Optimism
December 3rd, 2017
Optimism and I
have a complicated relationship.
It’s as if we are an elderly, married couple that has spent
the better half of four decades together and
can recite every story from the other’s youth in a moment’s notice.
Somehow,
we have developed this telepathic connection and
can tell what the other is going to say
before the words have crossed split lips or formed on
sand-paper tongues.
Our heartbeats have synced and
to this day I can still count out the slow pulse on
my scalloped fingers.
I know that the rain
that taps on our fogged-over window in October makes his
joints ache and he
knows that the breeze coming off the bay in late May
instills in me a sense of peace and serenity
only found on that small sliver of beach.
Optimism and I
have a long,
complicated history to say the least.
It is mostly comprised of his
uneven comings and goings and,
as long as we have known each other,
he has never stayed for more than a few sporadic moments.
I accepted this fate.
I accepted the breaks in communication and
formulated an existence in his absences.
Each time he went silent and
ripped out the seams of normalcy I had knitted together,
I found a home in rolling mountains and old friends,
between crinkled notebook pages and coffee-stained textbooks.
Somehow,
the constant inconsistencies worked for us,
or at least I liked to believe, and
I fell into the irregular cadence of his existence.
I found complacency in his discord and
regularity in his volatility.
Recently,
Optimism has left me again for reasons
I cannot comprehend.
Despite my ability to stand on an illuminated stage,
reading poetry composed of clandestine secrets and
latent fears
to a sea of unfamiliar, unknown shadows,
I have yet to work up the courage to ask
why.
Why
does he comes and go as he pleases,
always absent when December begins nipping with bleek teeth and
a phantom of someone I thought I knew until March rears its thawing head?
We have played this game of hide and seek for too many months.
At first, I believed in the disparities and
thought I could manifest them into something more
easily controlled.
Foolishly,
my ziptied heart fell for a spector and
how can you love something so intangible?
So impalpable?
Years of history,
months of moments spent sitting in a heated car in
vacant lots,
discussing what we were doing with our lives,
hours of coffee-fueled stolen seconds by gurgling fountains and
quick side glances
can’t fill in the cavities left where his hands and
smile used to be.
You see,
when inconsistency and omission become reality,
brief moments of happiness
can’t make up for the gaping wounds of back and forth.
Optimism and I
have a complicated relationship to say the least.
We never seem to see eye to eye and always argue about who is right and
fall apart every few months because we can’t seem to find even footing on this
rocky stage anymore.
Opinions becomes facts and he can’t remember to tell me he loves me and
I was simply an emotional Band-Aid.
Optimism and I
have a complicated relationship.
But maybe,
this time around on the emotional carousel,
our history will finally show us that
inconsistencies and deficiencies
don’t last indefinitely.
December 3rd, 2017
Optimism and I
have a complicated relationship.
It’s as if we are an elderly, married couple that has spent
the better half of four decades together and
can recite every story from the other’s youth in a moment’s notice.
Somehow,
we have developed this telepathic connection and
can tell what the other is going to say
before the words have crossed split lips or formed on
sand-paper tongues.
Our heartbeats have synced and
to this day I can still count out the slow pulse on
my scalloped fingers.
I know that the rain
that taps on our fogged-over window in October makes his
joints ache and he
knows that the breeze coming off the bay in late May
instills in me a sense of peace and serenity
only found on that small sliver of beach.
Optimism and I
have a long,
complicated history to say the least.
It is mostly comprised of his
uneven comings and goings and,
as long as we have known each other,
he has never stayed for more than a few sporadic moments.
I accepted this fate.
I accepted the breaks in communication and
formulated an existence in his absences.
Each time he went silent and
ripped out the seams of normalcy I had knitted together,
I found a home in rolling mountains and old friends,
between crinkled notebook pages and coffee-stained textbooks.
Somehow,
the constant inconsistencies worked for us,
or at least I liked to believe, and
I fell into the irregular cadence of his existence.
I found complacency in his discord and
regularity in his volatility.
Recently,
Optimism has left me again for reasons
I cannot comprehend.
Despite my ability to stand on an illuminated stage,
reading poetry composed of clandestine secrets and
latent fears
to a sea of unfamiliar, unknown shadows,
I have yet to work up the courage to ask
why.
Why
does he comes and go as he pleases,
always absent when December begins nipping with bleek teeth and
a phantom of someone I thought I knew until March rears its thawing head?
We have played this game of hide and seek for too many months.
At first, I believed in the disparities and
thought I could manifest them into something more
easily controlled.
Foolishly,
my ziptied heart fell for a spector and
how can you love something so intangible?
So impalpable?
Years of history,
months of moments spent sitting in a heated car in
vacant lots,
discussing what we were doing with our lives,
hours of coffee-fueled stolen seconds by gurgling fountains and
quick side glances
can’t fill in the cavities left where his hands and
smile used to be.
You see,
when inconsistency and omission become reality,
brief moments of happiness
can’t make up for the gaping wounds of back and forth.
Optimism and I
have a complicated relationship to say the least.
We never seem to see eye to eye and always argue about who is right and
fall apart every few months because we can’t seem to find even footing on this
rocky stage anymore.
Opinions becomes facts and he can’t remember to tell me he loves me and
I was simply an emotional Band-Aid.
Optimism and I
have a complicated relationship.
But maybe,
this time around on the emotional carousel,
our history will finally show us that
inconsistencies and deficiencies
don’t last indefinitely.