I’d like to believe that there’s more to this story. That something is finding the deep and intricate words to inspire me. Maybe it’d move me forward from when I considered that I’d lost my touch. Quiet as it’s kept, I’ve already written what I consider to be the best work of my life. So, what now?
He said his name was Lenny…
and told me I didn’t know him yet,
But if I continued to think
About him I would.
I’d already asked him his profession
He simply said he “exists”,
That until his story was told
He wasn’t real,
And that he noticed
I didn’t know
(at the time of writing this)
How to adequately express
What that made me feel.
Or how to deal
With the sentiment of the situation.
Worst come to worst…is a statement I try to never finish. The issue is what do you do after that? I often wonder if it always feels this way. Things definitely aren’t looking up, but I just try to remember not to look down prematurely.
We decided upon that moment,
That we’d spend as many of our
Interactions as we could
Making our stories tangible.
Put it into words.
And then I asked the second question.
“Are you ok”?
He asked me,
Was I?
We both pondered for a moment,
Then answered silently…
Almost like I’ve forgotten all the things I desired, or between you and me, hoped would happen at this point in life. I adjusted expectations like I was told and made realism of my dreams. I’d already done poetic prose, and my paragraphs are too short for short stories.
I stood up,
Grabbed some darjeeling,
Boiled water for tea.
He gazed out the window.
As I gazed at him
Out of the corner of my eye
So I guess we did the same instinctively.
He was so everything…
Yet nothing at all simultaneously.
Full of air like a container.
Although to the eye of the uneducated,
Empty.
He made me nervous.
Because he was so at peace
With being alone,
And understanding of all of these things.
Then he looked away before he formulated
The tertiary inquiry.
So,
What now?
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