She Says
The sound of street cars, human voices and muffled sirens flow into the window as dusk approaches. Street lamps outside are coming to life as Wednesday lays down her weary head.
An ash is flicked away and conversation drifts out the open window into the neighbourhood and mixes gently with the sounds of the city.
There is music all around us.
“It is so easy to do nothing with you, nothing at all,” she says.
You are a thousand mirrors and one of them has just shattered in my throat
My refection is shimmering across the surface of your eyes.
Vast worlds are contained in those eyes and I am drowning.
“Come back to me,” she says.
Suddenly, there is a heavy weight on my chest.
My heart is frantic.
What is happening?
It feels like I have forgotten everything, even how to breathe.
I’m searching for words, the right ones, to say to her.
“I feel like we were both submerged in a body of water and tied together with a six foot string. Time again, I feel you will pull me in closer and then push me away,” she says.
Her eyes have a soft sadness, like silk.
I am afraid, she sees right through me.
Suddenly I become aware that I don’t know her at all.
She turns off the light and we sit on the bed listening to the neighbours wind chimes in the darkness. A car passes and the light invades her face and then moves down her neck and across the soft slopes of her breasts.
The heaviness in my chest returns.
We sit, clothed in silence staring at each other through the shadows for a long time.
“I love you,” she says.
Somewhere a great wave crashes and a moon is burning.
Somewhere an unnamed star twinkles in the heavens.
I want to name that star after us.
(Photo: Donata Wenders)
