safely cocooned in her little head

At the end of the night she went to check her phone and found a text from Alex. “Safe at home now! Thanks for praying.” She had forgotten him and his family’s long drive up from bottom to top of the country–it seemed like such a short time had passed since he had texted that they were leaving. She felt a pang of guilt; he had been so far from her heart of late. Ever since the break for the holidays, everything from school had  melted away into a foggy blur; she did not fight the dimming of the emotional memories of grief and loss that had been a trait of the past term, but even those whom she considered close friends had faded away, in her mind. It was as if the blizzard had not only blanketed her house and home in snow, but had shrouded her heart as well–she was safe here, away from the stresses of her life–although that would be including Alex in that category, for when not at home, he might have been most dear.

Strange how life is, she thought to herself. Safely cocooned, but also free…free to pursue other interests, maybe. She was not bound to him, especially after having gone through what they did–twice. And tonight Ben had shown up to the dinner party, unexpected by all, and she was pleased, for she had asked him. The group had trouped into her home that night and filled the living room with boisterous laughter, the kind she loved, and her cheeks were aglow and her eyes bright with the pleasure of being with people she liked and knew liked her. When her parents came home she introduced Ben casually, and they had struck up a conversation, first in English, then in the mothertongue. She knew they would like him–what’s not to like? A medical student, fluent in the language, from their own country of origin. She herself had watched Ben furtively that night, and felt as if he too were watching her. But she was in her element, and as the night grew old she grew quietly contented, feeling close to owning the world (or as much as she wanted of it) at her fingertips. The next morning her mother asked if she knew this boy well, and together they participated in stalkerish behavior to find out more about this interesting new friend. She laughed to herself. Perhaps her mother knew the need for a replacement before being able to completely get Alex out of the picture. She laughed at her encouragements to get to know this boy. She laughed at everything, but deep inside, she was troubled. It may be that he had decided not to like her, after all; maybe she laughed too often or too loudly, maybe she had been too showy with sharing her prized music with her close friends. But maybe not. Somehow, she still felt as if she had the upper hand, and she could do anything she liked.

After all, it was Christmas, and anything could happen.

ama a su hermano

Sweet, our days are numbered
Where this desert road soon winds
Towards shaded deviations, you and I
are left with fond thoughts:
Boats on a lake
And Parking lots,
Defiances of time.

In rare simplicity shut out
The noisy shouts from all directions
Urging you to meld with them
In ghastly, deathly pursuits for the Happiness
That you already have.

Oh my baby brother, reach
To the light above your head
Where Celestial orbs swim into their ken
Settle not for fleeting butterflies
Of vanishing touch
And shattering Lies.
Left only with what was said.

Listen well, when darker nights surround
I will sing into the air, you are not alone
Redemption lies near blackness to atone
Listen well, I will be here
As all these other years
With gentle thoughts
As emissaries of light
Bearing forth
To bring you……      Home.

scream, shred your lungs

I feel like I have not been a very good friend to you…and things have changed so much, I think that is the reason why I grieve. I can still remember a time when I loved you so much to cry at night, and desperately wanted to save you from your darkness…and I can still remember the night I found your post about me, and you said the same. But the post is gone, and the blog is gone. And you, too, are going.

I do not blame you; it is just that I fear I hold you back. I fear that I have taken too much from you, and I fear myself, that I still desire to hold some part of you with me, forever. I am sorry I have done you wrong. If only there is a way to make things better.

But perhaps the betterment will come from time and distance…as much as I detest what those things do to relationships. You said that my friendship was of value to you…I feel I have not given you much friendship. I don’t even know you anymore. I can hardly keep up a productive conversation with you. I am so torn inside.

I hope that someday I can put this all behind me and say that you are still a good friend, in spite of it all. I am sorry……sorry that I seem incapable of doing it now.

I need to hear you louder now…

as yellowed pages worn with time
so silence ages memories
as faded golden threads to bind
these secrets that have never been…

If one should ask of the love I once possessed, I would answer quite simply, I lost him. He did not die, he did not suddenly vanish, he did not abandon me or turn away. I simply lost him, like one loses the key that unlocks the chests that hold the greatest treasures of the Isle of Monte Cristo.

He is lost.

And that is that.

I am thankful. For her.

may brilliancy be what makes you, not break you

unsent letter n.4, May 19, 08

“It doesn’t all make sense. I think I know why you turn inward to yourself so often…because you find yourself to be the only one left standing after all that’s said and done. Everyone and everything else has failed you. God, I, your family, your friends…and you turn to yourself. I don’t blame you. You are so brilliant…so beautifully brilliant, but terribly so. I could never do or say anything to persuade you of anything, as much as I would like to.

“The fact is, hawk…I am afraid I am never, ever, going to see you again.”

………………………

the seven storey mountain

I have begun (finally) the Merton book that he sent me. It is engrossing and the story well-told, although even with as far as I have gotten (not very far) I know the book will be a source of grief to me, as I try to fathom why he sent it, and what he might mean for me by it.

In the introduction the writer said something about the Catholic church instilling an attitude of superiority and patronage…as if “only we hold the truth”…or something to that effect. It is just the attitude I balk at, although I know evangelicals are just as, if not more than, guilty of it. I still wonder at the mighty confusion, corruption, destruction and hate…what power and force, what ignorance and destruction…. And yet what of us? I also shy away from the protestant form of organized christianity. I only wonder, and would like to ask someone who might know first-handedly…

And yet I grieve still..

because the rift between us is still as great and as impassable as the one left in my heart.

do you know

I’m getting a tanline from the ring

and the other day I noticed they put the screen back in that window I used to sit in when I talked to you on the phone.

I don’t sit there anymore.

eyes were not made to cry forever

[from 5.30.08]

It’s the dark nights of solitude that I struggle the most. Tonight it swallows me in its engulfing magnitude. …

Eyes were not made to cry forever. It sounds hopeful, like there will be an end, but in reality it’s just a painful scathing irony that no, you can’t live in despair all the time, and life comes to kick you in the ass and tell you to get a move-on.

…I don’t know if this means I should give up
altogether.
because I don’t know if I can.

You’re the smell of the toast you made in the morning
You’re the page in my book I keep to myself
You’re the unwelcome sound when I turn my door key
You’re the scar that I have from the time that I fell
I can’t describe the faces
I can’t recall the names
But you remain

I keep you in the creases
I hide you the folds
Protect you from the sunlight
Shield you from the cold
Everybody said they were glad to see you go
And no one ever has to know.

You’re the part of the moon that fades into blackness
Even though we know it’s really still there
You’re the song that I sing, I don’t need to practice
You’re the green shirt that I keep thought its too small to wear
I can’t describe the faces
I can’t recall the names
But you remain.

I keep you in the creases
I hide you in the folds
Protect you from the sunlight
Shield you from the cold
Everybody said they were glad to see you go
And no one ever has to know
No one ever has to know

The things that I refuse to see
And all the nights I still can’t sleep
I curl up between the sheets
Creases where you used to be.

In the Creases||Alex Wong