Nothing haunts me more than the things I never had the courage to say.
Partnered with longing to take back spears thrown in the heat of battle, or the enmeshment of insecurities weaving a relationship fabric so warped, it serves as a battle flag to avoid that same slope and ditch in the future.
Destiny. Fate. Karma. God. Loneliness. Consequence. No consequence. Proximity. Repetition. Inebriation. Lust. Curiosity. Boredom. Challenge. The Hunt. The Ease. Familiarity. Chemistry. The Lure of What We Cannot Readily Have. The Urge to Fix. Genuine attraction. The Need to Disappear. The Hope of Being Found.
Many and random are the ways we come to each other. Complicated and baffling, passionately embroiled or dispassionately detached, waltzing in circles until one makes a move. Then another. And, still, another, until we are picking up speed and lowering eyes and taking down walls and dropping to our knees in gratitude that someone, finally, Loves us.
Flaws and all.
Secrets and perversions and all.
Quirks and habits and rituals and all.
Agendas, addictions, disintegration and slang and dented armor.
It all falls away
Layer upon layer
As the larch and birch shed summer
Leaving us raw, naked
Unhinged and insane
And out in left field, limbs to the sky,
one more time
Until you finally have the courage to come back inside
And sit beside the empty chair, lay
In the empty bed, curse
The words and venom and
Shamed by fear, ask, and ask
And ask
Forgiveness.
Dar Dawson 2015
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