Café et Mots

Café et Mots

Crispness spikes my soul

and let's me see with heightened eyes.

The world dreams for tomorrow as I stand at the graveyard of our best memories.

Trees and houses look as tiny and as real as my childhood toys.

Making me question; Where you are and why am I here wrapped in blankets larger than the mountains that surround me with doubt.

via jenifer.typepad.com

Tu me manques

The first gray sky has fallen and now night and winter sneak slyly behind,

whispering of your departure.

Your arms and eyes guide me through tangled skyscrapers

and misdirected signals.

Your pace quickens as I stumble with unsuccessful steps.

You try to quiet the truth that lays behind, while I feed it's fuel ignoring the consequences.

The sky falls in around us and the city that never sleeps has turned down the volume just enough to hear the panic in our breath.

Did we die that night hand in hand, scared and tired?

I miss you. I miss me.

via jenifer.typepad.com

Je suis tres fatiguee!

I'm tired of hearing just my own voice, and tired of seeing you listen with fake ears. You can't give anyone justice by throwing mere labels at their existence. So I'll paint my words on your lips while you erase the sounds of my smiles. Sit sideways on that yellow square and eat up your unsaturated words.

via jenifer.typepad.com

EMPTY

2003-07-11 - 2:35 a.m. EMPTY I'm sitting watching my fingernails dance across the cement my hand feels lonely without them I'm looking for hands that might be similar enough but all I can find are eyes your glance gives me comfort for a moment but I want more coloring with our crayons we pick the design and laugh at the dank fullness of our glances we sit next to each other wanting so much but we can only temporarily steal boredom

via jenifer.typepad.com

ma tristesse

A ghost sits with me

whispering secrets 

within a box of my own creation. 

We sit 

and I believe its stories.

The cold starts to become welcoming 

and I forget the warmth of your touch. 

So, I sit here thinking this is all there is

in a box of my own creation. 

Your Footprint is Everywhere

What happens to the gifted objects tangible and not?
Do the disappear like the memories of our smiles?
Now I’m forced to stare at you with her … I try to look away but your voice carries me back … back to misrepresented memories.
I know your real nature … or do I … I keep receiving mix signals.
One moment you look at me with eyes of a lover lost
next you look at her with those same eyes – found.
I don’t want you. I don’t want us.
But
I don’t want our memories to die.
I’m left with your mother’s earring, old shirts and distorted photos all while your music fills my ears.
I remind myself of your coldness.
But your kindness overrides it.
I remind myself of your somberness.
But your humor conquers it.
I remind myself of anything that will make me hate you.
It worked when we were together
Why not now?
Will you be there for her when she needs you or will you uphold your tradition of false promises?
I was told by many
that you killed my soul
and
I was told many things.
But it was me
It was us.
I know the past cannot change but I wish I could paste myself back into the night we talked till 6am over tea
or
when marriage was set on the table
not realizing that divorce was dessert
You want to stay friends
but I told you the truth
And
You didn’t understand.
I had been here before … too many times.
Pride - yours
Pride - mine
We had too much of it
and I know I still do
and maybe that’s why this hurts sooo bad.
You have her
And seem happy
And I have ____. I have the leftovers of nothing,
I can’t help wondering if anyone can see my flaws in the light that you saw them.
You are the only one besides me
that knows the truth.
I don’t know what to say to that.
But seeing you with your eyes and her
I know there is no more room for delusions.
And wondering how many true loves a person can really have
I have had 3
Is there any left?

L'amitié

Ne marche pas devant moi, je ne suivrai peut-être pas.
Ne marche pas derrière moi, je ne te guiderai peut-être pas.

Marche juste à côté de moi et sois mon ami. ~~~Albert Camus

My Architecture Says it All

   

I want to spell your name with the memories of today.
Say it with the look you gave me yesterday ... the smile.
          Time stopped again as I say your name
                 with my posture
                       moving
                               slowly
                                     still.

In progress

expectations

Frayed edges lay at every girls feet.
Expectations of great height
where
long legs
fall short.
The frays at the ends of our feet show the world much more than old jeans.

The Daily Walk

We just met. I try to tell you my life story in a matter of minutes. Did I mention that I love philosophy too. I say so much but I tell you so little. I give you my stories, my words, my poetry and a faint smile and I walk away.

Fake

She sat at a café down the street of her favorite bookstore, Madame, ordering a black coffee only to add in 3 creams and 2 sugars when no one was looking. Sophistication came in black but she was hot pink. She stared out of the wall-sized window and analyzed every shoe that walked by-every smile. Stirring her coffee that barely saw her mouth, she sighed with an acknowledgment that she was being watched. She wondered if he knew that she noticed him noticing her. He did. A man about 6 foot 4 skinny with broad shoulders sat next to her and said, “Do you mind?” she replied, “No” but really meant yes. Even though he was handsome she wanted to be alone with just the accompaniment of the sun shinning through the window. He introduced himself as Brendan and she Emily. They jumped into a conversation that was 3 weeks too early. Bypassing small talk and falling into deep philosophical rants. They talked as if their words would change the world. She resented him and loved him at the same time. Instantaneous love was something she was a pro at.He could not get passed her eyes; eyes that reminded him of his bittersweet existence.

Even though they talked till the café had closed they did not exchange numbers, both were too scared. She talked philosophy and her views of political parties and of books that changed her life. She wanted him to see her intelligence more than her personality. He did the same. 

At first she thought that she would not return to the cozy café that filled the tail end of her days. She was nervous that she would see him again and have to sell her words once more. Her mind was much more interesting but in times of nervousness her words betrayed her but the day before her words betrayed her more so by being accurate. This had happened once before; her first impression would and could only be followed by disappointment.Nevertheless, she decided to look sophisticated and order her black coffee. This time the sun playfully hid in clouds that were meant to only exist in summer. The sky was the same hue as the water of her favorite childhood beach. She decided to sit outside, something she rarely did anymore. Face tilted upward, eyes closed she felt the warmth of the sun and wondered where her love for the outdoors went. She was not the same person anymore. A shadow’s cold bite made her open her eyes half expecting Brendan half expecting another cloud. There he was again interrupting her thoughts. “I bought you a copy of the book I told you about”, he said with the faintest smile disappearing before emerging. She glared upward squinting. The sun created a halo that made him seem more innocent than he was. She halfway hoped the light did the same to her. “Thank you”, she replied after looking over the cover and flipping through the pages. Then he walked away. She felt like yelling out to him to wait but she thought they were both better off if she didn’t. She was eager to read her new gift. She felt that a book showed more about the person who gave it to you than anything else; music was a close second.

 She left the café in a daze and headed towards her favorite bench by the lake. The bench was metal and was terribly uncomfortable but the aesthetics and remote location dissolved any pain. She laid and read for hours. Each word told her more about him and with each word she fell more deeply in love. The light by the bench signified that night had come. By the last pages her life with him played out in her head. On the last page he left the name of a local bar, Faust, and underneath scribbled was his number. At first, she was taken aback but decided to call him and meet up for some drinks. 

 As she opened the door of her apartment she threw her bag on the desk in the entry way. Magazines sat uncomfortable next to her books just as her body did next to her mind. She had looks, tall and slender with eyes: eyes that told the stories that she kept hidden. Her attempted style was one of sophistication but her clothes said otherwise. Her shirt was always wrinkled in the back and her jackets were worn. Her look always appeared to be as if she was playing dress up, with over sized heels and one too many necklaces. Staring at the magazines she imagined what she would wear out to Faust the next night. She sold him her intellect now she wanted him to see more. She over thought as she left the house in an outfit that belonged to someone else. He sensed the difference in her as soon as her saw her. Too much makeup too much work. Nevertheless, they talked till 4 as they drank the night away. Kierkegaard, Dennett, Hofstadter, Kant were all at the table. Their words knitted. She slipped into the world of who she once was and left the bar with him. Stumbling up to his apartment door, the world began to feel real for a minute and she started to have second thoughts but his words pulled her back in to the blurry realm of sensations. Arm and arm they walked in and she smiled. 

The morning sun gave arise to shapes on his back as Brendan got up to take a shower. She sat up and wondered if she could leave before he returned. Staring at her feet she placed her toes in last nights pantyhose and last nights clothes; they smelled like smoke and sweat. She hated putting them on and contemplated walking home naked. Dressed and tired she waited for him. He never offered his shower and she never asked. Her thoughts raced but her body was numb as he walked back into the room. She smiled in a way that Brendan had never seen. The smile seemed too real as if she was about to tell him the truth of something he already knew but didn't care to know. Emily opened her mouth and spoke sounds that held no meaning and said with resignation, “never mind”, and walked out of the room. As she headed out of his apartment she glanced into the mirror wishing for once that a mirror would show her more than the surface … she needed one that showed her soul. She was too good at showing the world what they wanted to see. No would ever know how dark and empty she really was. And for the most part neither would she. 

Reality in the dreams of waking life

Best friends move, people break up, the ideas of what the future is suppose to look lay dead on the floor but all the changes I have come across has lead me to the assertion of one too many cliches. I'm finding with each day that in order to have something you want come true one truly needs to take the matters into their own hands. For instance, I've wanted to go to Europe preferably France for years and kept waiting for my Aunt to fulfill her promise. So after years started to go by I decided to apply for a summer in Paris and take out a loan to pay for it. After my family and friends saw how hard I was working to take matters into my own hands the more help I started to receive. I'm still taking out a loan but not as large as before (Thanks Dad, Aunt Carol, Granny) and I'm flying into Amsterdam a few days before the program to stay with my Aunt. I truly do not think this trip has fully registered with me yet but I am starting to realize I am doing the things I wanted to do but never thought I could ... I am so excited!

And I am finally in junior status!

no more hero no more guitar no more music

Your fingertips danced in front of me.

Telling me stories of what I already knew I had

but denied daily.

So now all I have is your faint prints

on all my processions

and they won't scrub off.

So I try to play your melodies

but my fingers can't reach past my notes.

Please help me play our song.

Tu me manques

The first gray sky has fallen and now night and winter sneak slyly behind,

whispering of your departure.

Your arms and eyes guide me through tangled skyscrapers

and misdirected signals.

Your pace quickens as I stumble with unsuccessful steps.

You try to quiet the truth that lays behind, while I feed it's fuel ignoring the consequences.

The sky falls in around us and the city that never sleeps has turned down the volume just enough to hear the panic in our breath.

Did we die that night hand in hand, scared and tired?

I miss you. I miss me.

Dusty and desolate we sit within four undressed walls

Where one mattress with no purpose lay near near death with it's best memories forgotten years ago.