Engagement

There is a place of soft snow, rainfall like stones, grey days and muted sun,

a green hued lake where fractured rays so bright it breaks the eye to squints,

a hand-built house, yellow tinged, lined with windows looking ever in,

surrounded all by tall thick pine trees, a bed of dewy grass and brittle leaves and high fields in Fall,

Low fields in spring.

There is the smell of lilac there, from cul-de-sacs along the gravel road, a smell of asphalt light along the wind,

fresh cut grass, a hint of dampness, a dash of pollen and dust.

There is the constant sound of bugs, a clicking tick, the sandpaper of leaves, there is punctuation of bird song.

This all dies in winter times to a bright, living, vibrant white and much louder silence, a stillness in the air heard

and sensed along the skin, prickling and sharp — winter bites.

This place whose name is known to me but not believed.

This place is recalled unbidden and frequent,

though long since I’ve moved to a place of populated air, a mist for storms, everbright blue days, and constant sun.

I came to a land of sand and sea, pale blue with white froth rushing back and forth with soft lapping sound, 

a modern house of yellow clay, with little yard and tile floors and wide open rooms,

and beyond cramped clay and steel, the drone and whistle of traffic,

a great expanse of lives.

The air brings with it the smell of population, it is complicated and subtle, known only by knowing

what it smells like without, exhaust fumes too, a whiff of oranges.

The school bells ring loud and jarring at all hours, police sirens and garbage truck bells, dog barks.

And everyday all this again but mixed together in constant variance of similarity,

this place I’ve come to for reasons.

This place whose name I gave but gave it falsely.

In bed, our foreheads pressed together softly, strongly, our skull walls coming down,

Making windows to see into each other’s mind’s — a broad expanse for our dreams to settle in,

The light of each other’s curiosity and trust and hung’rous desire to understand sweeping

To the darkened corners and clearing cobwebs from antiquated memories,

Wrapped in blankets, our heads pressed up into a ceiling of down,

Our fingers jointed together in steeples, palms planted firmly together, soft skin to soft skin,

Legs wound round one another, winding up to our waists,

The smell of cologne, shampoo, soap, perfume, and Crest,

A soft, strong thumping sound and the light sound of hot breath,

All faded sweetly while our hewn form leaves a space between us, domed twice and tapering to point.

There is a heart between us in the space, a space we fill with everything that we love,

This space walled in on both sides with everything that we are, a safe space walled by us.

And with our eyes locked, a beam between us, at last:

This is home.

 

Sometimes Kristen sees similarities between herself and some of my other exes.  She sees the line and form of a face to be much like her own, similar hair, a similar body structure.  She has read in my words a description of her attached to another name — or so she thinks.  But I am the one who knows these people best, and it is only my limited knowledge and vocabulary that leads her to these conclusions…how could I have known that someone like her would have come along?  She makes my hope and faith seem trivial, I never expected someone so wonderful.  So it is just that I went to spend the words in poor ways on other names and faces.  As extreme and passionate as my heart and mind are, they did not know the extent of love yet, the extent of beauty, of perfection, of true love.

I will admit that not everything that I have done and thought has flattered her, perhaps.  I am an arrogant, fool-hardy person at times.  I believe in my own rightness.  I am lucky that she seems able to allow me to believe what I want though it stands starkly against her beliefs.  I know I feel sometimes affront by her beliefs, as if she may be indeed attempting to break me of them, but my resoluteness is absolute.  I have experienced a great deal in my years, a great deal that will continue to be expanded and developed, but, for now, feels very rich indeed.  Enough to give me confidence that I have at least a good inclination of what life is about, at least my own.

When I first read her diary, I thought: here is a broken girl.  Here is a girl who has had something horrible happen to her at an age too young to deserve it.  Worse to me, it combined not simply emotional and mental agony, but was involved on physical levels as well, something tangible and altogether more profound to those who have not experienced such physical tragedies.  She was only 18 after all, just legal, just about to enter college, she was and is very young still.  Only in body.  I have never onced when listening to her thought of her as her age…except perhaps in her slang and colloquialisms which are a bit fresher than mine leaving me feel quite like I’m starting to become elderly.  But it makes me smile at that. 

Nevertheless, here was a girl who I found frightening and tragic, beautiful to behold.  I think I can say that I loved her from the moment I first read her entries.  She had a way with words that was very profound, her poetry is very strong in its use of language.  It is also quite succinct, which is something we all know I tend not to be too good at and which I admire. 

Kristen has said that she has had her armor up, but it went beyond that.  To me she not only had donned plate mail, but she had picked up a sword too.  She was not just protecting herself, she was actively seeking to destroy that which had marred her past.  Some would say she was vindictive, however, I think the word cannot be rightly used as only she is the one who was there, who saw and read the nuances of behavior in each and every individual that she dealt with in her way.  A way that is not mine to divulge.  Who knows if every single person she says she hurt deserved it or if perhaps, the harming of one individual who truly deserved it warrants the harming of all those who didn’t.  This is an issue for us each to judge on our own and not to express to others, not at least to ALL others. 

But I knew better than to think that she was cold.  I knew better than to think that she had no heart.  Even though sometimes she asserted she didn’t.  Even though sometimes she would assert she wasn’t broken, which is often the case with anyone and something I’ve felt myself thinking at times, I knew she was.  We are, almost all, I feel broken in some degree, it is just how much and how it affects us that colors us in our own unique beauty.  I saw with what little logic I do possess (I am not a fan of reason), that someone who felt they were right in their harsh actions would not feel a need to justify them repeatedly.  That indeed, a person who tries to

justify all that they do is concerned with "right," whatever "right" may be and however they think it exists.  It was not just that she was explaining what happened, she was concerned with why she did it.  And the "why?" made me feel that she was deep inside questioning. 

In some ways, this is putting a more reasonable definition to something instinctive in me.  I have a natural predisposition to feel I’m right about things and generally lack any evidence to prove it but my own gut feeling.  To me, she was a beautiful tragedy, something that perhaps couldn’t be mended, I’m still not possessed of a desire to do so, but rather something that could at least let their guard down long enough to let me in.  I, too, have known some of the scars she bears, I have had many more years of acquiring them, too.  At times they do not feel as extreme as hers, but it is once again all relative, and I am known to take things very hardly indeed. 

Kristen is the most beautiful girl, woman, love in the world.  It is because she still possesses an innocence that she sometimes doesn’t want, sometimes believes doesn’t exist, sometimes seeks avidly to cultivate.  It is because she is also tempered by time and experience….she is wise and young, energetic and patient, and she is stronger and more amazing than any who I’ve had the opportunity to be with before.  I would say pleasure, but I now know what pleasure is.  It has not always been easy loving Kristen, she is very much like a rose….complete with thorns that are there in places for reasons and do not move for anyone.  So it is the role of the handler to be careful and not get pricked.  In return, her beauty is unparalleled, and she, unlike the flowers I mentioned before in an entry long ago about a garden, gives back to me more than just a sense of pleasure at my closeness.  We are each other’s roses.  We are each other’s suns, each other’s hearts, families, and homes. 

There is near nothing but superficial insignificances that liken her to my former loves.  She has far more emotional and spiritual strength, she has far more everything.  She is everything.  I love her absolutely.