I’ve always fallen for the notion
that people make places,
that there is nothing special
about here or there,
not if the ones we call our own
are there to see it,
It’s you and I that breathe the words
which define a place.
Home is not a home,
Scenery isn’t scenery,
Not until we’ve called it so.
And just like that,
I think “somewhere” would essentially be
Not unless we had seen it,
Not unless it’s name had passed through our lips.
Here’s to another day lived
on the same Earth as you,
I am thankful to have met you,
while my wounds are still fresh,
while my scars have not faded,
And the weariness inhabits the lines on my face.
Yes, I am thankful,
thankful for this brokenness,
And you, you’ve shown me yours so willingly,
And asked me to treat
this feeling like a gift,
Such is the way I’ve taken to it,
Like roots reaching into the soil
I embrace your presence.
Light the torch,
And if at first it doesn’t take the flame,
Fuel it with your soul,
Your unflinching will,
The parts that keep your skin so warm.
I know something glows inside you,
A white, unrelenting fire.
Use it and light that torch.
And when you’ve done that,
Raise it to the sky,
Swing it and disturb the fog,
I will see it,
I promise you,
I will see it,
For I need you to guide me safe,
I need you to help me avoid those rocks,
To navigate through treachery,
For I do not trust my compass,
I do not believe the stars,
Yours is the only signal I look for.
Use whatever you have left,
Keep it burning,
Wave until I hold you,
And promise to never leave your arms.
Home is right there,
it’s right there in her hands.
In some ways you knew you’d find it there.
Even though you’ve never held them
Something about the lines drawn across those palms
call to you.
They remind you of rivers,
Cold mountain streams,
The kind that you dip your fingers in,
And let the iciness surprise you.
You feel that the same would happen,
If you were to reach out and place yours on hers,
But are you ready to let rivers collide?
I need to write about Yesterday,
So we don’t forget.
Not you, not I, will ever forget.
We shouldn’t. We mustn’t.
I think from this moment onwards
I’ll always refer to yesterday, as Yesterday.
Yes, a capital Y.
It needs to be.
It has to be.
We’ll call it Yesterday, two days from now,
We’ll call it that, a week from now,
And even as the years go by,
That’s what it will always be.
Are we moving pictures,
Silhouettes that float
Against the backdrop of the unknowable?
We try so hard to remember
And yet we’ve forgotten some of our stories,
Lost episodes whose fragments float aimlessly
As echoes in outer space.
When they’re heard,
If they’re heard,
I wonder if it will quicken the listener’s pulse
Or have we been so lucky to be one among few
To know of what words can do to the heart?
There are days
when I wish the seas would shrink
in kindness and let everyone be
an arm’s length away.
And if that is too much
affection to ask of them,
Then I hope the wind will be more forgiving,
and instead of drowning out our words
they carry them across those cruel seas,
and over veiling mountains.
But all of this, even if it were to come true,
and these forces showed us some grace,
it would be such wasted favor if
we had nothing left to say.
The future holds in its hands, nothing.
In the copious time I’ve held my gaze at it
All I see is this white place,
A docile sheet of paper laying on a desk.
Sometimes there are lines draw across it
As if tempting me to fill them with words I do not have.
Maybe that’s why I keep looking backwards,
And no, not in a simple glance over my shoulder either.
My entire being faces the past and everything it encompasses.
In it I see the riches of moments and the spoils of nostalgia.
It is quite a view.
I loved the day when the swords
fell from the sky
and you and I did nothing
but dance to avoid them
until we tangled into one.
Even in that illusion
I’ve never felt something so real.
And even if yours is a face
I’ll sinfully forget,
I’d hope that time is kind enough
to let this memory remain.
I only let go assuming I’d be back again.
So I turn 23 today, apparently.
It’s been a few years since I’ve written one of these self reflective pieces so I think I’ll give it a go this year.
Where am I at? I’m not quite sure. I remember saying something similar last time I wrote one of these. I wonder if it means I’ve not made any progress. I feel that much has changed but in such a way that nothing seems to have. I feel calm tonight and not even the sweltering heat of the Middle Eastern summer makes me feel restless. I’d like to think that this is due to song I’ve been listening to today.
It’s one that I saved to my playlist quite a while ago but today I decided to hear it again. It’s called “The Long Way” by this Irish band called The Coronas. I don’t know what it is about it but it’s the type of song that makes you feel nostalgic about the future. Is that even possible? When I listen to it I see myself, aged and grey, still trying my best to walk ahead of the people in front of me but I also see someone walking beside me. And somehow this memory, that doesn’t exist yet, transitions to a cool night where the wind is a temperature that’s kind to my skin and yours, whoever you are.
Maybe we’ll make a bonfire, who knows?