The moon turned upon itself. We never know which side we are looking at, its good or bad side. Frankly speaking it does not make a difference, nothing will make a difference. I had my mind made up, and this was going to be how it all ends.
The thing is, I was mistaken, I was always trying to give her what I thought she wanted, but she always had what she wanted. Always. That was what she said to me one day, that when she thinks about it, she is living the life she always dreamt of. So she said she was, the only thing was, she said, when she got there, she often found it was not really what she wanted, and she would crumble in disappointment. Crumble. Romantics often crumble at disappointment. Over the years though I think she has learnt to accept that it whenever she arrived at the destination, it will never be like how she imagined it. Never. Her imagination was too good for this world.
Six a.m. and she said she needed to finish her book. Alright, I will let her be. I knew exactly what she was thinking, and exactly what she was going to do. Everything was already in place. The kettle boiled, and she got up to make the cup of coffee like she did every morning. I watched her as she floated around the kitchen. Her graceful motions almost perfect. I scanned the outlines of her side profile and appreciated every curve, every feature. I took it in, for although she was not the most beautiful I have ever seen, she was. She was really.
She looked up at me, and smiled as she sipped her coffee. So what was the story about? She smiled, you have got to read it. Read it I will, I hardly read, but for her, I have read fiction of many kinds just so I could see the thoughts that shape hers. No, of course I have yet to understand her complicity. And yet she tells me she is simple. Simple.
She read of a little girl, and a man who were having a conversation while he was walking his dog, and I was immediately enchanted. She was always writing of innocence and perfection, innocence and perfection was always identifiable, because it was different from the rest of the world, and so hard to find. Our birth often marks the end of our innocence really, and perfection. And our whole lives, was in fact a journey to find it, again. How many of us though, know that? I thought about it, each things we experience was a slight corruption.
I kind of wish I we spent all day, I wish we had all day. But I could not deal with what I will be responsible for. I wish deeply I did not feel that way, so when she got up to get ready for work, I walked into the shower with her, and I stuck around with her for as long as I possibly can. And then I kissed her the longest, sweetest kiss ever, which of course surprised her, and she looked at me warily. I smiled and assured her it will all be alright. It would, really. I hope it would.
She chirped an I love you, which I responded to. Most of the time when I said I love you, I hardly knew what I meant, I was barely 19, barely mature enough to be honest. How much feeling could I have felt, to know enough what love meant? I wish I knew what I knew now, then I would have...wouldn't have.
I watched her turn the door, and walked out. Every thing we had done I sometimes wish we could do again, better, but woe to us, every single minute we live, is a little longer we are corrupted and robbed of our innocence. Every moment we loved, made love less perfect and the minute I walked out the door, never to return, I, knew I took steps I should not have taken. Now deep inside, really really deep inside, wished I had not walked this way. For as imperfect love was then, the further I walked away, the further I was from innocent love and I had walked out on something that could have been, love perfected. I walked out on a family, my family.
The thing is, I did not know that, I would somehow cause a death.
The thing is, I was mistaken, I was always trying to give her what I thought she wanted, but she always had what she wanted. Always. That was what she said to me one day, that when she thinks about it, she is living the life she always dreamt of. So she said she was, the only thing was, she said, when she got there, she often found it was not really what she wanted, and she would crumble in disappointment. Crumble. Romantics often crumble at disappointment. Over the years though I think she has learnt to accept that it whenever she arrived at the destination, it will never be like how she imagined it. Never. Her imagination was too good for this world.
Six a.m. and she said she needed to finish her book. Alright, I will let her be. I knew exactly what she was thinking, and exactly what she was going to do. Everything was already in place. The kettle boiled, and she got up to make the cup of coffee like she did every morning. I watched her as she floated around the kitchen. Her graceful motions almost perfect. I scanned the outlines of her side profile and appreciated every curve, every feature. I took it in, for although she was not the most beautiful I have ever seen, she was. She was really.
She looked up at me, and smiled as she sipped her coffee. So what was the story about? She smiled, you have got to read it. Read it I will, I hardly read, but for her, I have read fiction of many kinds just so I could see the thoughts that shape hers. No, of course I have yet to understand her complicity. And yet she tells me she is simple. Simple.
She read of a little girl, and a man who were having a conversation while he was walking his dog, and I was immediately enchanted. She was always writing of innocence and perfection, innocence and perfection was always identifiable, because it was different from the rest of the world, and so hard to find. Our birth often marks the end of our innocence really, and perfection. And our whole lives, was in fact a journey to find it, again. How many of us though, know that? I thought about it, each things we experience was a slight corruption.
I kind of wish I we spent all day, I wish we had all day. But I could not deal with what I will be responsible for. I wish deeply I did not feel that way, so when she got up to get ready for work, I walked into the shower with her, and I stuck around with her for as long as I possibly can. And then I kissed her the longest, sweetest kiss ever, which of course surprised her, and she looked at me warily. I smiled and assured her it will all be alright. It would, really. I hope it would.
She chirped an I love you, which I responded to. Most of the time when I said I love you, I hardly knew what I meant, I was barely 19, barely mature enough to be honest. How much feeling could I have felt, to know enough what love meant? I wish I knew what I knew now, then I would have...wouldn't have.
I watched her turn the door, and walked out. Every thing we had done I sometimes wish we could do again, better, but woe to us, every single minute we live, is a little longer we are corrupted and robbed of our innocence. Every moment we loved, made love less perfect and the minute I walked out the door, never to return, I, knew I took steps I should not have taken. Now deep inside, really really deep inside, wished I had not walked this way. For as imperfect love was then, the further I walked away, the further I was from innocent love and I had walked out on something that could have been, love perfected. I walked out on a family, my family.
The thing is, I did not know that, I would somehow cause a death.
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