Airports are strange places, not quite sky, not quite land, waiting, humming, running, waiting again.
We seem to spend most of our time in this world in limimal spaces. One foot stepping, one foot standing, too late or too early, too cold, too warm, unsettled; waiting, looking, grieving, waiting again.
And love is more often than not just the same strange place, one person leaving, one staying, we must have met too early or too late, and here we wait, here we watch not quite the sky, not quite land, not quite wrong, not quite right. Still waiting, wishing, hoping waiting again.
Here in the liminal space between swimming and drowning. Between breaths, caught in layovers, trying to figure out what we're waiting for.
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
i slouch in an airplane seat. it feels right to be halfway between worlds, my only bridge to reality the popping of my ears. a stranger breathes beside me. we are sharing the same air, two pairs of lungs in sync, and yet his eyes are foreign, and mine are lonely. i think it'd be nice if this were a rom-com, if i could bend over an armrest and lay my head on a shoulder. if i could share my earbuds and feel our heads bob at the same time with each drumbeat. a pop and i nosedive into reality. the window could hold a thousand sunsets, a thousand stars, a thousand lights glittering below me and not one of them would be bright enough.
In the midst of a frighteningly cold evening, Your gaze pierces through the frigid air And haunts me to my core But your eyes speak not of anger Or hatred, or loathing But rather disappointment Which is perhaps the most chilling realization You could have forced me to confront That winter evening
"Writing well means never having to say, 'I guess you had to be there.'" -- Jef Mallett
Love is a telephone wire; it can expand, contract, it can rust. It can voyage through airspace for miles, then tumble, tipsy, into a garden next door. Don't sing praises for love, love as fickle as a signal; it can sway, and somersault away, it can rust.
i am certain the birds have sung poetry more beautiful than every word written in human language. how could they dare compose anything less, for they have brushed the sky and lived to tell its story.
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
Now I wonder whether I came down to the Earth Or up; if up I came, I pray that I fall back down, And if down I tumbled Then I pray for wings So I can fly away and Take the clouds with me.
Sitting on a lone hill, I yearn For the sweet salvation that comes of Unburdening oneself to those who listen; Pillar-people, holding us up in the night's turmoil.
Dark clouds gather, Gather like the carrion over the fields of death, Looming over me, threatening And consuming joy, until they come; Atlases of my soul, lifting the sky Holding the storm and sleeping earth apart.
"I believe a man does what he can until his destiny is revealed to him."
We might have been in love, I don't know; I guess one rarely does. Frost is a process of exposure; who knew water vapor becomes crystal if the air tries to freeze. There are some things you only know in hindsight, feelings spinning in between air particles, but left too long in winter; crystallize. I am slow to realize seasons changing until the air's too cold to breathe, hold my breath, don't let the truth sting, dizzy on lack of oxygen, clarity; crystallizes. But I don't really know you anymore. It appears some change of form has taken place, before the frost had any time to melt, it was already gone.
I've been seeing a lot of poems in the "worst poem ever" thread, let's get this one going again too!
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
My leg twinged on a walk earlier today, and so now my eye carries a tear that doesn't want to fall and just wants to linger and make me feel like I'm crying when I'm fine.
name: key/string/perks pronouns: she/her/hers and they/them/theirs
novel: the clocktower (camp nano apr 24) poetry: the beauty of the untold (napo 2024)
Gender:
Points: 3866
Reviews: 488