Tuesday, May 26, 2009

happy piece

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

____Julius Caesar, Shakespeare

actually i took this one.

i am resolved to it. (i think). i do not like the idea of it. never have. pills to persuade your thoughts to be less hostile to you... but perhaps it will be best. anyway. i have the appointment tomorrow. but given that the last few days have been pretty rough, i've decided to do something different tonight. let's concentrate on all those wonderful(est) moments. the stories i will pile into the pockets of my soul's trousers as they drag me kicking and screaming off the planet.

why were you home without me? i don't remember that part. the way it plays back in my head, i open the front door. first thing i see is you, reclined on the black sofa. the sofa mom and dad moved over from America, it was too big for that room, but it's all we had. you were lying down wearing an orange sweater. you had on glasses but you didn't wear glasses. you were reading but you never really read. i have no idea how that moment came to exist. i just stood by the door staring at you. you looked up, smiled. took the glasses off, and laughed. i smiled. Q, remember this, you may never see a woman look soo beautiful ever again.

the corners are 135 degrees. that's 90 and 45 added together. wood comes in planks. the down-saw can be set to the necessary angle. things are measured. they do not move when you turn your back. solutions are lasting. my hands are rough, they are strong. my quadriceps have never been soo strong. with a builder's pencil i mark the line. walk to the saw, put on my goggles. the blades spin, a noise is heard, sawdust, and now i'm holding two pieces of wood. i walk back into the room. 135 degrees. that's 90 and 45, same as before. the sliding door is open. the sky is a touch darker. a gust of wind comes in to greet me. i fit the plank into the right spot, almost. mallet. two hits. perfect. pieces that slot together. we can hide the whole floor this way. when we are done it will be soo beautiful. it will be soo new. when you turn your back, things stay the same. my hands can do this. i am something useful. i can make things. i wish it were all soo well defined.

my phone beeps. i'm on the train. it's 6am, my class isn't till 8, but it takes that long to get there. everything is precarious right now. everything is deteriorating- and it's going to explode i just don't know it at this stage. i'm half asleep. haven't touched my homework. i rummage in my backpack, and check the message: for your information, i look especially cute today. marry me soon ok? love. i almost laugh out loud. they say love is a game of inches: how'd we all get soo far from home?

my eyes are red. the whole flight i've done nothing but pray, cry, and write. my fingers are trembling, but you can't tell that because i'm holding my bag soo tight. i haven't shaved and my feel skins plastic. i don't dare touch my face. i see you waiting and walk over. slowly. honestly, i have no idea what i'm going to say to you. and your wife's there besides you, great, what do i say now? what does one say? i walk slower, take deep breaths. i'm certain if i just concentrate on breathing the rest will just pass me by. i'm two meters away, he walks straight up to me (like the first time we met when we were 11), same gait. this time he puts his hand on my shoulder (last time he held his hand out for me to shake). "Q, before you say anything, i just want to tell you: it's ok. it's going to be ok. you're going to stay with us as long as you need, we'll help you with everything, ok? __it's good to see you."

(god i love you eman).

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

love you too!
wish i could teleport over and have chat, and a chai and hang out together on Rundle st!