While I Was Watching
Dear ______,
It's hard letting go. Much harder than holding on. And I'll think about it for a while, between cigarettes and time moves terribly slow when you're by yourself. And I recite things in my mind until they've concreted into something of value but maybe that's why things aren't working. that's why things aren't working. that's why things aren't working. that's why things aren't working. It's a life of slow, daunting anxiety and poignant nostalgia; watching you undress without hesitation as I stand in awe of your singularly novel beauty, unaware of the world around me. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
Transience, the constant state of which I am in. And I laugh because of its ironic undertone. The view from here isn't remarkable. I can see trees, barren and cold, and snow on rooftops. I can see a light in the distance and myself, six months ago, somewhere on the east coast, envisaging the future and where it'd take us. All I ask is that somewhere along the line, the time frame is extended and my life, the shortcomings and truncation will finally end, maybe even allowing a flower to bloom and die for once, just so I know that it had once lived. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
Catch your breath, subtly, in hopes of remaining hidden. How to keep the heart of innocence calm when its first love is inches away? Having borne the burden of love on so many occasions, why should I feel differently for this particular one? Nothing is new save her sanguine skin and the radiant ocean blue within her eyes. She had built me calm and rendered my perturbable behavior terminated, forever kept within her grasp. I pretend to be in that room again, hoping the sun would somehow slip behind the trees and underneath the ground; I reach to feel my blanketed legs, lamenting the lack of intertwinement they've seen. Maybe I'll miss you less when you miss me more. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
It's hard letting go. That's all I can ever think of. I shouldn't have ever kissed the red head while you were on the stairs watching. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
Love,
Kelly f. Logue
It's hard letting go. Much harder than holding on. And I'll think about it for a while, between cigarettes and time moves terribly slow when you're by yourself. And I recite things in my mind until they've concreted into something of value but maybe that's why things aren't working. that's why things aren't working. that's why things aren't working. that's why things aren't working. It's a life of slow, daunting anxiety and poignant nostalgia; watching you undress without hesitation as I stand in awe of your singularly novel beauty, unaware of the world around me. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
Transience, the constant state of which I am in. And I laugh because of its ironic undertone. The view from here isn't remarkable. I can see trees, barren and cold, and snow on rooftops. I can see a light in the distance and myself, six months ago, somewhere on the east coast, envisaging the future and where it'd take us. All I ask is that somewhere along the line, the time frame is extended and my life, the shortcomings and truncation will finally end, maybe even allowing a flower to bloom and die for once, just so I know that it had once lived. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
Catch your breath, subtly, in hopes of remaining hidden. How to keep the heart of innocence calm when its first love is inches away? Having borne the burden of love on so many occasions, why should I feel differently for this particular one? Nothing is new save her sanguine skin and the radiant ocean blue within her eyes. She had built me calm and rendered my perturbable behavior terminated, forever kept within her grasp. I pretend to be in that room again, hoping the sun would somehow slip behind the trees and underneath the ground; I reach to feel my blanketed legs, lamenting the lack of intertwinement they've seen. Maybe I'll miss you less when you miss me more. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
It's hard letting go. That's all I can ever think of. I shouldn't have ever kissed the red head while you were on the stairs watching. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
Love,
Kelly f. Logue