Monday, 24 May 2010

A face in the doorway

I stand in the doorway, and the flat looks entirely different. I have moved in. I have a jewelry tree, I have lilac paint on the walls, silk scarves and dirty socks strewn carelessly across furniture.

I am here on my own. My hair tossed up on top of my head, my skin itching.

Is it sorrow? Is it restlessness?

When I look into the bedroom, I fear love.

I have flashes of dreams, of running hand in hand down a road in the rain, dodging the cars and laughing.

Of waking up and cooking breakfast for someone.

That I'm happy, intimate, that I don't think romance is dead, that I'm with someone that sees me, understands me, loves me.

I spend way too much time thinking about that, because the more I do, the more I fear it.

The inevitable disappointment, the scaling back of passion to the Little Love that sustains a relationship alongside dogged commitment and a refusal to give up.

I am not sure this shows on my face. My eyes are dry.


Amy said...

I just randomly stumbled upon your blog. I tried to express this sentiment on my own blog... but I just sounded like a loser (and ultimately deleted it hehe). But I just wanted to say this entry was beautiful.

Immodesty Blaze said...

Thanks Amy! That's really kind.. I'm sure you didnt't sound like a loser.. Switch off that inner critic now!

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