my tightly sewn neck
didn’t allow turning my head
that was the moment
my mind gave in
and I sat there,
from time to time
my memory flew back to that parking lot
I was devastated
losing my power in control
which enabled me holding myself together for several months against that battle.
life is totally personal,
totally alone; we can expereince only ourselves
the dread of the aloneness I felt that morning
sneaks into my body
and hardens my heart.
I knew that I was the one
didn’t ask anything to anyone
dying must be easier than confessing my weakness,
for me at that time,
maybe for me now too.
the old habits are hard to get rid of
I put on those without noticing,
even with all those self-development shits I’ve done,
I reach to that thick heavy coat in haste,
smelling like sorrow, giving more chills than warmth,
and bury my head deep under the worn familiar threads; shivering…
don’t want to ride this time
read some lines I wrote before the summer
you made my life sparkle in the mud.
not taking anything from anyone
just shine, that is okay
thanks for telling me that.
what I have pursued in my life might not be the right one for me
maybe I am losing the world and I am losing the people
maybe I am losing the valuable things that I am supposed to keep
maybe I released my grip too hastily to reach for nothing; the unworthy
but this is me; sad and stupid me. I couldn’t dissolve me into the timid water, called “supposed to”.
the moon every night different; ever changing but never evolving.
close or far,
you are there
gazing at my presence
with your calm luminance; in the dark.
met J’s dad by chance, really by chance?
suddenly people are too close,
need some breathing room.
does it matter?
hopes for hope
the wonderful stupidity that makes people alive.
like the moon
only full for a moment
you still there?
take me home
put me to sleep
the ultimate surrender
on your lap.
to my journey into the night,
dessicating my existence
like those petals on your bookshelf.
my dog snores nowadays.
he is right behind my chair sleeping; I can’t move.
the moon was beautiful last night.
I wonder if I ever snore.
I want some sweets.
Hansel and Gretel
the birds ate my crumbs.
I lost the thread.
the oven door is broken
it rained all day.
I changed my scent.
the disguised animal instinct; with fragrance.
did I fly?
I drove my son to Buffalo Wild Wings.
up to the pink clouds
look at me, look at me.
the soaked words
I love them too much.
soon the season of boots
up to ankles, up to knees, up to nose
the swarm of bees
honey is too sweet not to be stolen
even devil isn’t interested in any more.
the world, the days, the spoon
we should eat somehow
the sun down, no moon tonight.
sweet dreams that can never be taken.
what are you saying?
don’t put the psycho-chopsticks into the sacred.
deep into the night.
the bed, the warmth, the memory.
the windows that poured the light in.
I lost the world in that space.
get back to my Ashley.
I’ll write again and again until she truly dies.
those things grab my heart.
I treasure them.
driving in the fog
to the bottomless mumbles.
surely it will come.
<Septmeber 5th, 2017>
My eyesight is getting bad fast.
One eye is near-sighted and the other is far-sighted. So the visions of my eyes are moving in the opposite directions. It is inconvenient for me in the everyday life. Still, I can drive and read without the glasses. But it gets blurrier and blurrier. I feel a certain kind of stuffiness from my mashed up views that my eyes provide.
At times, I want to see the details of something or someone. But I just accept the views that my eyes allow and contain them inside me as best as I can. I used to feel a keen pang of the loss. Not the materialistic loss but the loss of the small things. The details of certain moments. A piece of mystic puzzles in my life. A brief smile. A flickering moment when the two sets of eyes met. The things scattered that couldn’t be recovered.
But as my vision is getting worse, I am starting to let go of the things; the things done but slipped in my mind; the things undone but clung to my heart. I am getting old.
The cyclamen flowers on my desk bloom, fade, and wither. I cut the flower stems that lost their hue and hung low. I am fading. And the things I want to hold in my heart also fade away.
Too far or too near. I can’t see both.
“I have a grand memory of forgetting.”
– Robert Louis Stevenson –
On my visit to my friend’s office who moved overseas, I found one of my favorite photographs of the Adriatic sea on the wall that I had taken and printed on the plexiglass for her before. I forgot about it. Totally forgot.
I forgot many things. I miss those things that start to disappear from my brain. I want to run and catch them and put them in the deep drawer of my memory cabinet, labeled “shouldn’t forget”, but the things are fleeting at the speed I can’t keep up. The only thing I do is that I really miss them without knowing what I have lost. Really really miss them…
Weirdly, everything felt as the past. As if she released the grip she held so tight not to lose; not to lose the pain, not to lose the beauty, not to lose the moments, not to lose a single breath.
A peace, even momentary it may be, landed. A chapter ended. She is not dead yet so there will be another. And she will write with the care, with the full consciousness, calm and grounded.
The outer world will shriek again. Tremble and shake. The ground stepping on will crumble under her feet. Again and again. She knows it will. She will be desperate and cry alone at night. All day. But this will come again. A piece of peace, like a slender feather lands in silence.