Through the Words, Do You See Me?
I knew you once, perhaps. We met in stories and crossing highlights and even in a rudimentary conversation-ish exchange. And then, after dabbling in each other’s deep inner core, we snapped photos of beating hearts, both the light and dark side, before the exit drew near. But, did you see me? Were you a tourist or was your aim to stay? Were the words only worth a glance or did they bring you in for an extended visit? I am open in the only way I know. Though the road, direct and smoothly paved, invites a slow trespass if only you’ll take it. If you read the words, read beyond them, read them into your own, then, perhaps, you will see me. For I am exposed and waiting.
I knew you once and yet, when we met again I reinvented you and you reimagined me, as if before we weren’t enough. You are beautiful, maybe. If only I needed to see, if my imagination weren’t sufficiently hungry, then perhaps words wouldn’t suffice. And may my words cut deep enough to unravel every fiber of your being so that I may stitch you back together with due care, delicately but not lacking some deep passion. Let me make you wild, crazed, even. And possessed with something immortally beautiful, something frightening. Let me shrink below you so that words are my only offer. May they slow your advance, be meaningful enough so that you, in turn, unravel me and build me again. May you see me.
We met once. In stories, we dispelled with modern niceties and superficial back and forth. Words were all that was available to us and make use of them we did. We twisted them up with some sort of emotional magic and memories profoundly layered, ready to be mined. There is only truth in writing should you proceed with the excavation. This is what we had and what we gave. And for you I gave it all, laid bare the clues for you to find, a map as delicate as its treasure. May you find it. And may you see me.
