So, my sweet dream
Here we are again.
You know the words I wish I could say,
They are carved into your heart
As they are burned into my soul
Maybe is such a terrible curse.
We held each other’s eyes as though we could change the reality, we hoped and knowing the answers never mattered.
Your sweet smile was a cold fire on that forgotten landscape, clear and simple we prayed, our movements echoed through eternity as we imagined what might have been forever, what could never be one day, that anchor cut loose and we drifted away from our only chance.
If time had a pen, we would have maps and the journey would always take us home, we would dance in front of bonfires and the chanting mother’s would bless the rebirth of winter with a sacrifice freely offered and accepted by the ancient.
If, maybe, these ideas are not as hard as truth, these thoughts do not provide a loving touch.
Here we are, my sparkling sapphire.
We have limits and rules for our insanity, we have stolen the fire from the mountain and left in its place a key with no lock.
In uncertainty have these words stripped my skin from bones too old to grow.
Belief has borrowed flavors, and we taste the memories of what has never come.
Your love will decode my cypher and you will know my cruelty. I have chosen a road away from our Paradise, you will wait with no name for the return of visions lost in pieces.
I will secure the gates behind my hands, so that none will know my betrayal.
I know, and you know.
They talked about what was lost, what had been taken away
They cried about broken trust and they poured out their rage
I sat in the circle wanting to fix them, not speaking
They took turns revealing wounds and scars and falling to pieces
They saw each other as safety, recognition of shared experience
I cried quietly and wanted to undo their past
They looked at me and asked the question
I couldn’t speak
I couldn’t share
I hadn’t lost anything
I could still see the untouched, innocent, pure picture of me, in my head
I couldn’t reach him, but he wasn’t dead
So I didn’t tell them I understood, because I didn’t
I didn’t spill my hurts, my pains, my betrayals,
I was scared that they could tell the difference
If I showed my wounds
They would know that I hurt so much more for theirs
If I told my story they would hear the disregard I held for myself, they would know that I could see the hurt, but not feel it, I could remember the pain but never touch it, I could still hear the little boy crying and screaming in my mind but I couldn’t reach him to offer comfort,
So I didn’t say anything, in that room where five teenage girls explained how they were abused, and I never explained why I was there.
I kept my words inside and I never thought much of it,
I couldn’t feel how hurt that boy was,
I could feel the pain of those girls and my sisters and my friends and all the girls and women who had been hurt, I could see how they would suffer without end, and I was a boy turning into a man, I had no time to fit suffering into the plan, whatever I felt was moss growing on the other side of the wall, I know that it was there but I couldn’t reach it at all
But I could have spoken up in that room
I should have
That little boy deserved some respect