Friday, October 25, 2024

Real or not I’m stunned april 11, 2014

 

perhaps for the most powerful of the poems t she emailed me 2 years ago came on April 17th 2012 and has a poem that had -- looking back made clear just how horrible my betrayal of her became later it is a poem I have since read often and will likely read many more times in the future a kind of penance for my later sins and since the poem in those in the use of my full name there can be no doubt about for whom it was written

it opens by thanking God or whomever is looking down from a ridiculous Crystal sky and how she struggled how to get me near her resolve crumbling when he came to that fucking door and I told her that I could not look my wife in the eyes if she and I got involved

I thought it was done she wrote I thought my world said had so augmented by your beauty was taken away from me again

good things gone again she points out

but when she came to my desk and looked in my eyes her soul sword and her self-control evaporated my look she said gave her life and took a life away from her in a single simple glance this passage would return to haunt me later when reading her poem to her lover early last year about how she felt in that moment in the Sun in one poem and how intense the sex was in another and later made me realize when rereading this poem she had once had similar powerful feelings towards me

“I felt my control go, and I fell hard,” she wrote. “Nearly died. You gave me life and took it from me in a simple statement, and a simple, complex, impossible glance.”

Again looking back, this poem has all the hyberbole of the poem she posted about lover early last year, how after having had sex with him, she could die happy (or something of that sort).

Her poems goes on, talking about how I followed her out, helping her escape the abyss of the normal, and how I became her guide to breeze and water, the salvation of moving liquid, cleansing.

Here, she raising the specter of darkness, of waking, night after night, lost and screaming and wishing for death.

“Yes, I still do,” she wrote.

She said she is good at hiding things, but not from me, and all of a sudden – and here she uses my full name – all was perfect.

“Time stood still which never happens, and I saw you, your eyes, heard your voice that soothes me and once again, it all made sense, but it didn’t, because none of it makes any fucking sense except that it does when you are there.”

To this day, two years later, I can’t be certain if this was a put on or not.

I keep going back and forth on it, wondering how in less than a month’s time we had gone from relative strangers to this intensity.

It seemed then and now, too good to be true, while during the months that followed, when she transitioned to others in our office, trickling up, I briefly believed she was manipulating me, only to later (and even now) wish she sincerely felt this about me

“I fucking cried, and you did it,” she wrote, then made reference to time as I alluded to, “In less than a week, you took me in.”

Her heart beat slowed to the rhythm of my breath, describing the office we worked in as a “shit show” which no longer mattered.

She said her soul felt soothed as if we had done this before, something she couldn’t explain, and didn’t want ot.

“I want you,” she wrote. “There by the water, holding me, the sound f your voice rescuing me, and helping me to rescue myself.”

She said she could not respond with anything, and it didn’t matter, because she believed I knew her, always and forever.

If this was a deception, it worked.

Each time I reread the poem, I am captivated again, as lost in limbo as the poem implies she was at that time, and much later, reading it again, I came to believe just how much I lost – whether the feelings she expressed were honest, didn’t matter, to me they did, and continue to, long after the smoke as cleared and she has moved on.


email to Al Sullivan

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