Part one.. creative non-fiction
I come over early-morning and walk through the living room and into the kitchen,
passing by your bedroom door, slightly ajar. I can make-out your sleeping figure
drawing slow, consistant breaths through the darkness that blankets your slumber and
I smile to myself, thinking of the innocent expression you exhibit to no one in
particular. Your face mimics the kid inside, as she jumps and plays in dreams of
infinite imagination, free of the inhibitions and walls that hinder the ability to
fly without wings, or love without fear.
I continue to dwell on your reality for
a moment more and then leave you to your private adventures as I descend into the
basement to spend time with your brothers before he ventures onto the plane of steel
rivets and hollow wings that will take him across the great, expansive Atlantic ocean
to see if love still has a place for him in Ireland. He's changed his image
decisively since seeing her last, no longer pondering the incredible void and
the philandering apathy. His movement is intentional and carefully chosen, his
thoughts clear and reflected in his action; He no longer plays to the crowds of
melancholy favorites. I wonder if they will forget about the length between them
and love again, simply for the sake of love.
I remember when she rose high-above the
clouds into the stratosphere's thin-air to see American soil, and friendly faces once
again. I remember being apprehensive about meeting them; You and he were planning
days of excitement and enjoyment for them to experience while they stayed here in
Utah to see the both of you and I was grieving the death of my heart and soul.
Her face radiated surprisingly the first time we met. She's tiny and contrasted well
against his telephone pole frame, when they'd hug or sit next to one another,
pondering the weeks to come and the inevitable distance, drifting behind them.
His youth caught me off-guard. Not that his age was surprising, he seemed to present this
essence of playfulness that is found at playgrounds and childcare facilities, maybe
even a few senior rest homes; He is alive to live and lives to show it.
We attended a concert on an evening where the snow had sunk deep into the earth and
wind howled mercilessly as its chill bit into the crowds of people waiting in the
winter outside the arena. We sat down to an insane juxtaposition of an inebriated
jig and the static of what was seemingly originated out of what used to constitute
intelligable song and dance.
We couldn't believe her boyfriend was real; I felt his
exsistance mocked me, somehow. He proved my love to be a floundering ideal, just by
brushing his hair from his eyes, by whispering into her ear, by breathing my air.
I accept my defeat and disappear from the incredible concert to follow; hiding in the
rafters I'd look down towards the two, him, her, you and he and I'd cry silently,
without tears or expression. Just allowing the sounds of the despairing guitar and
the passionate singer blend inside my mind with the ranting emotional lunatic.
Resting my head against the pylon, the world would vibrate from the intensity of the
situation and fade from my perception, breaking down into nothing as I was lost in
the endless wake of independant turmoil. The music ends and you've returned along
with your brother, the two and the irish. I force myself back into exsistance and
we move on, the world makes another revolution and we continue here, just as we're
meant to.
passing by your bedroom door, slightly ajar. I can make-out your sleeping figure
drawing slow, consistant breaths through the darkness that blankets your slumber and
I smile to myself, thinking of the innocent expression you exhibit to no one in
particular. Your face mimics the kid inside, as she jumps and plays in dreams of
infinite imagination, free of the inhibitions and walls that hinder the ability to
fly without wings, or love without fear.
I continue to dwell on your reality for
a moment more and then leave you to your private adventures as I descend into the
basement to spend time with your brothers before he ventures onto the plane of steel
rivets and hollow wings that will take him across the great, expansive Atlantic ocean
to see if love still has a place for him in Ireland. He's changed his image
decisively since seeing her last, no longer pondering the incredible void and
the philandering apathy. His movement is intentional and carefully chosen, his
thoughts clear and reflected in his action; He no longer plays to the crowds of
melancholy favorites. I wonder if they will forget about the length between them
and love again, simply for the sake of love.
I remember when she rose high-above the
clouds into the stratosphere's thin-air to see American soil, and friendly faces once
again. I remember being apprehensive about meeting them; You and he were planning
days of excitement and enjoyment for them to experience while they stayed here in
Utah to see the both of you and I was grieving the death of my heart and soul.
Her face radiated surprisingly the first time we met. She's tiny and contrasted well
against his telephone pole frame, when they'd hug or sit next to one another,
pondering the weeks to come and the inevitable distance, drifting behind them.
His youth caught me off-guard. Not that his age was surprising, he seemed to present this
essence of playfulness that is found at playgrounds and childcare facilities, maybe
even a few senior rest homes; He is alive to live and lives to show it.
We attended a concert on an evening where the snow had sunk deep into the earth and
wind howled mercilessly as its chill bit into the crowds of people waiting in the
winter outside the arena. We sat down to an insane juxtaposition of an inebriated
jig and the static of what was seemingly originated out of what used to constitute
intelligable song and dance.
We couldn't believe her boyfriend was real; I felt his
exsistance mocked me, somehow. He proved my love to be a floundering ideal, just by
brushing his hair from his eyes, by whispering into her ear, by breathing my air.
I accept my defeat and disappear from the incredible concert to follow; hiding in the
rafters I'd look down towards the two, him, her, you and he and I'd cry silently,
without tears or expression. Just allowing the sounds of the despairing guitar and
the passionate singer blend inside my mind with the ranting emotional lunatic.
Resting my head against the pylon, the world would vibrate from the intensity of the
situation and fade from my perception, breaking down into nothing as I was lost in
the endless wake of independant turmoil. The music ends and you've returned along
with your brother, the two and the irish. I force myself back into exsistance and
we move on, the world makes another revolution and we continue here, just as we're
meant to.