|
“Another way of saying…”
And here you are, once again. So beautiful. Just as I
remember you.
Why do you keep showing up like this? Why must I keep
running into you? Here. Late at night. In my dreams.
Am I still in love with you? Is that it?
Or is it because of how we broke up?
The way I thought I saw you smile as you drove away?
Is it because I now admit that I set it all up to fail anyway?
To fall apart. Sabotaged it. Hid my needs like explosives.
Then dropped the relationship, like a building. Right in place.
Long before there was any chance. For me. Any chance.
To get to. To have to. Really have to. Feel. Anything.
To have to risk. For once. Something. Goddammit. Anything.
Demolished it. Again. Premeditated.
Like a Demolition Man.
You were unavailable. Seeing other men when I met you.
Is this why you appealed to me? Minimal risk?
Or is it really because of some horrible need?
Need to punish myself. To keep going back there. To keep
reminding myself of ... need.
Maybe it’s really just so much more simple than that.
Maybe it’s because you were just so beautiful. And so
sexually shameless. In a way that destroys. Destroys any
need for understanding. Or definition. Or context.
You, of carnality so powerful that the basic human
requirement of trust simply cannot exist in the vacuum
of your thrilling presence.
A liar, living in regret of nothing, and totally
captivating,
I tore you inside out for a summer. The hottest summer
in memory. Three full moons. One hundred electric nights
to wander freely in your dark garden of breath and sweat and
laughter. Wiped that smile right off your face.
Delicious emotional suicide. That’s what you are.
And you keep swimming back into my dreams.
When you know I am lonely.
When you know I am laying here all alone. When you know
I’ll do just about anything for another summer night with
you.
I get out of bed now, pull my on pants, walk into the
morning sun. I step barefoot into your sandy memory.
Because you are all around me now. Not a day goes by.
Like a faded whisper. Like a faded whisper from inside a sea
shell. Like the impossibly beautiful memory of a desert once
happily drowning under water.
Am I still in love with you? Is that what this is?
Or am I in love with the idea of you? All sexy and French
and living Sans Souci, without a care.
I don’t know. What’s a guy like me know about love? I guess
I’ll just have to lace up my boots, head down to the farmers
market. See what the tomatoes have to say about it all.
They’re not ashamed to blush.
But of course, you’ll be there. Holding hands with some
other guy. And you’ll be glancing back. Dark shades on,
you’ll be glancing back over your sexy shoulder at me.
Like maybe we’re not done. Like maybe you’re not done.
Poor guy, guy you’re with. Happiest guy in the world right
now. You’ll be miserable soon enough, Pal. Happiest guy
in the world, doesn’t even know he’s walking on your train
tracks. Doesn’t even know he’s playing in your traffic.
I pulled my car over and I closed my eyes when I heard.
You died. Giving birth to an illegitimate child.
A child no one would claim. Except you. Fully.
They were all cowards. Every single one of them. Sexy
cowards. Afraid of you. And you were afraid of nothing.
You never promised us anything. But we all wanted
to possess you. And then we’d throw you away.
When we realized we couldn’t own you. When we realized
you couldn’t be owned. You were too free for this heavy
slow world to appreciate
or trust.
You are the Light now. You kiss the flowers and make them
grow. You are the morning mist. I breathe you in and
breathe you out.
I’ll look in on your little daughter from time to time.
I’ll promise you that. After all those promises I broke,
I’ll make good on that one.
I’ll find her and see how she’s doing.
See if she’s got that same soft curl in her hair.
That same uninhibited laughter. Like music.
And I’ll tell her about her mother. Tell her about
how beautiful you were. Are.
So beautiful, because you are so free.
Maybe I’ll take her to France. And maybe we’ll put our
hands in the soil and spit, and make mud pies like you
used to when you were a little girl. Trying to sell them.
Eating them on a bet in front of the boys. Dare. Double-dare.
Smarter than them all. Show me yours and I’ll show you
mine.
Making them go first, then running away laughing, faster
than them, free, the wind in your hair.
They caught up with you soon enough, though.
And you didn’t mind.
Of course I’m still in love with you.
That’s just the way this is gonna be.
The sun is going down now. The wind is starting to sing her song.
I’m gonna take a drive into the open desert.
Out where it’s quiet. Out where it’s still wild and free.
Out where I can be alone. With you.
I’m gonna lay on the hood of my car, count the stars
till I fall asleep. Cause then I can return. Once again.
To the girl of my dreams.
—Christian Alibrande, Joshua Tree
|
