Nostalgia

I know that she’s lying.
I know that the glimmer in her eyes
Is contrived.
That the way she leans in,
Full of life and lust and lilies,
Is a falsehood.

Her eyes widen innocently
With a pleasure that has only
Ever existed in the past tense
And the expression on her face is
A bastardization of that.

She oozes doctored history.

Nothing
In her oh-so-convincing body language
Is true.

Everything,
From the swaying of her hips
As she walks across the floor,
To the crease below her lips
When she’s searching for a word,
To the tone of her voice
On the sweet side of snide,
Everything
Is an alluring allusion
To imagined histories.

And yet I fall for it.
Every single time I fall for it.

That old familiar twinge of chances missed,
Of lips not kissed,
Of wishes unwished
Pulls deep inside me:
Behind my stomach,
Beneath my heart.

But still, I know she’s lying.

I know that the missed chances
Were missed for a reason.
The unkissed lips
Were out of season.
And the wishes that I never wished
Were left deflated
Because had they been voiced,
Had I filled them with air,
Had they somehow been granted…
It wouldn’t be fair.

And yet she shakes her head.
From there, across the room.
She disagrees with me and so
She shakes her head and chuckles
And everything is gloom.

So I ask myself the questions
That I see swirling in her eyes,
And the flipbook in my mind
Recklessly rewinds.
It replays several moments,
Inconclusive,
Inconsistent,
Inconsiderate –
It scatters what it finds.

I panic.
I choke.
I snatch them from the air.
I rearrange them carefully
But some pages are not there.

I wait for a while
And laud the now.
I wait for a while
And through clenched teeth I screech
The past is dead.
The past is gone.
Replaying, rewriting, rewishing is wrong.

Then I pick up the pile
And the images dance.
Stuttered and halting with holes between scenes.
Their stories so dim now
That they can hardly be.

Still I flip the pages back
And watch the figures of my past.
And somehow slipped in every gap is
The woman of the beautiful dreams.
The woman full who spins tales of an untrue me.

 

[probs still a work in progress]

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