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Monday, August 25, 2008

expectations like warmth

She sits, with hands and cheeks on fire and lips made of promises. She doesn't know what to say though, when he speaks to her like that. People didn't talk like that anymore. Did they ever? She's not so sure. Of thoughts. Of life. Of bodies. Of her. And even, maybe, a tiny bit of him. It's standing on the edge of a cliff and wondering if that's an ocean down there--or is it cold, hard stone, a rough landing that will break bones and hearts. Expectations are too slippery to hold down these days. We all bring them too high sometimes, like a bird trying to reach the sun. It's too cold down there and expectations like warmth. She tries to hold them at the level of her eyes, but then she blinks and they're gone before her eyelids even begin their journey.

1 comment:

Charles the Third said...

Beautiful. I really like this one a lot.