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lost-in-time-marie · 3 days

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The Days I Miss You

Today, I turn around in my chair to peer at the reflection made in the sunlight. I don’t know why, but somehow the world looks more crisp and perfected in this facsimile than when I attempt to spin around and appreciate the landscape with my own eyes. When I look at her through this portal, the fading rays of sunshine catch her skin, and there is only smooth, pale white planes. She has sharp features to her face, an angular nose, more striking than beautiful. Wide, bottomless hazel eyes, more green than brown. Her lips settled into a smooth curved line. Her fine, wavy brown tendrils are tied back, as they often are these days, there’s entirely too much of them anymore, sticking to sweaty armpits and hot necks. And for a moment, everything looks so beautiful and pleasant in this parallel dimension I was observing. I couldn’t figure out how to get my hand to pass through the glass, to touch it, feel its warm, assuring grasp on my own skin.

I start to think about great loves, as I often do on the days I start to miss you. I remember reading the short story in one of my freshmen English composition or literature courses, just a little scene, a teenage boy working the register and a beautiful girl comes through his line. He describes her in pages, creates one of my favorite literary devices, “the two smoothest scoops of vanilla I had ever seen”. And I wonder what it’s like to be loved like that, and if I ever had, and if I even believed that kind of love existed anymore. Today, I’m emotional. Those unexpected tears burst forward, just a moment, as I catch myself pondering every thing that is and ever was or will be. And I don’t know to turn that off, the everything that rushes through me everyday, demanding someone put them up while they travel the area.

Today, I resist the urge to tell you I miss you, to start the conversation, to make contact. And I still don’t know that this is the right way, I still stubbornly want to believe in a life where we can still touch briefly, intermittently. I’m drifting further and further from the edge of the ice rink, I can’t hold the wall anymore, and I can see it there, and it does look comfortable and I welcome the idea of some sort of rescue, keep me from getting knocked down by the better skaters or creaming myself against the hard and unforgiving center ice. On shaky and uncertain legs I try to leave the wall behind, try to test out a different choice, a different behavior, and see if I can’t get a different outcome.

~K.

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lost-in-time-marie · 10 days

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I Told Robert I Was A Relentless Wave Beating Up Against An Immoveable Rock, And I Could Throw Myself At It Forever If I Let Myself.

I would say that we were like the tides that rush tirelessly against a rocky shore. I imagined myself the ocean, beating myself relentlessly against the stone. But now I know, that I have always been the rock. I am what gets broken down and carved away to make room for you. Eventually the water wears me down, molds me to the path of least resistance, whatever that means for these endless, careless waves.

~K.

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lost-in-time-marie · 13 days

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God Lives With The Ants

When I was younger, I would lay under a maple tree in the backyard. I’d stare up at the leaves and watch them wither from a bright green into orange and red and fall all around my head. I’d talk with the wind that danced and sang as it rushed through the trees and played with my hair. I’d observe the ants as they went about their business in the dirt next to me. So small, and yet we occupied the same space, but our perspectives couldn’t be more different. Our futures intimately linked and yet I found myself wondering if this crawling little insect could sense my gaze. I wondered what great giant’s ribcage laid beside my whole infinite universe, small enough to be held on the tip of their finger. And suddenly, for the first time, I believed that colossus did gaze at my universe, occupying its same space, but somehow so small and impossibly different, and it would get misty eyed pondering the complexity and beauty of our entangled existences, and it would hope things for all us and then mourn those hopes as they changed and evolved over the years, entirely beyond anyone’s reach at this point.

~K.

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lost-in-time-marie · 13 days

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Danusha Laméris, Bonfire Opera: Poems; “Passion Fish”

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lost-in-time-marie · 13 days

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{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}

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lost-in-time-marie · 13 days

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“It’s spring, you’re young, you’re lovely, you have a right to be happy. Come back into the world.”

— Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle

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lost-in-time-marie · 15 days

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happy "everyone forgets that icarus also flew" monday. i want to throw up !

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lost-in-time-marie · 15 days

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Old Flames

I find myself thinking of old flames. We started out as something great, a spark of electricity that generated a roaring blaze. People gathered around to catch a glimpse of that fire and celebrate all the heat. But it wasn’t very long before that flare-up required more fuel. The embers jumped from the controlled pit to the tall, dry grass, rolling all the way downhill- as these disasters tend to- to the house. And we didn’t know, we couldn’t pay any mind to the catastrophe looming just ahead, but we fed those hungry flares the whole frame of that house, all the way down to the foundations. There was nothing left in the end but devastation.

But that’s the thing about fires, as much as they burn and raze, they can heal and restore. The pyre eventually turns to muted, glowing coals. The forest gently peers around the corner, an uncertain acquaintance, sheepish and shy. The strands of grass poke up their heads to peek up at clear and blue sky. Flowers bloom and flourish, advertising their beauty, dancing along to teasing gusts of wind. The animals slowly wander in, all those barren fields transformed to vivid and alive expanses.

And somewhere in the deepest and thickest and oldest of these woods, there’s the hearth of an earth witch still offering a hint of light, the only memory of that great scorch. And as I warm myself a bit now by the side of this ingle, I still have to remind myself not to stir those ashes, that a forest fire can’t eliminate the cold. I sigh contentedly, because today there’s no temptation in the cinders.

I can live with what happened to us, and even love it or miss it, and certainly romanticize it, but these days, I’m all about fire safety and prevention. Let’s conserve these consecrated grounds, let’s work the land. Let’s choose something better than we knew before this time around. You nurtured this homestead, you wept over seedlings, you toiled and troweled and created a national park out of a squashed garden. I’ll preserve this place, safeguarded under my chest.

~K.

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lost-in-time-marie · 18 days

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All My Unsatisfied Cravings

Most people don’t know what it’s like to want things. Not really. Not deeply. With your whole heart and soul. You’re willing to bleed for it, push for it, give for it.

Oh sure, people know all about coveting. Humans do this the best, perhaps. We covet what we see everyday. This life, this hair, this face, this position, this power, this person.

My body doesn’t know what to do with all its wanting. I hurt and mourn and long for things I’ve never seen or heard or tasted. I’m starving and I’m craving and I’m standing in the middle of the biggest buffet, more than my eyes can hold, and my favorite food is missing. My mouth turns sour at every dish. I can’t tell you what it is, what ingredients it requires, if you bake or sauté it. But I could pick out the smell, in this room full of every delicious mouth watering meal, and I’ll recognize it when it’s finally put on the plate in front of me.

~K.

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lost-in-time-marie · 19 days

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…but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.

– Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

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lost-in-time-marie · 19 days

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You’re Too Beautiful To Be Scarred

You’re too beautiful to be scarred.

And I loved her a little more than I already did for her sentiment.

But I was well beyond reaching by now.

What was a few more marks on this flawed porcelain skin?

A few more red lines that would fade to white, thinner than wisps of grass,

On this pale white canvas that had already seen so much suffering?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,

There was always one more piece of myself to sacrifice in the pursuit of perfection.

And even with a widespread peppering of those gossamer colorless horizontal lines,

I found I was right,

I still had a few more millimeters of flesh to offer this life.

~K.

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lost-in-time-marie · 20 days

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marlena by julie buntin

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lost-in-time-marie · 20 days

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Ama Codjoe, from Bluest Nude: Poems; “Bluest Nude”

[Text ID: “I crave. I want to be seen clearly or not at all.”]

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lost-in-time-marie · 20 days

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All The Ways I’ve Learned Love Will Never Be Enough.

I used to think the first time life taught me that love wasn’t enough was through my best friend in high school. But I don’t think that’s true anymore. I think I have to start all the way at the beginning. My mom loved me, she did in her own way, in the only way she was capable of love. I used to think of it as some half love, or some twisted and broken sort of love. She loved me, and I loved her, in my own way, in the only way I could at the end of it all. But our love wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough to make her not sick, to fill all those holes inside her.

My best friend in high school. That was already the next lesson. Because I hadn’t learned well enough yet. The first time I prayed to any god, I thanked them for sending me her. The first person to reach me, to teach me how to be alive, to rebel, to turn off all the blinding numbness. But my love for her wasn’t enough either. It wasn’t enough to cure her personality disorder, or to make her fix her problems that ultimately poisoned our friendship.

And by then, I knew full and well that love wasn’t enough. Not the love of your family. Not the love of your friends. Not the persistent and irrational love I couldn’t help but give. But I stubbornly held onto the notion of true love. Arguably the most foolish of them all. And by the time I met him, by the time I thought I was experiencing real and true love for the first time in my life, by the time those wretched fairy tales really dragged me under, it was far too late. And believe it or not, this lesson spanned nearly ten years before it sunk in. Before it drowned me and finished me off somewhere in those deep, dark waters.

In some secret part of my heart that I try not to bring out in the open too often, like the old shirt of yours I kept in my closet while away at college. I would bury myself in the smell only at the most desperate and lonely and painful of times, and I couldn’t tamper with it too often, a little bit of you faded away with each touch. I have those couple of perfect moments sealed away in my mind. The ones from the beginning, before we spoiled like an abandoned holiday dinner in an empty, ransacked house. The morning I came to pick you up for school, so early and we were so tired. “Just ten minutes”, you said, coaxing me back to your den. You slept on a couch on the back porch, all the bedrooms too full of your siblings, desperate for your own piece in this world. I laid on your chest, belly to belly, only the edge of fabric and flesh separating us, and we fell asleep there for a few hours, to the lullaby of our hearts beating in time. And I knew as it was happening that this was something special. One of those moments you know you have to memorize every detail, every smell and line and sensation, because it’s never going to happen again and you’re already missing it even as each second falls to the next. And I have that place there. Sequestered and perfectly preserved, like roses dipped in glycerine. I’m just waiting for the right time to really use it. That is the most visited page in our book, I’ve read it over and over, it’s dog eared and dirty from all the times my eyes have roved over it and my hands carefully roamed the pages. There’s a few others I dare not touch. Swimming in the cold springs in the sun. Staring up at the stars and wondering at the people on planes that passed by and we dreamed up a future for ourselves. In the garden and you surprised me with a kiss. Others I can’t name anymore, whose pages have long since stuck to its neighbors and have all but since been forgotten.

But there is no true and automatic love, love at first sight, the fairy tale. And our book turned from a cheap romance to a horror so quick. And somewhere at the end, it lost all meaning, I was just an author sitting desperately over a keyboard, slaving away at a dam of writers block, forcing any attempt of making poetry out of us. And it had been years since the closeness of our flesh has brought me comfort. Because even young love isn’t enough. Because even young, naive, serendipitous love isn’t enough to fix him. To fix me. To fix this damned and broken world and all the poor wretched souls cursed here.

~K.

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lost-in-time-marie · 24 days

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the rain picks up, tapping softly at the windows; a guest too timid to stay long. the soup on the stove has cooled, the sun long since gone to bed. we are still awake because laughter feels too good in the body to stop yet. there’s a bottle of wine to finish. there’s the story about your date last week I haven’t heard. we will keep finding reasons to stay, mouths tired and grinning and leaving goodnight far from reach. a little longer. I want you to hear this song. a little longer. tell me about how your brother’s doing. a little longer. I love good reasons to lose sleep.

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lost-in-time-marie · 24 days

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Miller's Girl (2024)

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lost-in-time-marie · 24 days

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schuyler peck / instagram: hiitssky / facebook

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