Friday, April 22, 2011

her spring, his winter

I couldn’t sleep last night.
I could smell the winter on your skin and its dry, bitter scent clogged my mind.

I lay beside you. Felt you so close, so far. I listened to the gentle ocean swell of your breathing, so much deeper than the uneasy waters of mine.
I slowed my breathing, synchronized it with yours. But my heart screamed faster, faster so I sped ahead, leaving you behind.

The air in the room was bland, neither cold nor warm. As if my boiling agitation and your frozen stillness had cancelled each other out.

I could hear thunder clearing its throat in preparation for a debate with lightning. Disentangling myself from the sheets and your smothering frigid-sleep, I opened the window as the raindrops started their patient tapping.
The argument between surly thunder and passionate lightning was fully underway. Through their chaos, a breeze reached its hand in my window. It stroked the skirt of my nightgown and ran its damp fingers through my hair.
It smelled of spring. It said come.

I almost took the offered hand of the breeze. I leaned towards the window, the black night and the rain.
But I looked over to your bed just as the lightning swore an oath that echoed between the bedroom’s narrow walls.
I saw you, in that flash of light. You were awake, watching me.
Only vaguely did I see the paleness of your skin, the purple smudges under your eyes, your half-open lips, the bristly hint of a beard.
Your eyes I saw clearly. They met mine for a second. They looked at me as if I were a ghost, a stranger. Your clouded vision had sharpened and in them I saw a fever. A desperation that belied your stiff exterior.
I felt like a criminal, a thief, a murderer.
I shut the window slowly. It closed with a dull thud, shutting out the elements that had offered a newness, a coming alive. I pulled the curtain over the argument that still droned on and, almost ashamed, slunk back into bed.

You pulled me close to you with your cold hands, laid your lips against mine.
Your kiss tasted of snow.

We lay entwined, your bare branches twisted up with my budding vines.
Soon you drifted into sleep again. I lay, ear pressed against your chest, and listened to your heart, trying to learn its pattern, trying to slow my heartbeat to parallel yours.
I couldn’t.

And I don’t know how long this can last. For there is spring in my soul which I can stifle for no one… No, not even you.
Someday I must break away from your stagnant, icy slumber. I must bloom; I must leave.
But oh, I think I shall always miss you, my other half, my winter-soul.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I didn’t feel you leave my side;
didn’t feel your warmth slip away.
But I awoke.
I saw you, at the window.
Saw you illuminated, your nightgown waving around you.
My little bird, perched for flight.
And I could no longer ignore the fact I’d caged you too long.
I must let you go.

Tonight I am selfish.
Tonight I want you.
I pull you back.
But I know I will set you free,
my dearest sparrow-heart,
before you are forced to escape.


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. This is beautiful.
    I loved the two different perspectives, the thunder and lightning arguing and especially the winter and storm elements in this :)
    Okay, I loved the whole thing! :)

  3. Oh, thank you so much, dear! I am terribly glad you liked it so much. Originally it wasn't going to have both perspectives but a day after I wrote the first part I found myself writing the second part! :)

  4. This was so raw and touching. xx

  5. oh, goodness, melee. this is absolutely incredible. reading it, i felt like the breath was being punched out of my lungs. the first part was so heavy and atmospheric. in contrast, the second part was wonderfully light and the final line filled me with hope. what a beautiful, accomplished piece of writing. the imagery is exquisite. x

  6. this is perfect... oh my beautiful melee, i just couldn't say enough. i love every single thing you write.

  7. not wendy: Oh, thank you so much, lovely.

    b.: Dearest, thank you for your words which are so kind and so beautiful. You always encourage me so much.

    haze: Thank you, darling! Your comment is so uplifting to my soul. <3

  8. You're amazing. You always make me think. x

  9. Dear, this is heartbreaking and beautiful. I think I am drawn to the stories of tragic lovers because it is my destiny to be forever tragic myself (until I run away of course). Very touching.

    xx and hugs


  10. mckenzie: We're even, then, since I think you're pretty darn amazing as well. :) Thank you very much.

    Jhordyn Ashley: Thank so much, dearest. If that is true, I hope your tragic story has an unconventionally happy ending. Not a happily-ever-after, mind you. That is something quite different. :)

  11. Oh my love, this is beautiful.
    Fly, fly free. It's time.
    Let us soar.

  12. This is like a dream. Your metaphors are so perfect, and the wistful yearning of it all makes my heart flutter.

  13. I wish I could write like you, I really do. Even the title of this is breathtaking xx

  14. This is absolutely beautiful...
    So glad I found your blog. <3


  15. Heather: Thank you! Oh, let's; that sounds perfectly lovely. <3

    Jenica: Awww, thank you so much! I'm glad you like my metaphors. One of my greatest fears is relying heavily on hackneyed phrases!

    holly and the wolves: Oh, thank you! That is such a wonderful compliment, it really is. <3

    Jazzy E: Thank you so much. :)

    helloxbeautiful: Oh, thank you ever so much! Welcome aboard my train, hehe. :)

  16. this is beautiful and intoxicating
    i love the contrast of perspectives
    it's hard to imagine you are not blooming as you write this
    it is so wonderfully perfect.

    thank-you for the comment, no i'm not writing anything
    although i suppose somewhere in my mind i hold it as a possibility that i may piece them together
    the tag excerpt means they are excerpts from my own life (whether metaphorically or literally)
    i like writing in third person to gain perspective.
    much love,

  17. Oh, I have to agree with Haze, this is perfect. I have so missed reading your artwork (that's what it should be called!). Beauty on a page. xxx

  18. Lilah: Oh, thank you, dearest! Thank you so much. <3
    Oh, okay! That's really cool. I know what you mean about writing in the third person. It just really helps sometimes. :)

    Joanna: That is such a lovely compliment and I don't feel deserving of it in the least! But, thank you so much! <3

  19. "We lay entwined, your bare branches twisted up with my budding vines."

    Admirable metaphors!

    I'm supposed to be browsing business and advertising blogs but you got me reading here!

  20. I love multi-faceted stories like this. it seems so sad until the allusion to freedom at the end. there are many levels to your writing, and I admire it greatly :)

  21. Well, thank you very much! I am delighted my words could offer a nice distraction. :)

    John: Thank you so much. Having the admiration of a writer such as yourself (who I admire) means a lot. :)

  22. Melee, love, i can't remember if i ever mention this but i added you to my list of feathers :)
    take care, dear.

  23. Awww, thanks so much, haze! You're so sweet. (And might I just say, if I had such a list, you would be on it!) <3

  24. Indeed, precisely like Cassandra Mortmain! Oh, it's been so long since I read her journal :) I think I know what I'll be doing tonight xx

  25. Oooh, yay! You got my reference! :) Sounds like a lovely plan to me! I re-read it recently or else that's probably what I'd do tonight too. ;)

  26. Oh, wow, this is so lovely. The best part is that you have the man a voice too - I loved hearing what he was thinking as well.

    I love the summer-winter dynamic. I'm a winter type of girl myself, so I immediately felt sympathy for the man (though, of course, I couldn't help but root for the girl too). This story echoed a bit of Persephone and Hades. Very cool.

    BEST PART, haha:

    "Through their chaos, a breeze reached its hand in my window. It stroked the skirt of my nightgown and ran its damp fingers through my hair.
    It smelled of spring. It said come."

  27. Thank you so much, Kim! I'm a spring-girl myself, but in this piece I felt myself empathizing more with the man which is partly why I felt the need to include his voice. I'm glad you appreciated that. :)


Silhouettes of a secret. A story told over a cuppa. Or perhaps just sitting on that stone bench, basking in the moonlight... and not saying anything at all.

("I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks." -Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)