Together We Sit

Filed Under: Poetry, Storytelling, Literature.

Overhead the sunlight glitters through playful pines.

The earth inhales while we walk along the path. Gently, waters tumble over an outcropping. I felt as if the world was listening to us: one and…the other. He was younger than myself. His face, pointed so, walks carefully, cautiously. He is so quiet this morning. I needed no words to reassure myself why.

I drape an arm around his shoulder. We stop to sit at a wind-worn park bench settled in untamed tufts of grass. I look into his…I look into what was left of those eyes. Empty sockets they were; still gazing.

“I did this,” he musters.

My thoughts sit in between the two of us. He could feel it. His voice, calm with courage, battered with horror. “I couldn’t go on to see something so…”

I cut his words cleanly. “You aren’t vile, or disgusting, or whatever words you choose to describe yourself. You’re beautiful. I can see that. I can see why I love you…but…why…”

“I’m sorry.” he spouts.

The winds warm with curiousity press against us. My fingertips carefully caress down the side of his face. I avoid his eyes, but my motions point them out. He backs away; I can see his tousled hair sway with the breeze.

I lean back. With a creak the bench becomes comfortable with my new pose. I begin to speak hoping that today’s words would lift his chin and bring back his vision. “What you saw…”

I pause.

“Day after day
  the vility seeps into your wounds.

This is a projection woven for our eyes;
  we are bound into the undergrowth;
    the soil is pure.

Paved with a false light
  we are invited
  in a leap to the surface.

Two branches two lovers,
  drinking from a trunk shared,
    enveloped in sky light glare.”

Tears fell where tears did not exist. He inched close again.

“The poison pools beneath our toes.” He sullenly whispers. “The poison is real. The poison must be real. If we know our future is so, why do we choose to grow?”

“That is our nature.” I conclude. “Whither cast if we do not believe in our nature.
  We are exposed whether or not our vision beholds.

  In vision destroyed we can still see the vility borne from our own horror.”

His body curls as it had in previous times. It was at these times when I never knew what to say. But I knew of his love. I knew he was here. I could hold him once again in my arms. This is his gift.

I assure, “I know you are still here. I know you can still see…see that we are still two branches.”

From beneath his breath, “Drinking from a trunk shared.”

Published: 2 years, 11 months ago