A Gentle Glance At The Gruesome
A lover, A writer and an indecent adult. art imitating life. a walk through the life of a young woman in Melbourne, Australia.
Fresh water for the vase
to place the flowers in.
The red roses, you know I love.
Sat on the windowsill faced toward the sun.
I say ‘you really didn’t have to’
You smile and say ‘of course I did’
Placing a kiss on my lips.
They are still there, on my windowsill.
Withering away.
You are not here to replace them.
I watch each day as a leaf or a petal drops.
Until one day, it is just stems, and the memory of your kiss.
The sun has not risen yet, the birds are not chirping; the world outside does not know it is almost morning, we still have time.
Why does it go so fast from us? Always slipping away. For us, we are always chasing another moment, wishing it was the one before.
We know we can never go back, and we cannot go any faster; yet we still pray that time bends for us just this once.
Time is a deviant, it plays tricks on lovers; when they are apart it stretches itself as far as it can so one minute is a million. But when they are together it shrinks itself up until there’s nothing left.
Maybe it is jealous? Maybe it is lonely? Here from the beginning and here till the end, with no one as constant to company it.
Time is as desolate and unforgiving as a dessert; forced to watch every sunrise and sunset alone, to watch lovers dream of one another, to listen to sonnets and musicians play ballads.
Brought here by some unknown power and bound to govern us all; we curse it out for its very nature as well as beg it to obey us.
Yet time is not free like us we get to do as we wish. We get to rise when we want and set when we please.
This morning when our sun rises and our birds start to chirp, let’s watch it with time and let it pass without willing it to change. Let’s not wish for more, let’s not beg it to slow down.
The morning will come again for us and we will have our moment once more, because time is precious to us and one day we may have no more.
It is raining now, pouring. The kind of rain that lasts all day; the kind that wakes you up in the morning and puts you to sleep at night.
The kind that washes all of the day before away, all of the worries and all the pain. Everything that was consuming your mind, gone. The kind that leaves you cleansed.
It is the rain that quenches the thirsty trees and brings flowers back to life. The rain at the end of winter, heralding springtime.
The rain that just falls and falls and falls, it seems as if it will never stop. The kind of rain that falls so long, the skies turn grey and you forget what the sun looks like.
And then, it stops. Just as quickly as it came, and as fast as it fell, it stops. The skies turn blue and the sunlight pierces through the clouds.
Suddenly you are grateful for the rain, because you know without it, you would not get see what always comes after.
a rainbow.
winter nights, dormant souls rest.
springtime afternoon, a welcomed fondness.
In a sea
Of voyagers lost,
You call out.
I follow your voice,
Homeward.
The seas are all at once,
Calm.
There’s this place I know, far from here. We could go? I can take you there, just you and me. Only we can go.
It’s green, it’s violet, it’s yellow, it’s vermilion, it’s colours I cannot name. I’ve dreamt these colours. Haven’t you? Somehow I’ve always known them.
There’s so much light here, but it’s not too bright. Hold my hand, it feels better that way. This way, I want to show you something. I think you’ve seen it before.
Have you ever seen something so beautiful? Do you recognise it now? I knew you would. Whenever you are you feeling lost I’ll take you here. A place only we can go.
-2019
A Gentle Glance At The Gruesome 