Saturday, February 4, 2012

It tastes like soap, but it doesn't really taste like soap

Chewing on a memory, rubbery and glittering, tasting slightly of soap.
Chewing, and I remember a memory,
but it's not the one I thought it'd be.

A park bench, blue and wondering. The breeze flies through my hair.
There he is, approaching me. Even from here I can see his good face, quiet and bright, eyes smiling.
He seems to breathe a sigh of comfort, and for the moment I regret myself.
I hate to break his happiness, like glass.
To be the downer of his day.
Resenting my emotions, my sloppy, selfish intentions.
I pray to keep my face from puckering, angry with myself, but he's closer now and it's too late
He's seen it in my eyes.
His face falls, like a rock, sinking to the bottom.
And in that instant I want to take it all back, walk backward and rewind.
I want him to stay happy, to tell him not to worry, "Everything is fine."
But I can't trust these words to be the ones to tumble from my parted lips.

We sit upon the blue bench in silence and I can feel his worry growing.
I will the wind to tell him All is well, but he doesn't seem to hear.
Finally, I open.
A tiny torrent of words and tears.
He takes my hand and strokes it, smoothes it tenderly,
He smiles at me.

We walk away from the blue bench, hip to would-be-hip, each of us with one arm around the other
Walking away crookedly, but happily.

Chewing, I remember walking away and wondering why I cried that day.

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