LOVE (Last Objections Vanish Eventually) [Part XVIII of my "Thinking in Acronyms" series]

A lover’s face drifting across space and time. A wall of water, rippling with implications of truth.
I’m cold all the time now, winter is moving in. The dove blue of a shirt I cannot shake, don’t want to forget. Did I love blue before that moment?
I dip my hand in the water, scoop out a hollow handful and let the drops falling from my fingers tell me if I am wrong.
I’m wavering when I never used to stray. I take each stone from the path I built to walk upon and turn it over, half expecting it to crumble in my hands.
Why do people forget themselves?

Lessons have to be repeated now. As if I wasn’t listening the first time. The church bells ring and summon me to communion with myself. If in the night the light inside goes out, how will I ever make it out of the forest?

As the day gives way and yet begins again far away from here, the brittle pearls of sleep shatter on my bed frame.

The rope is ripping my hands, but no one has told me it’s alright to stop dragging my old selves around. So I sweat and bleed and cry and yet move step by step, trying to catch you and sinking deeper into the mud.

I am surrounded by quicksand. I beckon you to come, yet with every step you take your chances of reaching me dwindle. The impossibility of the road I have laid out for you sends me into a frenzied panic and I feel myself disappearing into the ground I made from contradictions.

If I can’t help myself, then how can you?

I bend and my body struggles to adjust. The knot in my neck, the strain in my knee, the numbness in my fingertips. I notice and hope it’s growing pains.

Outside my window the leaves shed their anchors and are born into the wind. For endless minutes they circle in the sky, back and forth, with joyful flutters encountering other leaves, a raindrop or a ray of sunshine, before finally settling down. I left my tree long ago, I reacted to every breeze, stayed afloat for ages and there’s no telling where I’ve been. The patterns I left in the air might spell a story or be fading disturbances of light.
Oh, to land safely in your hands.

I’m drawing circles in that wall of water with my fingertips and wonder how deep it goes and if I would find stone if I stuck my hand in deeper. Stone to break your skin and keep you out.
The picture through the water is always blurry and my circles don’t help the distortion of the liquid veil. But when the light hits my waters just right, maybe you’ll see the rainbow colors hidden in every drop.

Falling was easy, but no one told me how to prepare for the landing. Now I am waiting for the crash.

“If love’s elastic, then were we born to test its reach?”

untitled [part XVII of my "Thinking in Acronyms" series]

My door started squeaking. It, too, can’t stand the constant coming and going anymore.
I’m not Italian enough to eat pasta every day.

Seems the weather report is all that’s ever on TV. Pressure cookers in the sky, boiling eternally.

I am being stalked by the ghost of people who aren’t residents of this town.