This morning marks the anniversary, the anniversary of two people dying. The open air of the park allows his thoughts to run wild as he sits alone on a bench. Today is an anniversary of days, months, years, decades—he doesn’t know. But this morning is the anniversary of the ending of a great love story—the final chapter came to a close with a tragic ending, or maybe a happy one—he doesn’t know. The only things he knows for certain is he wishes he knew them—he wishes he had a copy of their life to read over and over until the pages yellow with worn, because they changed the world. The union of these two people that died on this very day inspired young love like Hemingway inspired young writers, it created new life like Van Gough created new paintings. The book of their journeys is filled with words of wisdom and lyrics of love to inspire all who read it—though he can’t tatter the pages of these two strangers lives, because he doesn’t even know their name, but he knows they are important.
The adorable look in her eyes said
I love you this much
but the words from her mouth spat
poison like a fountain of disdain. Her
harsh utterances clamped his heart
like the tires of a towed car—sedentary
until she decides to release him. Her
cuddly body is hidden beneath a coat
of anger—he can’t be surprised, though,
for he forced her to wear it. Their fighting
words linger in the room for hours—but
soon enough a sweet aroma covers their
words and they are back to saying
I love you this much
neither of them flirt with the idea of
leaving—for they would rather live a life
of sugar and spice than risk being bland.
She was overjoyed at the sight of
the red rose. Because it meant the
bruise on her side wasn’t the most
colorful thing in the room. The deep
purple took second place to the
rich, red hue. Though sadly, the color
would fade and the petals would
whither, but her skin would remain
the same. And she would steal first
yet again—until the next time he
apologized vicariously through
Snapshots of our life together slither away from me like snakes in the grass. Some move too quick for me to grasp—then some move slow like honey dripping from the bottle. I gracefully grab onto those precious moments and place them safely in the freezer so they never spoil. Each moment is trapped in the ice—freeze-dried like the breast of a chicken—so anytime I crave our memories I can allow them to thaw until they are fresh in my mind.
Once I danced with a vengeance so strong
I couldn’t even finish the song because the
night was scorched with his breath
Now I dance with nothing but your hand
In mine and a sweet glass of wine because
Your breath blesses the night air.
We don’t ever worry about finishing a
Song for we have enough spring in our
Step to last through a lifetime of albums.
And for a lifetime we danced and with each
Passing year I learned that the tighter I held
You, the sweeter the sound of the music.
Until we reached the tracks of our platinum
Record and learned that the best way to end
A night of dancing is to seal it with a kiss.