do you have a room in your house where you keep the lovely things that are cherished but b r o k e n by accident or on purpose to signify your materialism but with a sentimental value attached to them beyond the 4th dimension?
(there might be incomplete pieces of board games from your childhood that hide the wear and tear you had to bear.
there might be shards of glass from your favourite vase that you threw at the wall in frustration but cried about later.
or there might be gifts in there from friends you used to know but don’t fit your life anymore, as they don’t match the decor.)
so i gaze out the window of this first floor café.
a squirrel munches on an orange flower for it’s lunch,
sparrows play hide and seek in the vines that traverse the lawn,
people filter in and out.
a gentleman in a tweed jacket smokes his cigarette,
after two more, he opens the door and warmth escapes the room.
you’re picking out tomatoes from your salad,
my fork and spoon lay untouched.
i pick up my knife and cut the cutlet i ordered in two,
put the half on your plate,
and muster up the courage to say, “I need a break.”
you look relieved but don’t say a word.
I’m the spectator in this story, sitting in the corner with a cup of coffee. I tried to narrate what the person was witnessing in that state of mind via metaphors and subtle signs she was picking up in the room as she asked for what she wanted.
i’ve bet on a winning horse. i’ve played high stakes poker with a royal flush. the slots aren’t fun, and whenever that little wheel spins, it lands on your lucky number, and then i remember you. can’t you see i’m bored? these are games of involuntary solitude. you know i’ll give up all of them, if you glance at my table like you used to.
who cares what cards we’ve been dealt, i just want you hold them and sit there. you have such a sweet tell when i call your bluff, your eyes turn left and you smirk. you look pretty enough for me to paint in excruciating detail. i wish i had some memories to guide my brush, if i can ever find the right colours. the world is one painting short and i care very much.
(the title twenty one is another name for blackjack, and the attached image is a royal flush from poker)
*interested in this stuff from a mathematical point of view only*
This year has been one long day, And if it’s just us, All the moments blur into one.
Our unresolved issues, My unmet expectations And fights I surfeit, Compress the space I desperately want, From the thoughts I don’t really need.
Just when I think we are past that, Chaos begets chaos, And with a vengeance, Our old habits resurface to polarize new beginnings, Into what’s worth and not.
We fall back on wasted memories like memorabilia, Hang on tight to albums and dog-eared novellas. Remnants of words that were once said, Remain tessellated on tinted windows, And echo in the close chambers through which we see the future.
This is about how our own fears and negative thoughts can be suffocating for us. I posted this last year but it felt gloomy back then. Still does, but I think my perspective and the connection to this piece has changed.