Wednesday, October 13, 2010

old, weathered book.



I am twirling, dancing around myself in a haze of rose wine and white skirts and piano music as he sits in the chair, reading some old and ancient novel, bursting at the seams with wisdom.

Just the same as him, these books he reads.

Old, weathered, falling apart and containing miles and miles of knowledge,
with that old book smell and that feel of leather against your skin that brings tingles up your back.
He looks over, that same weathered look on his face, even though he's only twenty five.
And I am nineteen and giddy in intoxication, beckoning him to dance, just this once please dance.

Dance with me like you use to, when we first met.
Dance with me like you use to, when it was taboo for us to be together.
Dance with me like you use to, before you fell into this pit of despair.
Can you even pull yourself up? Are you out of the abyss?
Dance with me, please, just like you use to.

A ghost of a smile is on his lips before he turn back to reading that book, filling his head with words and words and more words and leaving me, alone, to dance.

10 comments:

  1. Your an amazing writer. I think you need to write a book. Maybe not need to, you have the blogs, but if you write a book I would read it through and through. I love the he. I'm only 15 and dateing a 19 year old. I'll be 16 soon, but I love the whole forbidin thing. I hope you get your dance.

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  2. Oh My Freaking God! I missed you so much!

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  3. I wonder who is that someone you wanted to dance with. Hey i am glad you decided to restart this blog of yours!

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  4. i have missed this and you so much.

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  5. You are beautiful in every sense of the word. I've missed this; the way you write so effortlessly; weaving letters and letters into a tale of heartbreak, of joy, of love. I am so glad to know you. xxxxxxx

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  6. You are simply beautiful. This made me realize how much I missed you.
    Lovely, lovely, lovely!!!




    LOVE!

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  7. aww this is so sweet a and ghostly all at once

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  8. this is gorgeous. you make me think of marguerite duras, The Lover.

    our souls do exist. how can you write like this if you don't exist? maybe we are fractured and it seems so hopeless, so many little pieces, but don't you see the way they reflect the light sometimes? it's about finding the glue to put it all back together. for me writing is sometimes the glue. sometimes it's long walks with the dogs in the morning sunlight and sometimes it's the quiet at home with the cats and sometimes it's something someone says to you that rings true. that was the best compliment i've ever gotten, that i ooze wisdom, thank you. little glue, you see? your words here, this post, your glue.

    we were born whole as everyone is because we were born no different from anyone else. there is no inherent flaw. we have become this way, fractured, translucent, because someone or something has made us this way. for everyone it's different. for me it's my parents mostly. for some it's abuse or rape or neglect or family, but it's always something. we are not inherently flawed. which means we can put ourselves back together again someday. i'm hoping anyway. maybe just some time. and finding that glue.

    xx x

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  9. 'I am twirling, dancing around myself in a haze of rose wine and white skirts and piano music as he sits in the chair, reading some old and ancient novel, bursting at the seams with wisdom.'

    I LOVE THIS.

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