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mermaid in jeans*

 

I can think of a thousand different ways to explain the way I miss you. It’s like the world is made of water, and all I have are lungs. It’s like the moon has forgotten its place in the sky, all but disappearing. The stars are a circus, and we are performing acrobats, flipping through emotions like wonderful experts. Only, there is no net. Only, there are lions. Only, we are the lions – and this is our cage.

I wonder if summer misses winter like this – like a season dancing out of turn, passions outstretched in a whirling dervish. I think we’re all missing something, someone. Absentmindedly, I wonder if I’ll be warm again. I wonder what it’s like to pull a feeling out by the roots. Does the heart grow emotions like weeds and wildflowers? Mine would never be roses, not even sunflowers. Mine spring up, resilient, defiant, a blossoming little promise. A petal of a dare. Mind the thorns, but breathe in the fragrance. They will arrive again, but it’s never the same bloom twice.

I can think of a thousand different ways to explain the way I miss you. And yet, I have no words to unlock this door. I have no words to call you back. They have all gone, swift as any thief. I am a magician without weapons, a conjurer without panache. I am broken mirrors and trap doors that won’t open. I am drowning in an ocean made of the word absence. I am lost, even knowing exactly where I am.  This maze I built is mine, mine, mine. And I am afraid that I am the monster at the heart of it. Now, there is the truth: I am afraid.

And it’s fear that keeps me silent, here.

 
*from Silent All These Years by Tori Amos

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Categories: prose poem
  1. April 21, 2014 at 8:20 pm

    Reblogged this on Existentialists R Us.

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