Cherry Red

The sun slowly climbs over the horizon, a golden ball of purity blinding the helpless and homeless out of a restless slumber. A hint of blue can be seen through the mirror, promising smiles all day. The long lost rain a distant and shallow memory, lost in a haze, the taste and feel of cherry red still lingering on the lips. The most sacred thing two people can do and yet easily dismissed. In all my travels and incarnations of myself, I will always find more about someone in the caress of their lips than any sound that could ever pass by them.

What I may have lost...

"You two were very very well suited," says Mother, and not for the first time. You can almost feel the dissapointment hanging in the air. The seasons come and go along with an occasional electronic dialogue. Snippets of life, condensed into twelve point type and blasted along the wires and signals bouncing around the world wide web. Only the most important things conveyed in as few expressions as possible. Important? Perhaps not. What used to be important is no longer permissable. Those nuances and characteristics that made it all worthwile are no longer a talking point. Things are best left unsaid... Even when there is so much to say, left hanging in space, clanging and banging around the emtpy void. But you know, one day this will all be a laugh. Age and comfort will set in and these little nuances will be lost in the haze as we argue with our children about the use of the car. I can smile at that.

August and everything after...

Everyone has a place where they go to just sit and be and think. I have the end of my driveway. It's quiet and peaceful and I get left alone. I can hear the sounds of the late night traffic and watch the stars or the moon or the bats swooping across the sky. I can even hear the trains rolling through a couple of miles away. It's that place where I can have a quiet word with myself and remind me that I'm just being a fool. I wish it was that simple. It's like a mantra, tell myself enough times and I'll believe. Mutter under the breath and trudge upstairs for a shower. I stand and study the lines on my face in the mirror, wretched and hopeless, wanting and waiting and worrying. God damn do I feel like a... What's the use? Have another drink, pass out and forget about it. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is the day I remember how hard it is to let go. How easy it is to sit in the corner and say, "I can't deal with this. Perhaps if I ignore it, it will go away." Fitting really, I've been telling myself that for three days. Or even three months. It's not going away damn it. And I just don't know what to do anymore. Somehow it all feels completely and utterly and blissfully wrong. I could just sink into those grey-blue eyes and taste those cherry red lips. Anything else is just consequence.

From The Lips

Doesn't matter how much time is spent staring through the steam rising off the tea, it still seems crazy. Is it the sweet, heady smell of an old addiction that get the hearts thumping? Or the temptation of a new addiction? It wouldn't take much to crumble and fall after four solitary seasons. Waking up to it and drifting with it into a restless slumber. Snigger and snicker at the absurd idea than runs around, clanging and banging off the skull. The next moment the tea has gone cold and it isn't so absurd anymore. And from your lips she may yet draw a Hallelujah...