I Can't See The Future

I think I knew that it would end this way. The whole time, I wanted it to be different, to be something more. But deep inside my heart, I could feel the pulling away. I warned myself quietly not to get too involved. I placed a large wall in the way, because I knew - how can two people from two different worlds ever live a life of love together? There are no answers that will make this easier for either of us. We can pass and smile, but there will never again be that spark in our eyes when we see one another. And yet, I can hope for the future. For without that hope, what do I have left? Love seems to be a lesson for me. I hope I learn before the next time around.

Why Does It Work This Way?

I can't seem to get this right. No matter how hard I try, I fall for it every time and it gets harder and harder to pick myself up. I say I won't let myself hurt like that again, I say that my heart is fine, but I lose a piece every time this happens. And maybe the truth is, I set myself up to fall like this. I mean, everyone falls at one point or another; maybe I just make sure it is earlier on so there is less pain and I am in control of the decision to let go. Or maybe, I am afraid of what will happen the first time I make it without falling. I just don't know if I can fly anymore.

Getting Over You

The world it spins with not a thought about you,
and life breathes in, breathes out and lets you go.
Time moves on as though it never knew you,
and you are gone.

Untitled

Slowly, methodically, and with intent you began to write me out of your script. It started with small lines, short scenes where I was not allowed to make an appearance. My character was replaced with no-names or whomever was handiest. Holding back tears, I accepted my fate, ever hoping that if I just stayed near to the cameras, you would somehow let me back into the final scene. But it never happens the way that we want it to.

At the premier, I saw how pleased you were, standing, watching the credits roll. I sat on the last row, close to the door, in the dark. I never saw my name, but what hurt more, you never realized that it was not there. I left before you could see my shoulders shaking with sobs that would not be swallowed. And you never called to see where I was.

Still, you should know, I am your biggest fan. I hope you get an Oscar.

In Memory

Wilderness Friend,

This is goodbye. I will miss your brillance, the way you turned a phrase, the beauty of your mind upon the page. May every sunrise take your breath away and may your life be full of wonder.

The Way It Always Goes

This is the moment that you know
That you told her that you loved her but you don't
You touch her skin and then you think
She is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.
Yeah, she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

I spent two weeks in Silverlake
The California sun cascading down my face
There was a girl with light brown streaks
And she was beautiful but she didn't mean a thing to me.
Yeah she was beautiful but she didn't mean a thing to me.

I wanted to believe in all the words that I was speaking
As we moved together in the dark
And all the friends that I was telling
And all the playful misspellings
And every bite I gave you left a mark
And tiny vessels oozed into your neck
And formed the bruises
That you said you didn't want to fade
But they did and so did I that day

All I see are dark grey clouds
In the distance moving closer with every hour
So when you ask "was something wrong?"
I think "you're damn right there is but we can't talk about it now.
No, we can't talk about it now."

So one last touch and then you'll go
And we'll pretend that it meant something so much more
But it was vile, and it was cheap
And you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me
Yeah you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me

The Love Aquatic

Norman and I have loved each other since the day we met. He believes that he fell into my life entirely by chance, but I know it was a gift of fate. I had just moved into a new house in a new neighborhood and, although the apartment was everything I had hoped for, it was a lonely place in the summer. My new neighbors were an older couple who had three cats and no children; their names were Russell and Lillian. Russell liked to wear corduroy trousers and I could always hear him coming down the hall, swish-swish, swish-swish. The light in the hall shone off of his bald, shiny head as he held the door open for Lillian. Lillian in her voluminous, brightly-colored house dress and plastic shoes clumping into my foyer with a huge grin on her wrinkly face.

“Katharine, this is Norman.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat at the sight of him and my cheeks turned the same delicate shade as my pale sweater. I smiled, he stayed and here we are; happy and content. He is simple, so much less complicated than I. His big, gentle eyes melt my heart and we spend the evenings together, side by side; I read or write poetry and he contemplates the existence of a bigger reality. I have never felt so fulfilled.

Today though, Jackson brought to light certain behavior patterns in the life of my love that have me worried. Jackson lives in an apartment complex on the other side of town. I met him at work and we took turns making dinner once a week. Tonight was my night and we were chopping peppers, cucumbers, and tomatoes for the salad. I refuse to believe that Norman cares as little for me as Jackson tells me he does. I tried to convince both Jackson and myself that Norman and I had something special, something that brought us together and would keep us together.

“He gets excited when I come home and I know he is happy to see me,” I informed Jackson while he diced the tomatoes. “I can tell by the look on his face that he loves me.” I tossed a handful of lettuce into the wooden bowl on the counter defiantly.

Jackson looked at me out of the corner of his eye, “Katharine, goldfish have, like, a three-second memory. Not only is he not happy to see you, he doesn’t even remember who you are. Maybe you should get a dog.”

Copyright 2005 - Katharine A. Newell