I heard your key press into the lock. It seemed a lifetime as the metal scaled and scraped the walls of the labyrinth for the end. A twist in the right direction and the cold clunk of the bolt as it breathed its release. Chills creep up my skin as you maneuver and manipulate our rugged old handle; too kinked from the cold this time of year. Chills. Wind sweeps in through the break of two worlds. My stare seems to lift you as my eyes drift from your soles to your soul. You smell the stiffness in the air and run to hold me. Do not leave, your body aches as it squeezes mine. Do not run away. But I stare at the key, stuck, but still swinging on the open door.
There is a collector of art who has once said he is attracted to those paintings that he cannot understand. He would purchase a painting and hang it in his home or studio to look at it everyday, study the painting, and hopefully find its meaning. He searched for understanding; for answers.
You, my darling, are my abstract painting. A remarkable wash of rare mediums and marks and each day I must study you with care, with love, with patience. Until, I carry those virtues with me in all aspects of life and continue to love you with all the confusion and clutter.
So I’ll watch you, I’ll touch you, I’ll get close, I’ll back away, I’ll rest, I’ll resist, I will be entertained and frustrated. But I will never forget why you’re here
And it doesn’t include my need to understand at all.
“Do you want to go on an adventure?”
This was the first message she had sent to him since exchanging numbers a week before. There wasn’t much to do in this small town, but drinking at the local watering hole was not going to be one of them. Not tonight. There was something different about this one. An outsider in every way. A man who walked into the room and everyone stared. A majestic man of six-foot-never-ending. A magnetic energy that she was drawn to in an unstoppable force.
She continued, “There’s a place, just beyond the freeway off Washington St. Once you pass the last signal light, keep driving. Follow the signs to the dirt parking lot and I’ll be waiting.”
Under a frolicsome full moon she awaited her safe stranger and once he arrived, hours went by before she remembered time existed. They swapped stories and interests, heartbreaks and failures.
Bewitched to balance a biography between an identity and an ego, their eyes glistened over and they kissed. At least once. Untimely and right. Instincts hunted a wild within them and won. Rightly so in the midst of a midnight desert.
Enslaved in a summer’s end, the night shook sweat from the heat of the car. Daybreak cracked through the palms and an oasis of love could be seen by the land. “Love looms on our horizon. Look what we’ve created,” croaked the mountains.
As if he had heard the mountain, he awoke, took her hand and walked to the highest point of the land. She followed; watched as he said not one word, but poured unspoken admiration into the sunrise.
Hooked on the fire red beams, he smiled, took a deep breath and a long sigh.
And she fell in love.
“Do you want to go on an adventure?” She said again with an illimitable grin.
I am the worst at flirting. Give me a sign so I know I’m not choking. Your touch is so deep I can feel myself burning. Convince me our tide is undoubtably turning.
Stop me there.
Let me breathe in your honesty honey. Let me make sure that my chance isn’t running. Tell me once more that I’m charming and funny.
I didn’t pretend that I’m made for your loving. Please understand I don’t make any money. You’re all that I need to remember my body. Make it a point to not hurt me too strongly.
Allow me the chance to pave my own story. Leave him behind to not give me the worry. Open your eyes to the truth of this party.
Take me there.
Make me believe I’m made for your caring. Allow me the chance to offer you marriage. Fall into my arms and stay without wary. Believe me, I’m worth the bond that we’re sharing.
I was always the drama queen
Without having mental scenes
I was always the quiet one
Even when I was saying too much
I was always the pretty one
When I pulled my hair into a bun
I was always the chatterbox
As silent as the dawn
I could be the artist one day
And the politician the next
Your problem was
that I had all the boxes checked.