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.

Thoughts of Spring!

I am going through a barren spell, at the moment. I didn't even notice till the other day I realized I have been writing next to nothing. It's alright, though. I know the words will come back. With a vengeance, undoubtedly, in copious, overwhelming amounts. I have been writing in my journal, though. I thought I'd post this journal entry I wrote last week. It was written on a day that felt like spring. My mother had opened all the windows and I sat on the floor in front of mine and wrote this entry. (It was penned over a period of 20 minutes or so with quite a few pauses in between to revel in the inspiring atmosphere. So, it is a little choppy. Especially since I copied it verbatim from my journal... with a few punctuation and spelling corrections, of course. :P)

{My window! Taken from my seated position on the floor.}

Feb. 28, 2011

I love Spring. I can see why people (stereotypically?) fall in love during springtime. There is something in the air that is most inspiring. An intoxicating scent that makes one feel like doing foolish or impossible things.
Just after I wrote that I impetuously decided to put on a skirt I have worn only once before when I was home alone. It is what I call a "regrettable shade of pink". It is also a rather shocking shade. But there is Spring in the air and I don't care.
I am sitting in front of my window which is open. I was reading "I Capture the Castle" but was captured myself by the bewitching breeze.
It is only 2:09 but it feels hours later. I don't know what the sun is doing but its presence is somewhat lacking.
Bright, sunny days are shallow things, anyway.
The breeze, that temptress, just caressed my cheek & whispered thoughts of rain in my ears.
I have just leaned up against the windowsill to get closer to the intoxicating air. I can hear sounds like raindrops hitting the pavement but I do not see any... Perhaps it is the leftover autumn leaves playing with the breeze.
I wish I could stick my hand out the window but I cannot. Darn window screens!
Ah! It is raining! I couldn't tell by looking at the street or our driveway but I can tell from our neighbour's driveway.

The rain song & scent have become very noticeable now. Though I still cannot see the rain. I can see the effects of it, though. The workmen across the street have stopped working & I just saw someone with an umbrella.
I still want to feel it, though.

My mind is made up:
I'm going outside!
Love, ineffable me

{A corner of my journal and my "regrettable pink" skirt.}

In case you were wondering, I did indeed go outside! I stood on the back porch for a minute or two and got speckled by the raindrops.
Ah, I am remembering how much I love spring. Especially since it feels like winter again here. :(
I cannot decide which I love more, spring or autumn. I seem to love each one most while it is happening. How quixotic of me! Or perhaps I am just forgetful. ;)


What is your favourite season?