A gift of paper folded into paper.
I would sit cross-legged, facing him, and slide it over the (sometimes preposterous distance of) wrinkled bedsheets between my knees and his fingers.
A piece of me.
He would lift it up and carefully unwrap it, meeting my eyes for a moment before looking down to find that he is holding my insides between thumb and forefinger.
I imagine his furrowed brow trying to translate.. to make sense of the context for a time much longer than required to read it through.
Did you write this? he might think aloud.
Is it true? because he won't remember.
And what do you suppose he would do with the tiny story I gave to him?
Would he find value? Or indifference?
Would he find me there? Or just strung out words?
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No one knows about this sanctuary of mine. Not Jack. Not Laila. Not my little sister (who might be too wrapped up in her own life to read for the sake of being a part of mine, but who should one day stumble into this darkness because we are two old souls lost in time).
I could delete that last paragraph. That would tidy it up -- a little nip/tuck into something simple, something more complimentary of the Christmas packaging.
I might die forever in the sins of such omission.
Would you?
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I think the last paragraph might work. It all depends on what you will be writing next.
ReplyDeleteI think such omissions would hold my freedom hostage. As usual...nice writing.
ReplyDeleteI would die with omissions too... this is excellent writing, amazing LuLu
ReplyDelete"holding my insides" i couldn't think of a better way of explaining it. do you think he understands that? because i'm finding it hard to believe that mine does.
ReplyDeleteI'm afraid that even if I bluntly stated such, he still might not grasp its significance to me. Or to him, for that matter.
Deletei miss you, i hope you are well LuLu :)
DeleteThis is amazing. I wouldn't omit anything. I think every last word adds to a story like this, of words having meaning to you. And what something of such deep value means.
ReplyDeleteEm
Tightrope to the Sun
People know I have this space, but not to find it. If they did it would kill me.
ReplyDeleteSilence kills. What we don't tell won't hurt others, but it slowly murders us inside.
People reading your words and you wanting them to see a part of you in them. I know all about that.
ReplyDelete/Avy
http://mymotherfuckedmickjagger.blogspot.com
♥
i worry that they wouldn't understand *how* to read my insides, of letting them see and not having them understand.
ReplyDeletevery belated but - a very happy new year!
ReplyDeleteso good to be all new and just follow the blogs I REALLY read. <3. Belated happy new year! keep writing!
ReplyDeleteyou are immaculate!
Oh my, but this is beautiful.
ReplyDeleteIt strikes me as strange, sometimes, that the darkest and most secret corners of our hearts are only exposed in the lines of our blogs. I am certainly nowhere near as truthful or open in real life as I am in my writing, and if anyone I knew from my daily life uncovered my blog, I would be mortified as I am actually a private person. Like you, I would feel that I had handed the my heart, and who wants to put their heart into someone else's hands, hands that could be tender but might instead crush or crumple?
Just beautiful, truly. I have a feeling I will be back here a lot.