Red Lips & Battlefields

Archive for the tag “pain”

The Dirty Little Secret

“We only said goodbye with words, I [cried] a hundred times. You go back to [earth] and I go back to…” The closer we get, the quicker you go back to reality, reminding me that ‘we’ could never be. I guess in a way you try to remind yourself too but why remind when you can’t forget? I will never forget one of the most surreal and real moments in my life–heavily and sadly crying while I was given one of the best gifts of my life. In your arms, driving where the wind would take us (literally) reminded me of how carefree we were for that split second when nothing else mattered. You showed me that I can have emotion again, you showed me that I could love without boundary even if for a blink of an eye. Thank you. Thank you because I know that if my world crashed you would not let me crash with it. Thank you for kissing me with love and with lust. Thank you for looking at me ‘that’ way.

There are some things better left unsaid, but I know whenever we look into each others eyes they do the talking. I suppose this is what this letter’s meant to be, a brief look into my eyes. And then you hold me tight underneath the sun and moon in various nooks and cracks in the city and it’s like for those few moments there are no obstacles in the way. 2 am road trips, sneaking off into waterfalls, falling into the embrace of dangerous excitement all came crashing my way for years. We can thank that moment by the mountain, during the sunset, and after just a few days of talking, when we just knew. Something unmistakable, something forbidden, and yet, something so wonderful was about to occur. I use that word because I can never explain it to another human being. And that’s why you’re my dirty little secret. Well, for other reasons too of course.

These obstacles… I don’t want you to ever think that I won’t abide by them or that I will try to make you change your mind. If I could turn back time and be in the position to erase one of the obstacles, I would in a heartbeat. And then you would be mine. But you’re not unless it’s temporary. I don’t know why we put walls up when vulnerable; I can see that even in writing this. The last time you pushed me away tore me apart more than I could ever explain to you. Maybe it’s because I felt it was really goodbye; like this was it. I wouldn’t want to ever fully let you go, there is a magnetic force in me latched on to you. I know one day I will not have a choice in the matter but I guess I’m still on my first stage of grief- denial. I hope you never read this. I hope you never know how much it actually hurts or how much I care. But I hope you feel the same way. Sometimes you win—sometimes I feel insignificant to you. Maybe in the realm of everything that is logical I am, but if I was emotionally insignificant then I would not be pushed away just to be held tight… I don’t get it, even if I participate in it.

Why is it that people play games? I guess to prove who has the power. But in this case none of us do… and yet we’re stuck playing, hiding, masking, and not saying all that is true. So don’t read this letter because the games will be over. And once they are, I’m afraid you’ll go with them. Love me from a distance, dream of me, and hold me in every breath you take… This is just the beginning of my goodbye, my dirty little secret. I will forever keep the memories sealed within my heart.

-Anonymous
March 12, 2014.

(For more information on the Kiss&Tell project, as well as access to other anonymous letters or to submit your own, click on the menu option at the top of this page titled “Kiss&Tell”.)

Four Years Old – A Memory

Curious.

The brick beneath my foot
Is grey with memory.

I inspect it.

The left corner must have cracked
By virtue of a very big man
With much bigger feet than mine.

He must have been running.

Yes. He was.

My left ear buzzes.
The kind of buzzing that comes from
Being stared at,
Or being surrounded by flies.

I look up,
Curious.

The eye of a gun;
It must have stared at me too long.

That’s what caused the buzzing.

I return my gaze to the broken brick.
Yes, he was running.

But, perhaps, he was not so big.
Perhaps, only four years too old.
Perhaps, he had a sister.

Curious.

I do not raise my voice,
Or raise an unruly finger.
I know daddy will ask:
“Who taught you that?”

Click.

I close my eyes;
Imagine the finger pull.
Imagine the fire backfire.

Imagine an unlikely form
Of justice.

I giggle.
(MD 2013)

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