This Overwhelming Uncertainty

Prose, October 25, 2006 at 07h04

I hadn’t even realized that I had fallen until I was already standing up again, brushing myself off. I looked back at the path I had been casually walking on and I was genuinely surprised at how rough it was. How complicated it was. I must have been too preoccupied to notice sooner, but now upon careful reflection I saw it through a diaphanous veil of truth. It was winding, narrow, and steep. And whereas it felt like such an easy and comforting route to take, there was actually no easy way through.

It wasn’t until after I let go of her that I realized I didn’t want to. She was already walking away on a path of her own and I, still stunned from the fall, could not think clearly enough to follow. It’s possible that I believed I would be able to easily find the point where our paths intersected shortly thereafter. It’s possible that I believed there would be another intersection soon enough. It’s possible that I believed in anything that would save me from waiting.

But now I’m upright again, moving forward with as much caution as I possibly can. You see, I’m not worried so much about falling as I am about missing the next sudden intersection. With every progressive step I take, I look back at where I fell and wonder if she was going to return there; maybe I should have waited awhile longer.

We all have our own paths that we have to take. Sometimes we walk them because they’re easier, sometimes because they’re harder, sometimes because it’s the right path, and sometimes to avoid another path entirely. I can’t be certain which path she’s taking, I can only hope it runs parallel to my own.

The Goodnight …

Crime of Life, August 30, 2006 at 11h05

And after she turned away and he could no longer see her eyes, he understood the look he had been given. Her lips hadn’t moved but somehow now – too late – he realized they were screaming desire in a number of languages, and he misinterpreted them all. He believed her when she wanted to move slowly and she reinforced this with every action; he also believed his sprint was too sudden. Why did he ask her to spend the night? What did she think he expected? What was he expecting? Questions without answers, all falling desperately through him and none being as bold as the one question he hated asking himself, but did nonetheless. Why didn’t he kiss her?

The Master’s Maid

Poems, April 27, 2006 at 10h30

I’ve aged two days since first you laid
Your desperate gaze upon me
And to say you gave your pervious praise
Without restraint is humbling

You craved and caved to ideals you made
Which never portrayed my ability
Now swayed, you hate the shadow you face
Whose depth displays your avidity

You claim I embrace the need to be chased
When the truth is I paced and you followed
Yet you stay in a state that insinuates
That I dangled you bait and you swallowed

Today you play the Master’s maid
And masquerade as modest
And again I remain a traveller detained
Who arrives at the gate as it closes

In the Gleam of Your Eye

Poems, January 13, 2006 at 04h20

There’s something I see in the gleam of your eye
A delicate desire, so deep and deprived
A puzzle perplexing, precocious and pressing,
So interesting, I’m intensely inspired

I follow the trace of your face with my eye
From chin to cheek to cherishable smile
And the elegant way your lips flow like waves
Is engraved so clear in my mind

I thought I had caught the cock of your eye
And for days I embraced this mistake like a child
But your daily debating became devastating
By trading my triumph with trial

I refrain from displaying my pain with my eye
Instead, I intend to enclose it inside
Forever the fool, I’ll forget I found you
And come through with only scars on my pride