“If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts could tell.”
Originally published at Perambulating Reason. You can comment here or there.
If you could read my mind you’d prone-gaze at spotlights and flashbulbs while we lie on crimson sheets of silk.
That’s right. Tonight my thoughts are with her. Marilyn Monroe. I close my eyes to hear her say “It’s a terrible thing to be lonesome. Especially in the middle of a crowd.” When I open them, five photographs stare. Watch her smile, lose her gaze. She’s lost mine. It’s always captivated me. The distance between her smile and her eyes. Not physically, of course. The water in the corner of the eye not quite focused, looking past the camera holds me still. I am her. We are standing in front of a tree, laughing for the photographer snapping picture after picture. In sequence one sees confidence, confusion, despair, passion, and strain. She oozes sex because she is not afraid. Not afraid of getting hurt. The moment is worth more than the pain. Watch her. Feel her. She whispers. I hear nothing, but the hair on my neck rises with the tiny bumps of skin. “It’s a terrible thing to be lonesome. Especially in a crowd of people.” Watch her. Feel her. She will make you fall in love without saying a word. She’s trapped. And you can set her free. All you have to do is hold her. Never let go. Just be the point beyond the camera. Be the sightline. Be the stranger she’s not afraid to focus on.
I am one and many. Lonesome. Most of all in crowds. Looking passed it all. For you. Or her. Someone. To hold. To focus on me the way I focus on strangers.
Rest in peace, Lady Monroe. Some day I shall find your spirit sitting on a park bench. When that day comes, I shall slip my soul into your fingers. Yours to hold. Until you’re ready to let go.