Sunday, November 16, 2014
i wanted to wrap my tongue around words that didn't rhyme with my guilt.
i wanted to wrap my arms around a woman who didn't shy away, covered in other thoughts of other times that maybe were better but certainly won't happen again.
i wanted to wrap words around my tongue like her kisses used to fit, all tender and longing and satisfied, eventually.
i wanted to wrap my shoulders with something not quite as heavy as the weight of the world, but just as warm and burning.
these months are the cold.
'i should burn these'
'why not just recycle them?'
'or do you want the ceremony of actually burning them?'
i reached forward and took the very large pieces of wrinkled and creased newsprint, and slowly stuffed them together. the bodies, the torsos, rendered meticulously in hand-smeared charcoal to a recognizable likeness of our younger selves, pressed together in the haphazard way i still long for, and then filled the garish blue recycling bag. my hands got covered in charcoal. again, this was comforting. i smiled a grim smile then, holding my breath like i do when i empty the compost or scrub the toilet or wait for a reprimand, and held the bag full of drawings close to my chest.
'i shoulda burned them.'