Lost in Translation

I miss the days when things were effortless
When we'd finish each other's sentences.
These days, I find myself second-guessing
The meaning behind your statements.

It seems to me that the biggest follies
Are the fewness of your years
And the freshness of your experience
And the obstinacy of my own mind.

And therein lies the rub.
We don't speak the same words anymore
The facade has crumbled.
We are markedly different.

But, that's all right.
I did promise to make this work.
There's too just too much being carried
That can just as easily be jettisoned.

Maybe in a few years, you'll know what I mean
By then, you will have either moved on
Or you might still be stuck with me
Whatever the case, just soldier on.
You are so much better than this.
We are so much bigger than this.

Segundo

And so it comes to this.
Pettiness. Triviality.
Spite. Hurt.


I'm not sure exactly what I feel.
I didn't know how much you cut me
Until I woke up.

I don't want to explain anymore. 
I feel that even if I did
Explanations aren't welcome anyway.


I need a bit of introspection.
Think things through.
Let the cooler me prevail.

I shall soak it in.
Wallow in the feeling.
Process.

If I find myself in that familiar place
At the end of all this
I'll know what to do.

No promises. No assurances.
No effort at least for now.
No nothing. 

Primero

As I write this
I struggle to determine
Whether this is prose or poetry.
Maybe it's neither.


Perhaps the single biggest tragedy
Is that you bring out the worst in me.


I'm left wounded
But it's the one blight
On an otherwise flawless canvas.


It isn't even your fault
That such a travesty occurs.


The fingers all point to me
And the voices that have taken hold
Expectation
Frustration
Assumption
Amusing how they all rhyme
Missing that one other rhyming word 
That would render them
Irrelevant.


I started on the wrong foot.
This really is intended to be 
Quite the opposite of how it now reads 
So far.


I shall now devote time
To the myriad of pleasantries
You bring.


Your smile as you get in the car.
The occasional snarky comment.
Your sweaty palm against mine, 
I live for these simple moments.


The way your head feels on my shoulder
As I beg you to take a nap.
The way you'd always protest.
The first time you wore a cap.


I love the way you write
And how you go on about your passions.
How you hug me oh so tight.
How you don't give an eff about fashion.


The naughty look on your face
During your pathetic attempts to tickle me.


And all that sniffing. Man. All that sniffing.
That God for perfumes and Duty Free!


I shall end here
Not because there isn't any more
But because this hasn't been well thought-out. (Hahaha!)
I thought I might as well 
Squeeze one out
While the emotion is fresh.


P.S. Next time, it will be so much better than this.

Number 1

I don't like going down the same road twice.
Comfort is never my cup of tea.
And yet, I find myself back to the place
Where it all began. Where it all begins.


I know this place. I've been here before.
I've navigated each nook and cranny.
I know the grooves on the floor,
And the edges of the furniture,
I can walk about barefoot
And blindfolded.
But I choose not to, anyway.


Each step I take is full of trepidation
For though I've been here before
I know not where this road leads.
Will I find my way back?
Will I get stuck along the way?
Do I really want to take another step?


I pause. I reflect. I ponder.
I muse upon my misgivings.
And I tell myself,
"That's enough for tonight."
And right before I do call it a night,
I smile.

Synchronicity

Video courtesy of Youtube

When art and life move together in a seemingly pre-orchestrated dance, one can't help but acknowledge the presence of some higher power working behind the scenes.  Or maybe it's just whimsy.  Whatever the case, I woke up today to the sad news of the untimely demise of the incomparable Whitney Houston.  I wasn't her biggest fan.  But I do remember learning every nuance of I Will Always Love You when I was younger.  Never mind that my voice  (even when I was a young boy) wasn't suited for the song.  

But, Why Does It Hurt So Bad would remain my all-time favorite.  Strangely, even more so than When You Believe, a duet with MC, the ingenue of my youth.  Or maybe it was because of the emotion she put across in this particular performance.  And, the masochistic martyr in me responded.

As I reflect on the song tonight, I can't help but respond to the song again.  This time, not out of the naive yearning for love, and not just in commisseration with the loss of one of the music world's biggest icons, but out of the weary yet hopeful process of heartbreak.  As I told somebody earlier today, time heals "old" wounds.  Maybe in time, I will listen to this song again and not remember the day when I could relate to it so.  Or maybe, just maybe, what I'm going through will add this new dimension of memories that will make the song even richer than it already is.  Who knows?

RIP, Whitney.  You are in better hands now.