I enjoyed reading this story and thought it would make a nice backgrounder for my poetry. Story from here ~ credit to hot-hips.tumblr
there were things he tried to forget about her. the sweet skin, the soft-bitten pout, her voice at night and her hair in the morning. he never could forget, but the immediacy of the feelings gradually lessened, became less real, until he clung to a silent, scentless ghost.
this would be easier for him to deal with if he didn’t keep finding her bobby pins tucked quietly into obscure little crevices of his graying apartment. he could swear sometimes she had been there while he slept, tiptoeing barefoot through the rooms and leaving pieces of herself for him to find. the apartment sometimes smelled like the banana pancakes she used to make.
yes, it would be easier without the bobby pins, and if he could rub out the streak of red nail polish on the bathroom tile. the polish she had been wearing the first time they made love, ravenous for each other but nervous in the way you get nervous before you ask a stranger their name. they had been tangled together all night, drifting now and then into sleep and then reawakening to gentle but insistent nudges, pushes, teeth on skin, hands on ribs or lower. in the morning they were exhausted but vibrant while they laughed over banana pancakes and coffee with hazelnut creamer.
the entire apartment reminded him of her constantly, and just when he thought he had numbed the sore spots in his heart, her silent ghost would come out of hiding and demand, scream to be noticed, missed, longed for.
one night she had confessed, half given to sleep and with whiskey-heavy eyelids, that she never missed people, only missed knowing that they wanted her. she could break a million hearts, with her golden legs and thin fingers and caramel hair, but she would never be happy unless she knew she was a part of their everyday routine even after she left. so she left souvenirs for each of her lovers. she needed to know that they thought of her every time they walked past the sofa with the shredded arm rest from her wild, passionate climax, every time they ran a finger over the crack in the porcelain sink from the fight that had birthed the angry, all-night carnal wrestling match and ended in two lions sleeping, curled into each other, exhausted and surrendered.
that was all the red mark on his bathroom floor really was. a daily reminder. she had left her mark, deep down where his blood and his bones tried to rest. he sat staring one day at the red on the white tile, remembering fondly the way that she would walk around the apartment with her toes stretched apart while the polish set, rocking on her heels and cursing when she stumbled or hit her toe on the corner of a chair.
he tried to remind himself not to think of her so fondly, and tried to force himself to remember her as a monster, a collector of broken hearts. this didn’t kill the hurt, but it made it a different kind of hurt. he found that shifting the pressure, like rocking from one leg to the other, allowed him to survive, day to day, going through the sick sad motions that made his world go round.
but he found that no matter how hard he tried, he could not maintain the thought of her as a monster. she may have broken his heart, but he knew that hers had been broken for always. she was a fire-blown girl, reckless as an ocean storm, bullheaded and passionate, but her heart was the quiet rock washing away beneath her thundering tide. he knew she didn’t break his heart for the joy of it. the only way she knew to survive was to steal hearts just to make sure she could, to make sure that she was worth loving and worth missing.
the ache stirred further in his heart remembering all the nights she cried and told him how worthless she felt. he could never comfort her. her only comfort came in leaving, and knowing that somebody missed her so desperately.
still she moves through the world, inviting herself into the arms of people she’s determined to make miss her. and he, he still loves her, and he still aches, but he understands. he dreams of her eyelashes and stares at the red nail polish ‘til it turns blue.
oh, how you loved me so ardently
your kisses were harder your embrace tighter your words were sweeter your moans louder
searing this memory, this precious time, in my mind.
when i am fearful and scared you give me the courage to
reach out and touch the sky.
when i am anxious and doubtful
you lift me up and make me feel
that i am a woman worth fighting for.
when i am sceptical of myself you said that you love the woman that I am ...and that I am becoming.
and i love it best when we
fight and argue with passion
because we make up just as hard
and fast as we like to do.
there is no else i will show my heart,
share all my secrets and dreams
than my best friend, my lover
and very soon,
my lifelong partner....
Author's Note: I am probably getting sentimental because we will be attending my cousin's wedding next week in NY. It is long overdue so I am really happy for her. I just hope the NY weather will be bright and sunny. Thanks to everyone visiting my blog.