I live like a song on repeat

All those times. How easy it is for them to come back. They slip in through the crack in the door, and the gap in the window, the chip in my mug. They get all the love and fill my eyes. The truth that I despise. I lost. Your things they still lie around like it’s the same time. Yet it isn’t .You and me are years apart. You are grown up. I am not. I still live in the world of love. Thinking its here. Its not. The same music. The same music. So much can go wrong. So much can change while so much is the same. I don’t think of you as you, but what we were. And it’s sad, that it isn’t in the world anymore. For the world to know, to see, and to feel. It’s all a hazy memory with bright sparks that show up like fire flies but they are gone by the time I turn to look. The light falls on tiny flowers about to bloom, and I realize the light is what I still look for. I still look for you. You burned me. But I forget what you did and look for what you were with me, when I didn’t know things. When I saw no light, it was all dark; I saw no point in light. I loved the dark. I don’t look for the dark. No. But those days can’t leave as yet. It’s going to be a year. A year isn’t enough.

I have to stop. I can’t let me tears be seen. I hide them with glasses. I don’t live by me. The theatre. The air with you and me there. I live for that light. Those times. I keep them all in me, ready to push. Push myself off one cliff, to fall right into another of those happy valleys. The black box that kept you and me. Still keeps us there. We still exist as we somewhere. Me a little more purple, you are a little more red. That black box.

Too many eyes see me here. I want to be there and that is what I fear. This moment I bit my lip, and think of a rhyme and then it dawns that I fake a crime. Why do I say what I say, I feel like I should run away. I feel like a clown stuck in a mime, or a word repeated for rhyme. I cannot induce time. I erase everything I don’t mean to say here, today. I use only my heart, no word of the mind. I stand under this light to fight all that we don’t. The pages we tear to make boats that would float are now all soggy and the picture within is foggy. What stays here, is still your stare. Its still there, on the last chair in the audience up there. I know you are there, here somewhere. But you are not. You said you won’t care. My heart says strange things with a heat. A heat that gets to me eyes. All the time that I rhyme with you in my mind. I don’t write poems. I write paragraphs in line. You are my sunshine. My only sunshine.

Until the piano starts again. And the rain. When it’s all getting dark, the water on the sets reflects our kiss. Your feet under the red sofa, the blue clothes hanging on the clothes lines sense the shiver I give the giver . The times, together. Those times together. These times together. I don’t use the perfume we bought. I hope it never dies out.

The piano, it makes us shiver. It makes me remember. Its not now, it’s the never.

One thing I can never imagine is your touch. The touch that began us, that made me say what I felt for you. As I say this I stop the tear from dropping from my eye. My mother is somewhere near by. It stays on me finger and spreads itself on the keys I play. The keys I play to say what I say. A couple of tiny ears do listen to me. They stare at the words I key.

Music banned by Plato, made little sense though. I see what he might want to see alone in the night while the state was busy. I am thirsty but I don’t drink water for it’s too far away, and suddenly what I say here becomes like a report I write for a disease, a log of what I hog. For the taste that many of us waste in haste is what I crave right here. The sweet taste of water, that we don’t find in our day. And then I know I become so clever to rhyme all these words that I lose what I want to say.

Loss is inevitable, isn’t it?

I hate these words put together like this. They never comforted me. They never will. Don’t use them for me.