Light

You look radiant in the candlelight as I sit here writing these words, stealing a glimpse or two of the woman I love. I watch you smile, I see you playing with your hair, I observe you listening pensively, your chin on your palm, disinterested in what you hear but nodding in acknowledgment nonetheless, then spontaneously breaking into a laugh that places you right back in the thick of it all. I look at your hand, the hand I held a few minutes ago. I remember your touch.

And, as I gaze into you and turn away when your eyes meet mine, as I seek you out through panes of stained glass even though nothing obstructs my view, I find words. I'm at the cusp. I run the back of my finger against the brick wall to pause for a second. I want this to be real. I want my words to be true. I pause for a second second when I recall your name has much to do with the truth. I utter your name in silence, you can't see me grin after, and realise the hour is right. I'm at the cusp. No, we're at the cusp. Between a love immortal and one that never existed. Walking the thin line between hope and its lessness. I know lessness isn't an actual word but there's no reason it shouldn't be. We're on the verge of something extraordinary every single moment we're together, this one included. And in this moment, you and I are standing at the threshold of our futures. I believe they're intertwined, like our fingers are used to being.

Why did I leave that table? Sitting across you, inches apart, your feet occasionally brushing mine, I didn't have to. Conversations are a distraction, especially when the only thing on your mind is the only thing you want to talk about. Instinctively, I stood up, polished the last of my wine and stepped out. It wasn't the cigarette alone that drew me away. There would be another. It wasn't the cigarettes alone. I wanted to numb the noise, blur the whirl, and find some focus. And, I did. I lit up, looked up, and there you were. You and the candle, only. I wondered which one was illuminating the other. You threw me inspiration, I caught it. Each time the thin white haze cleared, I saw you. I see you. The way I've always seen you. You look radiant in the candlelight as I sit here writing these words, stealing a glimpse or two of the woman I love.

Maybe

‘Maybe’ is a fascinating word.

In fact, I’ll go as far as to say ‘maybe’ just may-fucking-be the second
most interesting word after, well, ‘fuck’.

‘Maybe’ is better than ‘or’, and not because it’s three letters or a syllable heavier.
Come to think of it, ‘or’ is barely a word. Actually, it’s barely a sound, much like
a half-swallowed hiccup. Fundamentally, ‘or’ is dependent on the two choices
it needs to fit snugly between; in or out, soup or salad, your place or mine.
‘Maybe’, on the other hand, is a brand new choice altogether.

‘Maybe’ is shorter and sweeter than its overtly sophisticated cousin ‘perhaps’.
Perhaps, you’d disagree. See what I mean? ‘Maybe’ is easy on the tongue,
you can drop it at will, like a hydrogen bomb, which brings me to my next point.

Wielded well, ‘maybe’ is a potent weapon in the power hungry control-freak’s
(you, if you’re wondering) arsenal. Allow me to illustrate.

--

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes.’

‘That was easy.’

‘Yes’ is acknowledgement, and although it presents the subject with success,
the feeling is short-lived. It’s precisely one chest thump, two fist bumps, three calls,
four social media posts or five eventful nights long. You can’t keep replaying
a single glorious instant for an eternity, can you?

Outcome: Power forfeited.

--

‘Do you love me?’

‘No.’

‘Bite me.’

‘No’ is outright rejection, a slap in the face, it’ll make the subject reel momentarily
but recover nonetheless. It’s a wake-up call, and some of us need more than one.
It puts the universe into perspective, and the jilted on an entirely disconnected
intellectual plane.

Outcome: Subject forfeited.

--

‘Do you love me?’

‘Maybe.’

‘What? How? Why? Okay.’

‘Maybe’ feeds both curiosity and hope in the precise measure required to place
the aggressor in a position of power. Even though the odds of approval and rejection
stand equally divided, it is human nature to disregard the latter. After all, hope sells
harder than sex ever did. And, while a part of the subject’s mind devotes itself to
optimism-laced flights of fancy, another dissects the response, probing desperately
for arguments that aggravate the former.

Simply put, when blind hope gets boring, one turns to curiosity to discover worthy
justification. A valid justification strengthens hope and the cycle completes its first,
but far from final, revolution.

Outcome: Power and subject retained.

--

‘Maybe’ is the grey in a world of black and white. It is the convenient middle path
between ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. Do I sense Buddha frowning? ‘Maybe’ is nonchalant,
noncommittal, nonconformist even. It has a certain air of suspense working for it.
It’s Bond-like, yet catty. It’s a veiled insult, yet sometimes pretty darn straight.
It’s absolute, yet throws open a world of countless probabilities and analyses.
It’s the answer to the question you weren’t seeking an answer to. It keeps you on
the prowl and your victims on their toes.

‘Maybe’ is a drug. Use it before you lose it, because you’re eventually going
to lose it anyway.

Well, maybe.

Ride

My head is a bus
A dozen-winged octopus
Take a ride if you will, it won't hurt
It brakes like a dream, kicks up no dirt

There is a place I've set aside
At the window to this hazy glide
The seats recline to soak your sins
In this twisted deck, I am your prince

Night and dark, you clutch the heat
Warmth between bodies that never meet
You travel without moving, carried by a whim
By affectionate curse and hateful hymn

Coasting through a simple spell
You cast your net into the well
Bait is tender, the catch too steep
Short triumph peering into rapid-eyed sleep

Hills of reason, towers of hope
An elusive nether where rebels elope
Slave to journey, sworn to cause
My wanderlust, to think is to pause

Smoke

Alone you stood in a shroud of white
Alone you lay with heaven inside
To my aching soul you seemed a pill
You were a fire to my drowning will

I held you up and lit you slow
I kissed you gently my flake of snow
I drew you in and blew you out
Like a wave of silk you waltzed about

I smiled and spun not knowing why
Yours was a lust I couldn't deny
I held you close and harder still
Our breaths collided on that window sill

I smelt you once, inhaled you twice
Every inch of you was sweet surprise
I watched in awe as you smaller grew
I wished you'd stay but there were more of you

My lips stung sore by your dying flame
I stubbed your love without a shadow of shame
And in your pain you smiled, you knew
A part of me just died with you