Wednesday, August 19, 2009

you confuse me.

There’s a hand on my forehead and an arm around my shoulder, my skin is burning and my eyes are almost orange from the sunshine. Tired and weepy, I look at you and can’t believe you’re the same person who said those things just a few hours ago. You look so warm and comforting, so welcoming, so protective. How are you so different now?
Now that it’s you and me, it’s not funny anymore. It’s not a game; I’m not your toy. It’s not a joke or a series of faux pas. In this moment we know each other, we just get it.It’s you and me…and an expanse of eighteen patches of perfect grass. Eighteen greens and a long walk -- you hand me a small white ball with something scribbled across its 250-odd dimples.
There it is, the phrase I love – the one I never told you about – my head reeling, I start to ask you how…
…my worlds collide. And now you’re gone, you’re not you anymore. We’re not alone now, surrounded by crowds, who don’t know or understand. By nosey know-it-alls, who want to save me from you... my joy, my salve, my sweet surrender. If only they knew how far I've fallen…