This is an old post I wrote on Alariwo a long while ago.

I thought I’d put it up here too.


Seat 51,
April 20th, 1993.

I never thought I’d have to write a note such as this. It’s not what I’d think to write, get all soppy and mushy. I have always seen the world through my dark shades and put a sieve to everything I hear.

I have never really enjoyed music and when I did, they were depressing, morbid songs, sufficient in lyrics of loss, the winds and storms of life and broken heartedness. There couldn’t be more to life and I was sure. I had to be right. I enjoyed dark places; I found my art in and through tears.

I had become friends with loneliness. My ever faithful lover; we hung out in the dark and on wooden benches beside leafless trees. I took her on walks, we wrote together, every day, side by side. She was my muse. Anytime I got sad or felt angry, she was there to comfort me with a pen and paper. I fell in love with writing, how she made it easy to manipulate words and create art.

Then you happened…

Dressed in white, you looked summertime fine,
My heart would race and stop racing,
Skip a beat, beat a little faster and then slower,
all at the same time.

I no longer sat on that bench alone,
A leaf sprouted by day and two by sunset,
Day by day, my muse, I lost.
Every fiber of my being wanted you.

You made me want to dance,
I do not know how to,
But you made my feet move, anyway.
To paint the clouds, seemed possible.

Your laugh was music to my ears.
I want to be funny, just so I hear it again.
It’s like the movies,
Slow scenes and background music.

Let’s dance forever.

I’d pick up a pen and write of butterflies and happy people, happy endings and forever after, of rainbows and of planes and of trips across oceans with you.
We’d start with Greece, just like you always wanted.

Or so I thought…

It’s been 3 years now, when the drunken driver took you away from me, I shouldn’t have called you. I really just wanted to say I love you; Alas, I never got the chance to say goodbye. I’m left with the echoes of your scream, before the line got cut. I prayed to have you back, but some prayers go unanswered. It haunts me each night. I never sleep.

I’m writing again, taking walks again; the leaves have fallen off, I don’t see the rainbows again, and I could never paint the clouds now, not without you.

I take a train to Greece every year, to walk on the beach and drop in another letter; this letter.
I hope they sail your way, into heaven where you belong.

I’m with her again, my former lover, my ever faithful lover. Her grip even firmer, she’s never letting me go, not this time.

I love you, always.

4 thoughts on “Crush(ed)

  1. Oh my! My bath water must be cold by now but I’m glued to your words. So deep. I guess the best of art is often fuelled by darker emotions. Pain, anger, depression, loss etc. My second read on your blog and I can already decide that you’re a wonderful writer. However, I need to get that bath before I am once again caught by web of emotions spun by your words

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