or them to line them up like purple pansies.

I sat up and watched you sleep; waiting for you to say them again. You never did.

I heard it once more but this time you were probably in a different dream. You whispered that I should line them up like purple pansies. I was bewildered. I allowed myself to smile at your strange sleeping habit.

I moved some hair off your face and whispered back. Yes, love, I will line them up like purple pansies. I got up and turned the lights out.

I must say that I heard them countless times. Each time, was different from the other time. The only thing that remained similar was that I never understood what it meant.

I still don’t but I miss the way you say it.

イサベラ

(C) image

 

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nausea —
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

un
co or
dinate
d.

it shatters more,
each piece crying out
each letter of your name
it starts with a loud J

and ends in a hushed
letter unrecognizable
nausea.

nausea —
it comes back.
like the ghost of poison
empty and
real
enough to bring forth
the fire
of you

and cause me
to bend forward.
and scream your name
in agony
of longingness.

nausea.

イサベラ

(c) image

I looked at her back as she pushed her way out of my small flat. It was the most beautiful thing I saw this week.

My week had been an endless battle between stale coffee, angry customers, unlit cigarettes and endless crumbs on the floor.

Her back, in the act of leaving me, was the most beautiful thing I saw this week. 

I should have ran to her and told her that … knowing well enough that she and only she will understand. She would have smiled at me and kissed me lightly or gently ran her fingers on my locks.

But I did not.

How could I ruin the only beautiful thing I saw this week?

🌠 イサベラ

like a fool

Dear M,

I miss you with all my heart. I miss you when the waters rage and threaten to swallow me. I miss you when the winds are calm. I miss you when the bottles are empty and when I discover (in my somber state) yet another treasure trove. I miss you when the skies are clear. I miss you when they are not because it reminds me so much of how our lives were when our existence was yet to be validated by each other.

I miss you when the ocean hums a new song or when it brings familiar tunes. I miss you when the parking spaces are empty and I giggle like a fool when I picture how we could have danced all night . . . like how we used to.

I miss you when Love comes…

I miss you when it leaves.

Forever yours,

P