I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
:: I was checking my mail just now and found this sitting in the inbox. Timely rediscovery, I might say, because this morning I had a very disturbing dream.
Let me begin with last night. We went to Fla-fla's birthday party at Buca di Beppo and headed off to Fox Sports Grille to chill for the rest of the night. I had half a glass of vodka and Red Bull (as suggested by Vruce), which wasn't so bad. Though, like he said, those things creep up on you, and creep it did. I sat on the couch and watched the interesting mix of people flirting and dancing and laughing in front of me, while thinking of the best way to ignore the throbbing in my head. Fla-fla was prouncing around drunk and FH was chugging down her shots of Patron (as if she were still 18). By the end of the night, we couldn't find Fla-fla (turns out she was on the patio with FBf) and FH was drunk and antsy (she had to pee and my feet hurt, which meant that looking for a restroom was torture for the both of us). I decided to sleep over her place because I was too beat to go home. Though I was sober by then, all the painful walking (in the 4" heels) was too much for the night.
Before going to bed, I thought about CB, which is the reason why dreaming of LL and his folks seemed pretty weird. I was sleeping on the couch at his house, waiting for his mom to come home. He was taking a shower, and I woke up (in the dream). He gets out of the shower, runs up the stairs, halts for a moment, turns around and says hi and goes on his way. His mom comes in with his dad and a guy from my office, and she helps me fold the blanket I used. I tell her I can do it myself (out of respect), and they sit at the table to eat lunch, while I stand there and watch. I wake up (reality). I read that when you dream of an ex-lover, that means you have unfinished bidness with him.
I doubt. Maybe he has unfinished bidness with me. (Chuckles to self)
Thus, the poem. Not all of it is true now. Just this part:
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
It feels good. Very good, because at one point in my life, I could have sworn I was a rock- no matter how many times I was kicked in order to fly away, my weight persisted and I just sat there, waiting to be kicked once more. The weight was not love; it was illusion. I can laugh about it now.
I'm glad I can laugh about it.
I'm relieved that I've let go.
So this is how it feels to be weightless.
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