She stares at the brown papers of her notebook. Her hands rest on the table palm first, her breathing is rhythmic as if she was the drummer. In she breathes, pauses and out the air goes. She reaches out to her pen, "i am ready" she says. She flaters and the rhythm stumbles. She pauses starting again. Inhales holds it in then lets go. She starts writing

Hello, it seems that introductions are needed. Why? Because most days you are a name with out a face, tip of the tongue moment in my mind. Most days you are silence, the long sigh that comes when words are stubborn. Did you know that you are the 10 songs i removed from my playlist and the other 10 i added to replace them. You are khaki trousers, old school compounds, dark brown skin tone and kind eyes: everything that lures out tears from eyes. Most days you are negatives of vacation pictures in a chest- charcoal drawings of happy clones that look like me. Most days you are lump free throats, and tear-free smiles. Most days you are blank pages of a poet's book. Most days you are gone. Most days you are forgotten, hidden. Most days you are a life with out a soul. It is amazing how many lives a person has until they lose the one.

I stare at your picture, trying to pin your transient face down to a time, a moment, a story, a you, a noun. Death feals like a dress you wore out of you grandmother's closet. It doesn't fit. Most days you feel more real than me, as if i was the one who didn't exist. But most days your name is a burden upon my lips. Weighing more than your memories. Most days you are stale air. I breath and i survive until the days my lungs slip and i am at sea, gasping.
See, these days you are a name and a face, the 10 songs you loved that i now hate and the 10 more i forced myself to like. You are the yellow trousers you gave away, footprints in grounds you would once have walked on- a projection of your unlived past. You are a page long introduction. You are sadness in the form of a smile- longing, lonely. These days you are loneliness. You are fear. You are the tears i lost to, the fights where i never stood a chance on- you never did either but you fought anyway. These days you are 3 wet dots on a writer's paper...

She pauses to watch as the paper bleeds in deeper shades.

...a story on your own. I gasp. These days you are everywhere. You are the tumor on my throat; it is just air but it is as real as you are. And i fight, because that's what you taught- to stand as goliath even after you have read the bible. You are a solider in a lost war- still fighting. So i am fighting growing islands in my throat, seas in my eyes, waves to my legs and pain - indescribable pain- just to remember. So you can be more than hospital gowns, dark IV bags and shaved head. I am an amnesiac trying to remember. So yes, introductions are in order.
Hello, you are a name of warriors, teach me how to be a solider.

Colorless perception

She stares at the brown papers of her notebook. Her hands rest on the table palm first, her breathing is rhythmic as if she was the drummer. In she breathes, pauses and out the air goes. She reaches out to her pen, "i am ready" she says. She flaters and the rhythm stumbles. She pauses starting again. Inhales holds it in then lets go. She starts writing

Hello, it seems that introductions are needed. Why? Because most days you are a name with out a face, tip of the tongue moment in my mind. Most days you are silence, the long sigh that comes when words are stubborn. Did you know that you are the 10 songs i removed from my playlist and the other 10 i added to replace them. You are khaki trousers, old school compounds, dark brown skin tone and kind eyes: everything that lures out tears from eyes. Most days you are negatives of vacation pictures in a chest- charcoal drawings of happy clones that look like me. Most days you are lump free throats, and tear-free smiles. Most days you are blank pages of a poet's book. Most days you are gone. Most days you are forgotten, hidden. Most days you are a life with out a soul. It is amazing how many lives a person has until they lose the one.

I stare at your picture, trying to pin your transient face down to a time, a moment, a story, a you, a noun. Death feals like a dress you wore out of you grandmother's closet. It doesn't fit. Most days you feel more real than me, as if i was the one who didn't exist. But most days your name is a burden upon my lips. Weighing more than your memories. Most days you are stale air. I breath and i survive until the days my lungs slip and i am at sea, gasping.
See, these days you are a name and a face, the 10 songs you loved that i now hate and the 10 more i forced myself to like. You are the yellow trousers you gave away, footprints in grounds you would once have walked on- a projection of your unlived past. You are a page long introduction. You are sadness in the form of a smile- longing, lonely. These days you are loneliness. You are fear. You are the tears i lost to, the fights where i never stood a chance on- you never did either but you fought anyway. These days you are 3 wet dots on a writer's paper...

She pauses to watch as the paper bleeds in deeper shades.

...a story on your own. I gasp. These days you are everywhere. You are the tumor on my throat; it is just air but it is as real as you are. And i fight, because that's what you taught- to stand as goliath even after you have read the bible. You are a solider in a lost war- still fighting. So i am fighting growing islands in my throat, seas in my eyes, waves to my legs and pain - indescribable pain- just to remember. So you can be more than hospital gowns, dark IV bags and shaved head. I am an amnesiac trying to remember. So yes, introductions are in order.
Hello, you are a name of warriors, teach me how to be a solider.

hottg.com/heartlesswoes/269

2.0K viewsAnim, edited  Sep 20, 2021 at 08:04