close & far

woman chair trumpet black and white

It happens sometimes,
to be close to someone far
in the last row at the cinema
an armrest away from everything
or nothing at all,
silently unsaying what you cannot say,
hoping against hope something of hers would drop
so you could pick it up


or at least for her hair to come undone
(when the wind blows on the screen)
and flow into your eyes
“Sorry,” for her say,
to give you an excuse to beg
for complications and softer tortures,
but nothing of her falls
she packs away her face
her fragrance, too, she packs
the shape of her body she steals from her chair
she packs herself away and out of sight
and you can never tell
if she went home alone
and sliced an onion with her thoughts
fried it with her brain
seasoned it with tears
and served with pickled memories
like she does on weekend nights
to punish herself
for things she has not done

Advertisements

14 thoughts on “close & far

  1. This is lovely, and very vivid. I especially liked how she steals the shape of her body from her chair. I was looking at a chair that my husband sits on regularly once, when he was far away from me, and I felt a connection to him from looking at it. Moments later, however, it just made me feel sad, because with him no longer in it, it was just a chair. A meaningless object. Well written, Vincent.

  2. Beautifully written! Your words are magical. I feel drawn to these almost-encounters, they have this tragic beauty. Though I’m glad I avoid them in real life – those “what ifs” are too painful.

      1. I meant that nowadays, I often go for it and say whatever I thought of saying. It might end up awkward, but that’s better than thinking of how it could have been.
        Let me know if you’re planning to come to Switzerland! 🙂

  3. Your words are so profound and deep. I love the mystery of that girl on the chair. Love reading your blogs. They are very interesting. Good day to you Vincent. Thanks for sharing. I have not written anything on my blog yet. Huguette.

  4. There are hidden stories left behind in the spaces we inhabit, the yearning to reach out and touch someone, to begin the dance of learning their story unfolds like a dream among the lines of your beautiful words…

  5. And sometimes it happens so; the one who could be close is far and away by the coincidence of birth. Not armrest but classic shores in between. Yet you hope- for desertion to desert you off its curse, for a kind act of the villainous universe.
    What happens is the nothing new and you can never tell if he is but a ghost of his words… who sliced a poem with his thoughts, fried it with his brain, seasoned it with tears and served with passionate pain to make up in thoughts what is lost in distance.

If you leave me a comment I will send you an invisible gift.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s