Like a Melting Clock
On Valentine's Day I meant to post about the one I fell for here, months and a year ago.
I tend to mythologize people. I make them better in my head than they were. I gloss over their blemishes.
Sometimes it's the opposite.
I forgot how much she affected me.
When I saw her my heart shook again. She was wearing one of her palsy dresses. Hair long, following the curve of her back. Her quiet demeanor was beautiful, her smile quick, her hands comforting. Her posture always had grace, which I'm a sucker for. She would wrap her arms around me with ease. When I got the call concerning my grandmother, she spent the rest of the evening walking down the avenues with her arm around my shoulder.
Under that dress I knew she had drawings of Dali on her limbs. I liked how she loved the dark and surreal. How she would obsess over the creepy archetypes and images of children's stories.
I fell in love with her for her sadness. It was a quiet, I never knew why it was there. It was uncomplaining, but I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself with it. I liked how she abandoned it but at the same time it was touching everything about her. Maybe I for once did want to be the one to either help, or bury myself in it.
But I also knew for all her kindness, I would be abandoned. Not with malice, but out of her own whims which would take her into her apartment, away from everyone.
I tend to mythologize people. I make them better in my head than they were. I gloss over their blemishes.
Sometimes it's the opposite.
I forgot how much she affected me.
When I saw her my heart shook again. She was wearing one of her palsy dresses. Hair long, following the curve of her back. Her quiet demeanor was beautiful, her smile quick, her hands comforting. Her posture always had grace, which I'm a sucker for. She would wrap her arms around me with ease. When I got the call concerning my grandmother, she spent the rest of the evening walking down the avenues with her arm around my shoulder.
Under that dress I knew she had drawings of Dali on her limbs. I liked how she loved the dark and surreal. How she would obsess over the creepy archetypes and images of children's stories.
I fell in love with her for her sadness. It was a quiet, I never knew why it was there. It was uncomplaining, but I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself with it. I liked how she abandoned it but at the same time it was touching everything about her. Maybe I for once did want to be the one to either help, or bury myself in it.
But I also knew for all her kindness, I would be abandoned. Not with malice, but out of her own whims which would take her into her apartment, away from everyone.