Friday, January 30, 2009

R3.FR3SH

Day one I dream of you
and I can almost count the cells that are your face
I smile and dream away

Day two I dream of you
and I can touch your nose, your eyes, your hair
I smile and dream away

Day three I dream of you
and I can hear you laugh, I see your smirk and that funny face you make when you've got nothing to say
I smile and dream away

Day four I dream of you
and I can see you walk, stepping in rhymes with your whistles. I can see you wave with both hands a "double goodbye", and blow a kiss of a "see you soon, see you in June"
I smile and dream away

Day five I dream of you
and I start counting the cells that are your face. Were they a million, or a million and one?
I wave the thought away.
I smile and dream away.

Day six I dream of you
and I see a blur that is you. I manually adjust the focus of my memory till you perfectly surface again.
I breathe easy and dream away.

Day seven I dream of you
and it's all so fuzzy. I shake my head, hit it hard with the palm of my hand like you kick an old television that's gone cuckoo. You're in a television that's gone cuckoo. Your face is fuzzy. Your walk is fuzzy. Your smile is fuzzy.
Your face is fuzzy.
I sit on my hands to prevent them for shaking.
Your face is fuzzy.
I close my eyes, pretend you're not fuzzy. It's all in my head.
It's all in my head and I dream away.

Day eight I dream of you
and I recite you. I recite you out loud, moving back and forth.
I recite you like a kid who just learned his first poem by heart and is eager to impress everyone.
I recite you to impress myself. I recite, I haven't forgotten. No. I haven't forgotten.
I smile to myself and dream away.
No. I haven't forgotten.

Day nine I dream of you
and I know you're in there. I try to pull you out. You stubbornly refuse. I try to pull you out. You stubbornly refuse. I try to picture you, but all I can make out are faded out colors and slow motioned dances of what have once been.

Day ten I don't dare to dream of you.




___

I guess it happens to all of those who live in two places.
People's faces are replaced with fucked up blurry images of a consumed memory.
And more often than not, it stings.






.

3 comments:

Hassnaa said...

WOW !

Brownie said...

few days ago, i was thinking that i might not remember my own face if i did not look in a mirror for a while :)

silent observer said...

I love this one
and the it stings at the end, totally relate