Monday, April 16, 2007

Anchored- To Catherine Two.


These memories we make, the memories we keep, are for me a lifeline- a sort of protection that I can keep close and hold onto. There are certain things in my life that, though I don't often encounter them, they sit high up on a pedastal and they outline for me all of the things I must work towards. You have always been one of those things. Someone who remains peripheral in my life but who lives inside me always- a North Star, bright in my vision and leading me in the right direction.

Those few short days full of cool blue and caramel colors, the nights of firey red and midnight black are like movies which play again and again across my eyes. I lose myself in the smell of the salty sea, the vastness of all things stretched out across the horizon and the sky huge above us. The breeze which blew off the water brushed over my hair, across my ears and I felt so many things at once, the sand- millions and millions of tiny grains, the sun hot on my back, your hand warmly enclosed inside my own, the imminence of our departure. Even then, looking into your eyes, looking out onto the water, feeling your breath hot on my neck- I still was overwhelmed by the briefness of it all. I can never just sink into anything; I am always looking ahead or looking behind. And I felt I was cheating you out of those few precious moments we had together by counting them so meticulously as they passed.

Now, back again in my lonely world of my own words with no one to bounce them off of, I sit in silence and regret. I am always wondering what it would be like to wake up beside you- to fall asleep gently in your tender arms, to hear the words I whisper echo back in my ears. But, reality is always more stark, more jagged than memory. I fear that we would fight- that you would grow tired of the listless nature which fascinates you so in small bits. I have a raging distaste for cleanliness, for domesticity, for routine. And I suppose that is why those few memories we share are so dear to me, why they are played so often in the jukebox of my memory. Because they are always a total respite from routine. We can always be whomever we choose and there is never and evidence around to prove otherwise.

You mention Anna. You told me that you could see her behind my eyes. But, Catherine dear, Anna left me for that very reason. Because she was never alone behind my eyes. Because she saw all the other people who lived here and she wanted to be the only one. You cannot blame her; I certainly can't. I ran off in every direction. I tied myself to her, through marriage, but I did not give myself to her. As I cannot give myself to anyone.

Perhaps what you say is true: that we have nothing but misty memories of moments past and gone. I'd like to see you again, fall forward into that bubble where it is only you and I. Write me something soon; your words are an anchor.



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