soul cleansing #2
there is a place called here & now where time does not enter...
where beautiful broken clocks go unnoticed; where time & space cease to exist;
where gentle touches & caresses fill the space where nothing else can enter;
time fills the void; time makes everything possible; right timing will do wonders for many souls;
in the end, we are all slaves to the clock: biological, mental, physical, emotional;
death....that is...if you let yourself look at the hands of that which is not broken
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
luis.......i miss you. this place is sad and lonely. i understand why you hate sleeping solo in a room with double beds. it appears beautiful and full, but in truth it is haunted.
at first moment you were my knight in shining armor. the first 'man' i dated. you shine your shoes on sunday; you are educated; artistic; a writer; a soul full of life and love and desire and passion. you are my voice of reason. in this mixing bowl we have rubbed each other in odd ways- the kind that can turn a dangerous piece of glass into sea glass. we are taking the edges off of each other but it hurts- easing tensions but erasing other parts we deemed beautiful. you have seen me in my beauty and emptiness. i have seen you in good light and bad. we are naked...in manhattan
it's a scary place to be nude. so many people with so many agendas- pushing their ways into the subway cars that are too packed with egos and lacking any semblence of truth or hope. no one smiles - unless they're crazy - or do we think they're crazy because they're smiling. i smile at people -- it takes them back - sometimes they smile back but many times they look around themselves, avoiding eye contact! so odd...
we are not perfect...no one is perfect. time needs to cleanse the soul. i wish i met you earlier. i know why you say that now...i too am saying that. i wish that i could erase some memories of past occasions...but like 'eternal sunshine for the spotless mind' it isn't right. everyone is supposed to teach us something. everyone is here for a reason. be it a momentary lapse or someone who has left an impression on the soul for life........backstabbers and true friends...innocence, good lovers, or one nites -they have taught me something. i just forgot to write down notes! haha :)
here i go......
jason- friends do not make good lovers
richie- if you feel it, maybe it's there..go for it
soy boy- artificial life does rot your brain
robert- boys do not get hints: you must be explicit
tom- others should not destroy beautiful spaces
kevin- take a leap or you lost out
dominick- too sexy is all a ploy
vecino- gorgeous but thin in other ways
igal- fear is not the way to procede
senore- laughter & coincidence may not be enough
el- comfort
ben- talk more...coming = going
bryan- early education is key
renato- time and distance erode the moment
varela- care
luis- understanding
...this is rather insightful...
It rained like when I was 5 and 15. The lunch hour winds broke my umbrella and the tall buildings on 42nd Street could not do anything but stand there in irony to witness the bullying of the rain. My pants were soaked, my cloth shoes were drenched, and I just knew that for hours I would feel remorse toward the rain just by wiggling my wet toes.
ReplyDeleteBut the November showers were the least of my concerns. Kimberly and I had just survived a great storm; the one that almost ripped us apart, the one that left us breathless and tired from all the crying, and the one that made us pay attention to everything, even impending drizzles. The calmness that proceeded the most daunting day of the ones I have spent in New York was almost eerie but I conformed to the suddenness out of loyalty to the ideals of everlasting love.
We went to bed naked last night. We kissed and talked. We became friends—a different type of friends—friends who share their nude bodies with one another, who kiss each other out of love, who mourn together for lost time, and who concentrate on the simplicity of broken clocks. We even laughed together.
She told me that for eight years, she waited for Stephen. He fed her hope but starved her of love; true love, the one that makes one act with conviction. Kimberly gave all of herself to him and he could only offer apologies, the susurrations to his limitation. Last night she told him, as they stood in wet eyes, that she has to break contact with him because he is not an engaging friend, the sort who truly opens up and does not cause whirlpools of the mind.
Just before midnight, right after Kimberly saw her once-best friend get in his car and ride off, she walked into her dimly lit apartment and found me in her living room, with my body landed on one of the soft chairs. I was still trying to make sense of the bouquet of spring flowers Stephen had gotten Kimberly the day after we indiscriminately conceived that we had finally suffered too much to bad time, to wrong ideas, and to different ways. "Aren't flowers supposed to only be given to lovers, crushes, mothers, grandmothers, dead people, and if the time seems fit, clients?" I asked myself while in grief. Could he be that careless? Could he be that thoughtful?
But that did not matter any more. Kimberly engaged me with the crying she dragged up the velvet stairs. I held her and kissed her because I could not let her feel without support any more.
In bed, I told her that she was the one. She smiled, her eyes dripping a different sort of tears, and asked, "Are you sure?" She had never known this kind of fearless and free love she once thought existed but with time began to think was just an illusion. I hugged my best friend, kissed her passionately and assured her, "Of course. We swim well together."